James McConnell
friend to the Legionnaires
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James Rogers McConnell. Born March 14, 1887, in Chicago Illinois. Son of Judge Samuel P. and Sarah Rogers McConnell. Home, Carthage, North Carolina. Educated Morristown School, New Jersey; Haverford School, Pennsylvania, and University of Virginia, Class of 1910. In business, New York City. From 1912, Industrial Agent, Randolph and Cumberland Railroad, North Carolina. Secretary, Carthage Board of Trade. Joined American Field Service, February 11, 1915; attached Section Two until December 12, 1915. Croix de Guerre. Enlisted French Aviation, October 1, 1915. Trained Pau and Plessis-Belleville. Breveted February 6, 1916. Attached as Sergent, Lafayette Escadrille, N 124, April 20, 1916. Killed in combat over the German lines, March 19, 1917, near Petit-Détroit, southeast of Ham. Croix de Guerre with palm. Buried Petit-Détroit, Aisne.
In the long list of those who gave their lives in the War, there is one small group of names which must ever rank above the rest. These were the men who, before America entered the struggle, fought and died for the cause which they had made their own, side by side with the blue coated soldiers of France. Of these James R. McConnell was one.
When war broke out in Europe he was employed in Carthage, North Carolina, as the land and industrial agent of a railroad company. He soon came to the conclusion, as he is quoted in the introduction to his book, Flying for France, that: "These sand hills will be here forever, but the war won't, so I'm going." From February to December, 1915, he served with the American Field Service, first as one of a group of drivers attached to a hospital at Beauvais, and from April on, as one of the original members of Section Two at Pont-à-Mousson, where he had the reputation of being the most fearless member of the section.
It was undoubtedly in no small part his love of danger and adventure which first drew McConnell to France, but by the fall of 1915, these motives had given way entirely, before the keen realization of what the war meant, to a desire to give his utmost to the cause of France. He left the Field Service and enlisted in the French Army with the idea of training for aviation and in April, 1916, was sent to the newly formed Lafayette Escadrille, with such comrades as Rockwell, Lufbery, Prince, and Chapman.
At the front he seemed destined to have bad luck from the start. Twice he was left without a machine, once after an accident at Luxeuil, and again at the time of his first trip over the Verdun sector. In the latter instance he boldly attacked six German planes and in the unequal combat had his machine riddled with bullets. In August he and Lufbery brought down a two-seated German machine and each was officially credited with half a share in the victory. Soon afterward, however, while making a landing in the dark, he so badly wrenched his back that the resulting rheumatism confined him to the hospital until the following spring. Then, despite the fact that he was still unfit for service, he insisted upon returning to the squadron on March 10, 1917.
Nine days later he fell at the little village of Petit-Détroit, southwest of St Quentin. One of his comrades, C.C. Johnson, wrote: "Like old Kiffin, Mac died gloriously and in full action. It was in a fight with three Germans in their lines. Genet took one Hun and was wounded. The last he saw was a Hun on Mac's back. Later we learned from the cavalry that there were two on Mac and after a desperate fight he crashed to the ground. Three days later we took that territory .... and Mac was buried where he fell, in a coffin made from the door of a pillaged house." In his lifetime "Jim" had said were he killed he desired to be buried where he fell, and so it is. The French 165th Infantry used stones from a nearby ruined village to erect there a beautiful monument. The grave is decorated with flowers by the peasants, and in the words of one of them, "It will always be covered with flowers; you know he was a volunteer."
No words can add to the record of his achievements, nor can any one who knew him ever forget the impression of his manly nature, whimsical humor, fearlessness, and above all, his love for France. One phrase from his posthumous citation for the Croix de Guerre with palm, is sufficient proof that these qualities were not unknown or unappreciated by the army he so nobly served: "Pilote modeste, autant que courageux, disait souvent à ses camarades: 'Tant mieux si je dois être tué, puisque c'est pour la France.' "
~~ James W.D.Seymour, ed. Memorial Volume of the American Field Service in France. (Boston: American Field Service, 1921), pp.11-12
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In Search of McConnell's Grave, Seventy-six Years Later
On the morning of July 13, 1993, Bill Orrick, the director of AFS Archives, and I set out from Blérancourt and headed for the new World War I museum at Péronne. I was driving and Bill ---a navigator for the US Navy Air Force in WWII--- was deciphering the maps. We did not take the fast roads by way of Noyon, Guiscard and Ham, but the back roads behind Chauny and up north. We were looking for the grave of J.R. McConnell, somewhere near the little hamlet of Petit Détroit, according to the AFS Memorial Volume of 1920.
We wended our way past Cugny and drove into Flavy on D-537 before we realized that we had missed our turn to the Détroits. We went back, down a little road and spotted a man walking out from a couple of houses. We pulled over and asked if he knew where Petit Détroit was. He asked what we were looking for and we told him. "There was an American flyer shot down over Cugny, but that's World War II. I'll asked my buddy." Which he did. Soon the four of us were talking it over and the "buddy", who was obviously a local from way back did indeed remember the place where the American from WWI was buried. "Just along the road, under the brambles. I'll show you."
The four of us climbed back in the car, drove past Détroit Bleu and on into Petit Détroit. "Drive slow now, " said our guide."Now there, " he said, pointing at a wild rose bush. "There's the place. No stone, only the rose bush. But if you want to really know about all this, I know just the person. I'll introduce you. She's a bit talkative, but even so..." We circled around and stopped by the last house in a little conglomeration. Our guide went in to warn of our coming.He reappeared shortly and motioned us all in.
We were seated around the kitchen table when Mrs. Charrier made her entrance, a sprightly 91 year-old with a great deal of sparkle in her eyes. She was bearing a photograph of McConnell's grave taken by her husband-to-be in around 1922. She herself was in the picture, next to her mother. It washer mother who had found McConnell's body.
Mrs. Charrier told us the story. The Germans had evacuated the inhabitants of her village back to Neuville, as they intended to blow it up, as was their custom when retreating. March 1917. Our informant was herself 16 or 17 at the time and the Germans, in anticipation of a French advance, were pulling back to a new defensive position. (Blérancourt was left to the French). America had not yet entered the war.
Mrs. Charrier's mother would sneak through the woods every day to check on her house and property. She witnessed the dogfight between the German and American planes, but did not realize that anyone had fallen. Some time later, she was curious about some unmelted snow out on the field near her farm and found that she had been looking at the white wings of McConnell's airplane. It was then that she discovered the body of this "handsome young man" and went and found some French soldiers. They insisted that first his identification tags be taken, and then they buried him. It was the French soldiers who built the typical WWI monument for McConnell. But it was Mrs. Charrier's mother who planted the flowers and maintained the grave.
The local children used to come to McConnell's grave on the U.S. holiday of Memorial Day and decorate it with flowers. Our guide suddenly remembered that he himself had done that and that is why he remembered where the grave was. "There was no road like that back then, " he commented.
Later, the Lafayette Escadrille people came and exhumed McConnell's body which they then took and reburied, along with the bodies of other members of the Escadrille who had fallen, at the Lafayette Memorial near Marne-la-Coquette.Much later, a local farmer did away with McConnell's military grave represented in Mrs. Charrier's picture.
Some of McConnell's family came and visited the Charriers. She didn't know what relation they were since, being rather young, they might not have been his parents. They came bearing gifts. Letters came afterwards, but nobody in the area knew enough English to translate them.
Alan Albright, Paris, July 1993
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