When Carson Valley’s Men Left for War . . . .
The date was September 5, 1917. War had been raging in Europe for three long years — a war that the United States had largely stayed out of, so far. But by that fall, the time for fence-sitting was over.
The Selective Service Act had been signed by Pres. Woodrow Wilson on May 18. Uncle Sam needed recruits. And on that sunny September day, Carson Valley’s first two young men were sent off to war.
Governor Emmet D. Boyle had proclaimed the day a state holiday, allowing citizens in all sixteen counties in Nevada to share in “the most remarkable mobilization of all history.” Businesses were closed. Patriotic displays were organized. In keeping with the solemnity of the occasion, even the saloons didn’t open.
The first two “boys” from Carson Valley (as the Record-Courier called them) – Clarence Anderson and Edward Granata – were given a “great farewell” on September 5th as they departed for military training, with hundreds of well-wishers gathering at the train depot in Minden to see them off. The pair were presented with “suitably engraved” watches by Valley citizens as a token of their appreciation. Warm handshakes followed. A hurriedly-assembled band struck up The Star Spangled Banner. Finally, a rousing three cheers were sent Heavenward – and as the train pulled out, the “boys” were on their way.
Anderson and Granata may have been the first young lads from the Valley to be sent off to war. But they were hardly the last who would heed the call to fight this “war to end all wars.”
On September 21, 1917, a second, larger group of recruits was escorted to the Minden train station by what the newspaper called a crowd of “thousands.”
This time, the send-off ceremony included speeches, and a farewell address “tinged with patriotism and sadness.” These recruits, too, received military watches, presented by the “fairest young ladies” of the local high school. Afterward, a procession of school children led by a band marched from the courthouse on Eighth Street to the depot, while the recruits were whisked there by automobile. It is likely this send-off that was captured in the colorized photo at the beginning of this story.
Accompanied by “cheers and tears,” six youthful draftees boarded the train for Camp Lewis in Washington, “where they will be trained as Uncle Sam’s fighting men,” the newspaper said. It proudly named them all: Hans Jensen, Henry Cagliari, Jens P. Fischer, A. Fabbri, Joe Mack and George Dutchy. The last two were Washoe men; Dutchy, the newspaper noted, was leaving a wife and several children behind. (Parmer Snooks, another Native American, would enlist the following year.)
That second group wasn’t the last. Businesses were closed again two weeks later as a third group of draftees was sent off to war on October 5. Once again, recruits were honored at the old Courthouse, then escorted to the train by an honor guard of children. A total of eight men had been drafted: Fred Michelotti, Charles Williams, Donald Wayne Everett, Masao Myasako, John Christensen, Colden R. McInnis, Bernard Aldax, Francis Canonica, and one man from Calaveras County, Robert I. Lewis. Two Alpine County men would also enlist not long thereafter: Lloyd Darby and Harry Fleming, of Woodfords. The young men carried with them the community’s hope that (as one news column put it) “democracy might triumph over Prussianism.”
For most of the new recruits, Camp Lewis was their next destination. Everett, however, expressed conscientious objection to the war on religious grounds; as a result, he was sent instead to the Army’s disciplinary center on Alcatraz Island. Three weeks later, however, Everett formally requested military training as a non-combatant. The local draft board was only too happy to wire back its permission, and Everett, too, was sent off to Camp Lewis for training.
By April, 1918, some “thirty-odd boys” from Douglas County were in Uncle Sam’s service. And by the following September, as many as 102 Douglas County men were off at war. Many received regular copies of the local Record-Courier while overseas to help keep their spirits high, courtesy of the publisher’s generosity.
Special photos were often taken before loved ones ventured off to war. One professional Reno photographer’s ad addressed young draftees directly, noting that a photo left behind would “cheer those who cannot serve as you serve, but whose hearts are with you.”
Advertisements also urged those at home to support their soldiers by buying Liberty Bonds to “strike a blow for American freedom.” The fighting might be going on in Europe, they noted, but financial support through war bonds was a way citizens could help to win it here at home.
Rationing wasn’t implemented during World War I in the same way it would be in the next war. But materials like cotton, wool, and steel were still prioritized for military use. Wool was especially in demand for military uniforms. So even women’s fashions changed in response; silk, for instance, was promoted as the patriotic alternative. And, in deference to the sober war-time mood of the country, less ornate styles with fewer frills and boxier, more “military-looking” jackets were embraced as a patriotic effort.
Some Douglas recruits suffered war wounds or illnesses. Following a stint at the front, where he’d mercifully “escaped without a scratch,” Genoan Carl Syll wrote home to his parents in October 1918 that he now was in an overseas hospital, and had been for over two weeks. He promised to “tell all” when he got home, but assured them his condition was “nothing serious.” Still, he added, he couldn’t wait for the war to be over; “it will be some happy day when we hit the land of sunshine again. We hardly know what the sun looks like any more; it rains here almost constantly.”
And four of the local men sent off to war from Douglas County would never come home alive.
John G. Terzi, a Swiss native who’d worked on local ranches, died of pneumonia on December 23, 1917 at Camp Kearny, California. Although exempt from military service as a foreign national, he nevertheless volunteered for duty and was among the first recruits sent off to Camp Lewis. After his death, local citizens paid to have his body returned from San Diego, and he was buried at Garden Cemetery.
Earl Franklin Jepsen tried to enlist early in the war, but was refused at first by the medical examiners due to his poor eyesight. He persevered, however, and was eventually accepted and sent to Camp Lewis in June, 1918. By the 20th of August he was overseas in France, where Jepsen became part of the 308th Infantry, 77th Division. He was serving as a runner carrying messages to the front line when he fell in battle on October 4, 1918, somewhere east of Binarville — just weeks before the war would end. It took several years, but Jepsen’s remains were eventually returned to the States. He is buried at the Presidio in San Francisco. Before leaving for the service, he had worked as a janitor at the same Douglas County courthouse where he’d said his goodbyes.
Carmelo Bloisi, an Italian who received his U.S. citizenship when he enlisted, died in France on October 8, 1918, also shortly before the war’s end, during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive.
And Clarence Frevert died of pneumonia at Fort Riley October 17, 1918, where he had been assigned to the ambulance corps, transporting sick soldiers during the influenza epidemic. Frevert died one week after he himself fell ill. He, too, is buried at Garden Cemetery.
The Great War finally ended with the armistice on November 11, 1918 — the date we still celebrate as Veterans Day. But even before the war ended, William Dangberg of Minden had begun planning for a monument to honor those who had served.
A committee was formed to raise money, and the “monument” idea became a plaque. Finally, on Carson Valley Day, June 11, 1922, the current 3-foot-by-5-foot bronze plaque was unveiled at the Minden Courthouse, honoring the men from Douglas County who served during the First World War. Its cost: about $1,050 – equivalent to more than $21,000 today.
One hundred twenty-six names are engraved on that plaque. Three are marked with a small star to reflect that they not only served but gave their lives during that war. Sadly, John G. Terzi’s name somehow was omitted. So the total really should have been 127. Terzi’s name, too, should have featured a star.
In 1924, the State of Nevada published a memorial book called “Nevada’s Golden Stars” compiling photos and biographies of all the servicemen from Nevada who never made it home — a gift to the men’s surviving families, and a way to ensure their sacrifice is never forgotten.
If you’d like to read their stories, you can find them here.