Memorial Day - William Shone Williams

Like millions of others all over the world, the First World War  would have a lasting impact on the Williams family. This picture is of my paternal Grandfather, William Shone Williams, in North Carolina, just prior to shipping out for France. Growing up in the 1950's and 1960's, my family never talked much about my Grandfather's experience in the War. As a matter of fact, I never even met the man. He passed away about 8 years before I made my entrance into the world. So, naturally, I have been fascinated by him my entire life.

Two years ago I began looking into his wartime service to see where he went when he joined the Army and the 27th Division in the spring of 1917. The story is still missing several pieces but this is a brief account of what I have discovered so far by using photos provided to me by my favorite Aunt Gloria.


He was in the 27th Division of the NY 107th US Infantry, under the command of Major General John F. O'Ryan. This was their insignia, composed of the letters NY in an arched fashion to closely resemble the constellation Orion, a play on the major's last name. It's handle also points to the brightest star in the sky, Sirius. They became known as the "Orion Division."

The 27th trained at Camp Wadsworth in South Carolina through the winter of 1917-18. While there they published a weekly paper called "The Gas Attack" and later this name was changed to "The Gas Attack of the NY Division". The first issue was published in November of 1917 and the last was on May 4th, 1918 as they were about to transfer to Norfolk. Another issue was put out in France at Christmastime 1918, after the war was over. Another was issued right before the Division came home to a huge parade in NY in March 1919.

In Spartanburg there were two colleges and the one most favored for dances etc was the Converse College for Girls. There are quite a few photos on line of soldiers on leave in Spartanburg during that time. I keep looking for my Grandfather.

This is a photo of Major General John F. O'Ryan. He is shown standing on a snow bank at Camp Wadsworth. My Grandfather must have recognized him and took the photo. They were at Spartanburg from Nov 1917 through May 4th 1918 when they shifted to Norfolk for deployment to England.

Interesting side note; Spartanburg was the only place in South Carolina that did not welcome the Northern Divisions. (See the NY Times Article dated August 31st, 1917.) It concerns the Mayor of Spartanburg and his venomous attack upon the presence of "Yankee" troops. Apparently, there was also an African-American Division there at the same time. Captain N.B. Marshall, an African American of the NY Bar Association was called a "dirty nigger" and thrown from a street car in one instance. When Frank De Broit, an African-American private, attempted to buy a newspaper in a hotel lobby, with the permission of his Lt., a man named Europe, he was knocked to the ground by the hotel clerk. About fifty members of the NY 27th Division jumped in, hell bent on murdering the hotel clerk when they heard the command, ""Attention!" called out by Lt. Europe, who then ordered the men to cease their action and file out peacefully two by two.(He was, apparently, an early version of Martin Luther King.)

Major O'Ryan wrote a book about the whole experience, from Spartanburg to France and then coming home again in 1919. It's called "The Story of the 27th Division" and can be found online and read for free. You can even download it as a PDF file. http://www.archive.org/details/storyof27thdivis02oryauoft

Once in England they trained jointly with the British troops and appear to have crossed the Channel at Dover to France and marched down South towards Paris. On the way he would have taken the photo of the "Ponts de la Soissons" which is the Bridge at Soissons. From there they would likely have gone on South to Paris to group up before starting the final offensive of the war, referred to as the Muese-Argonne campaign and included the Second Battle of Verdun. Verdun is on the west bank of the Muese River. This is where he allegedly stole the keys to the city and a mandolin, which my step-mother, Alice, still has in her kitchen. The campaign lasted from September 1, 1918 through November 11th when the Armistice was called.

On Sept 29, 1918 the 27th Division, under command of Maj. General O'Ryan, along with the 30th Division, and the British units (under command of General Haig) jointly "cracked" the St. Quentin Tunnel Complex which ran parallel to the Hindenburg Line for a distance of about 4 miles North to South, and was used for resupply of the German forces there.

Forming a "pincher" and advancing eastward, the combined forces broke through the Hindenburg Line, which the combined French and British forces had been unable to do for 3 years. The 27th crossed through Guillemont and Quennemont Farms just West of the line. There were 227 officers and men of the 27th killed that day and another 688 wounded.

This means that they likely did not go to Paris upon arrival "in country", but rather, that after they cross trained with the British they headed to St. Quentin, which is North of both Paris and Verdun.

After the action at St. Quentin they continued on with the British 4th Army under the command of Major Rawlinson through most of October on their way to the Selle River south of the fighting at LeCateau.From there they would have moved on to the Second Battle of Verdun. He was wounded by artillery sometime during all of this, as a result of which he had a metal plate in his head for the rest of his life. He was also gassed. I am still, at this writing, trying to find out where and when he was wounded. It would appear, by the mere existence of the photographs, that he was wounded late in the war, most likely right before the Armistice in November. After Verdun, the 27th "hunkered down" through March of 1919, when they were sent home.

This is a photo of the entire 27th Division taken in March of 1919, composed of all 10,000 officers and enlisted men just prior to leaving France. My Grandfather is most likely in this photo, but it's kind of like "Where's Waldo." And war is like that, millions of men, whose names often go unrecorded in the greater annals of history, do the heavy fighting, and pay the heavy price, while the select few garner the recognition of their sacrifices.

When he returned from the "Great War", as it was referred to at the time, he went on to become a Police Officer in New York City. When he died, at the all too young age of 43 years old, leaving a wife and 5 children behind, he became a belated casualty of that war.

The Locked Room

It all started with a trip to Mexico. Sue and I had been married for 10 years at the time and we decided to re-visit Cancun, where we had spent our first honeymoon. So, leaving Sarah, our daughter, who was about 9 years old, with her grandparents, we set off; confident in the ability of our teenage sons to act responsibly in our absence. We were half right in our judgment.

What we had forgotten to take into account was that the period of time we would be gone was also the week of “homecoming” for 3 area high schools. Now, for those who don’t know what homecoming is, I’ll explain. For some reason; maybe related to football, or the prom; each year high school students have a weekend of absolute insanity to celebrate. And if your house is the scene of an unsupervised homecoming party while you are away, my advice is to not go home.

Simply put, our youngest son, who shall remain nameless here because he knows who he is, decided to hand out fliers announcing an “open house” at our home. I never saw one of these alleged fliers personally, but I imagine that they said something along the lines of “Come wreck my parent’s house and steal stuff like furniture.” And, friends being friends, the masses happily complied with the request implied by the invitation.

On Sunday morning; early Sunday morning; and I mean very early Sunday morning; Sue and I were awakened in our hotel room overlooking the Gulf of Mexico by a phone call from the Maryland State Police barracks in Westminster, which was located several miles from our house. I immediately declined to make a statement; out of habit; before realizing what I was hearing.

The gist of the matter was that there had been some sort of party at our house the night before; actually I think the State Trooper said for 2 nights before; and that we should come home. We were scheduled to depart the next day for Baltimore and seeing that the event had passed, we decided to wait for our scheduled flight.

Arriving home late the next day we were shocked at two things; the damage that was inflicted upon our humble abode; and the fact that no-one had been arrested. Some furniture was gone, most notably the little Louis XIV end table which my parents had purchased in 1966. We found it by accident several days later, smashed in a roadside ditch. There was not a light fixture in our house that was undamaged, and our neighbors windows had been shot out. But nobody was in jail.

Later descriptions recounted that the police were throwing the partiers out of the front door, only to have the kids going back inside through the back door. And, the fact that the police actually thought that one of the kids had brought a Louis XIV end table to the party, and allowed that person to leave with it; well, that really took the cake.

While cleaning up this unholy mess; that’s right, the kid didn't even try to clean it up; I was livid. And, since I was due back at work at 7:30 AM in the morning and was clearly going to get no sleep, as I cannot sleep in squalor, about every 10 or 15 minutes I was at the door of the younger boy’s bedroom, cursing and generally acting insane. In my defense I would have to say that at the time, and in those circumstances, I was not in a normal state of mind.

The next morning saw me back at work, exhausted from cleaning up. And, to my surprise, everyone at work had heard about the party and the destruction at my house. So, I had to put up with quite a bit of ribbing about leaving teenagers home alone. And to make matters worse, by the time I got home from work, our son had run away. This began a 5 day odyssey which would rival the exploits of Homer’s “Odyssey” as I went in search of him. In addition to feeling guilty about yelling at him; which was absurd, since he needed to be yelled at; I was worried for his safety. And watching Sue live in torment at his absence only made me angrier at him. But clearly he needed to be found.

Though I looked everywhere, I never did locate him and he returned to school unbeknownst to us, on the 5^th day. This is the point at which the school authorities got involved and notified DSS. It’s also where this story begins to get interesting, and funny.

I was sitting in my office at Soil Safe, a company I was working for at the time, when I got a call from the State Police, again. The trooper on the phone was extremely courteous and nice, which raised my suspicions immediately. He wanted to know if I could come down to the barracks in Westminster to sign some papers concerning my son’s return home. I asked what kind of papers, and could they be faxed. He fell silent for a moment and then said that I needed to come in or they would have to come get me.

Realizing that our son had been in a locked principal’s office with 2 State Troopers interviewing him; without the presence of his parents or legal counsel; I recalled Hamlet and I, too, smelled a rat.

At the time I used to carry a small handgun with me everywhere. And of course there were always some left handed "cigarettes" to be considered as well. I agreed to meet the trooper at the barracks in about an hour, and then left the office.

Now, I am not the cleverest of individuals, but, having smelled a rat, I proceeded with caution. At the time I owned no vehicle or even property in my name. The vehicle I did drive was registered to Soil Safe. So, I decided not to go the police barracks, electing instead to park at a McDonald's located about ¼ of a mile down the road. I placed my pistol and cigarettes in the vehicle, locked it, and then left the key under the tire. Then I walked to the barracks.

Entering the barracks I approached the little glass window which separated the troopers from the reception area. I gave my name and was invited inside. As the door closed behind me I was thrust against the wall with my arms wrenched behind me and my jacket pulled up over my head, completely immobilized. The questions came fast and furious; “Where’s your gun Mr. Williams?”; followed by “Where’s the pipe and marijuana?”; and, “ Can we search your vehicle?”

Immediately I realized that they had pumped my kid for every bit of info about me that they could get from him. I was not at all angry with him; he was about 15 and definitely at a disadvantage without some sort of counsel during their interrogation of him. So, it was easy for me to look them in the eye; after they let me down off the wall; and inform them that I had no gun, no drugs and moreover, no vehicle. Of course they did not believe me and frog marched me to the parking lot demanding to search my vehicle. I showed them my keys and there was no vehicle key on the key ring. I also invited them to search the DMV database so as to satisfy them that I did not, in fact, even own a vehicle. Likewise with the gun, as it was not registered in my name, but to one Bob Wilson in Florida, where I had purchased it several years prior.

With these formalities out of the way, I was taken to the top floor of the barracks, placed in a locked room with a Trooper Sergeant and a woman from DSS. I was told that I was not under arrest and this was just a routine questioning about my son’s safety at home. I asked why the door was locked if I was not under arrest and was told that this was for my own safety. Then I was handed a form and told that my signature was an acknowledgment of my rights and I was required to sign it. I refused, as it was actually a waiver of my rights, allowing me to be questioned without counsel.

There was a tape recorder present and when it was switched on the DSS lady said, “This is an informal hearing with Mr. Williams and we have requested him to sign an acknowledgement of his rights. Mr. Williams, do you agree to this interview?” I replied, “That is a waiver of my Miranda rights, and if I am not under arrest, why is the door locked?” The DSS lady hit the stop button on the recorder. Take 1.

The Sergeant got tough and informed that I was to answer all questions and if I got wise with the DSS lady he was going to deal with me. The tape player was restarted anew with the same preamble by the DSS lady, to which I now replied, “Please note that this is the second attempt to interview me against my wishes and the first tape has been taped over.” This went on for about another 30 minutes, during which time I was asked where my vehicle was and how, if I did not have one, I was able to get from Baltimore to Carroll County in time for the interview. My reply; “I hitched.”

For the next three hours we parried back and forth; I wish I had a copy of that tape. I was like Clarence Darrow, fending off each question with a question of my own. I even found out that the DSS lady was a single mom and that she herself sometimes hit her son, even though that was not an issue  that was ever raised with me. She then threatened to take my children away from me, placing them in the custody of the county. My reply; "Go ahead, they're a pain in the ass; even you hit your own kid. So, you want 'em; they're yours. Where do I sign?" I do believe, that in the 15 years she had been doing this for a living, this was the first time that offer ever came her way.

During the 3 hours, a different officer would come into the room and ask things like, “Whose car is blocking the fuel truck?”, and “What color is your car Mr. Williams?” This only made me tap the microphone in an effort to see if it worked as I had already answered that question several times and now stated that I would not answer that question again.  In fact, I began to ask questions about the actions of the State Police on the night of the party. Things like, “Why were no trespassers arrested at my home?” and “Why were people allowed to leave with my furniture under the eyes of the officers present at the scene?”

After 3 hours I was released from the locked room and followed as I left the barracks on foot. I went to a Burger King nearby the McDonalds where I had left my car, got a hamburger, and waited until my “tail” was gone before walking back to the McDonalds to retrieve my vehicle. Sitting in the driver’s seat I reached down, feeling the reassuring weight of my pistol. Then I smoked a “cigarette” and went home.