We continue in today’s column this community’s success in being chosen in 1924 as the location for a federal hospital to treat and care for veterans with pulmonary disease. The need for such an institution was a direct result of the global conflict we know as World War I. A brief look at that war might be of interest.
In 1914, Europe was engaged in one of the bloodiest conflicts the world had known. Some historians have called it a war so brutal and unnecessary it gave new meaning to word “absurd.” Over 10 million died and 20 million were wounded on battlefields across three continents in this war “to end all wars.
The United States had endeavored to remain neutral in this European conflict and for two and one-half years succeeded in doing so, even under stress caused by such lawless acts as the sinking of the British liner Lusitania on May 7, 1915, in which 128 American vacationers lost their lives.
That neutrality did not last, however, and on January 1917, Germany ignored her pledge to the U.S. and began a ruthless submarine war “against all vessels neutral and enemy alike that should be found in a war zone.” American merchant ships and even pleasure liners all became targets without any warning – absolute acts of war against the U.S. and a violation of international law in sea warfare, in which Germany had agreed to observe.
Germany knew that it risked drawing the U.S. into the conflict by its actions but decided it was worth the gamble. It wasn’t. After enduring several months of submarine attacks, the U.S. declared war on Germany. Its hope of a diplomatic role, not a military role, was doomed by the German treachery. It was a controversial decision.
Americans, history tells us, had little enthusiasm for going “over there.” Nevertheless, by the middle of June 1917, the first transports carrying American fresh-faced, confident soldiers arrived in war-torn France.
History relates that American soldiers, derided by the Germans as a mongrelized army (not a pure race like themselves), became in a short time an impressive fighting force, and their eagerness for battle proved infectious, inspiring the British and French armies to find new sources of energy. Still, it remained a brutal war, and care of the many wounded left much to be desired. It’s no wonder that so many American soldiers returned stateside needing hospitalization, many of them with weakened lungs from various infections that became susceptible to the tuberculosis bacilli that were spread on the battlefield.
Here is an excerpt of what WWI nurse Laura Smith has recounted in her memoirs of serving in France with the U.S. Nurse Corps:
“The horrible thing about dressing the wounds was this technique that we used, which I think was started in the Spanish American War. When the soldiers lay wounded out in the battlefield, the flies would lay their eggs and leave behind these worms in the wound. Someone figured out that these worms worked around in the wound and cleaned it. This was a terrible thing to look at, but that was what they did to keep the wounds clean – certainly not something you would do today.”
Three of my uncles, Frank, Ed and Marshall Frenette (my father was too young), were part of that impressive four-million fighting force. All three won battlefield commissions, and although I knew all three of those men quite well, other than talking about a German field phone given to me by my Uncle Ed (who had carried it back from France as a souvenir) I never heard them discuss that war. I do know from my late Aunt Dorothy Gaffney, who kept their letters, that they all saw action on the front lines in what she described as “No Man’s Land.” She told me of horrific trench warfare, intense hand-to-hand combat, fixed bayonet attacks, days of standing in ankle-deep mud, rats the size of alley cats and days of intense boredom followed by gripping fear.
Ed and Marshall were lucky – somehow they escaped the war unscathed and came home to lead highly constructive and successful lives. Frank, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. In the last days of the war, German tanks, taking advantage of winds blowing toward the American lines, unleashed clouds of mustard gas. That attack destroyed U.S. Army 1st Lt. Frenette’s lungs and shortened his life. In an ironic twist, after being a patient in several other veterans hospitals, he landed in the Tupper Lake VA hospital.
The war ended for America a year and a half after its entry on the 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour: Nov. 11, 1918 – the date that was originally honored as Armistice Day, we now call Veterans Day. A total of 230 men and women from Tupper Lake served in that war and six died: Edmund Bujold, Benjamin Churco, Leon Duane, Lawrence Hays, Henry Mosher and Leon Savard.
Fast forward now to sometime in the year 1922. The government, overwhelmed by ailing veterans, many suffering from TB, begins a search for a satisfactory site for a much needed hospital. As you might expect, the competition among communities anxious to be selected as the location was fierce. Over the years, friends in Saranac Lake would often remind me – some wistfully, others not – that the Veterans Administration had proposed building the 500-bed hospital just outside their village, but they rejected the offer.
Note: This community would know other such competitions:
- the proposal to get state support to build a major ski area here, which instead went to Wilmington,
- the proposal to be selected as a location for Interpretive Center, which went to Newcomb and Paul Smiths and
- the proposal to build a prison, which went to Malone.
Next Transitions: We examine Saranac Lake’s refusal and Tupper Lake’s successful bid.