TRANSCRIBED FROM THE ARKANSAS GAZETTE DECEMBER 15, 1918 P. 25
November 16:
Your letter of October 4 came a few days ago, but there has been so very much excitement for the past few days that I have been unable to sit myself down to write a letter, everybody and everything has been bubbling with joy over our glorious victory that we have spent the week celebrating.
This war has meant worlds and worlds to everybody and everything except those poor fellows that paid the supreme sacrifice—and they will never know the difference. It would have been the same had I been dumped off in one of the grand melees at the front. The old world goes on just the same. Americans have had a wonderful experience over here.
But let me tell you something about what happened over here when we learned that the Germans had capitulated. We knew the Boche had until 11 o’clock Monday to sign the armistice and we were expecting something to happen. Sure enough at 11 o’clock Monday we were notified that the Germans had come across and you never saw such that followed. At camp the old steam rollers whistled and puffed, soldiers let out whoops of joy, and everyone felt fine. The joy was more impressed on my mind when I hit Paris about 6 o’clock Monday evening. The town was wild and you never saw such rejoicing. Americans, French, English and all were celebrating. And take it from me that everybody enjoyed themselves. We all got happy and I saw some of the funniest things in my young life.
Believe me, Americans got the best welcome of them all. Parades passed each other on the boulevards—one right after the other. The streets were jammed and wild revelry filled the air. American flags were everywhere—at the head of parades, in windows and in all of the most conspicuous places. There was an American flag for every French flag and scores of American flags for every other allied flag. Gee, it made me glad to know that I was an American. Believe me, these French certainly showed us how very much they appreciated our wonderful army and all that we have done for France. They understand.
On Tuesday work stopped at noon at camp, so we all went to town and when we got to Paris at 1:30 the mobs were beyond control. People were thicker on the streets than bees in a hive. I have never seen people so thick. They surged up and down the sidewalks and boulevards just like ocean waves, and if you got caught in the surf you had to go with it—you could not resist.
Parades followed parades, up and down the avenues, and Old Glory was at the head of every procession. Cafes and restaurants were over filled, speeches were made from the tables and no one was responsible. Gay Paree! Say, I never hope to see another night like that one. I wasn’t responsible for what I did that night either.
I was in a party of six from camp. As we attempted to go up the boulevard, we were intercepted by bands of French. They ran rings around us and before we could get out we had to kiss all the girls for the victory. That was a pleasant job, but we had to do it, so much that after a while it got tiresome. Americans, Americans, they were the whole cheese. And kissing in the true French style, you know, know, requires two kisses—one on either cheek. So you can imagine how many times we were kissed and also how many times we got kissed. All Americans were greeted the same. I never saw anything like it. Such a sight I have never witnessed. But the worst was yet to come.
Nearly every day and night this week has been as bad, and Sunday will be another large day for us all. These are rare days in Paris and I am tickled to death that I am here to enjoy them. Aside from Monday and Tuesday night, I don’t suppose there will be any livelier time in Paris except possibly the night of the day when the victorious allied armies march under the Triumphal Arch, en the Champs, Elysees. That will be a day of all days and I am going to be on some Frenchman’s neck with my kodak taking pictures.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Lieutenant John Marshall Shackleford to his father John D. Shackleford of Little Rock, Arkansas. John M. was with the 650th. Aero Squadron. He was tall and medium body type with brown eyes and light brown hair. He was born November 20, 1895. After the war, he moved to El Dorado and was mayor there several years. He died January 11, 1968 and is buried in the Woodlawn Cemetery, El Dorado.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.
November 16:
Your letter of October 4 came a few days ago, but there has been so very much excitement for the past few days that I have been unable to sit myself down to write a letter, everybody and everything has been bubbling with joy over our glorious victory that we have spent the week celebrating.
This war has meant worlds and worlds to everybody and everything except those poor fellows that paid the supreme sacrifice—and they will never know the difference. It would have been the same had I been dumped off in one of the grand melees at the front. The old world goes on just the same. Americans have had a wonderful experience over here.
But let me tell you something about what happened over here when we learned that the Germans had capitulated. We knew the Boche had until 11 o’clock Monday to sign the armistice and we were expecting something to happen. Sure enough at 11 o’clock Monday we were notified that the Germans had come across and you never saw such that followed. At camp the old steam rollers whistled and puffed, soldiers let out whoops of joy, and everyone felt fine. The joy was more impressed on my mind when I hit Paris about 6 o’clock Monday evening. The town was wild and you never saw such rejoicing. Americans, French, English and all were celebrating. And take it from me that everybody enjoyed themselves. We all got happy and I saw some of the funniest things in my young life.
Believe me, Americans got the best welcome of them all. Parades passed each other on the boulevards—one right after the other. The streets were jammed and wild revelry filled the air. American flags were everywhere—at the head of parades, in windows and in all of the most conspicuous places. There was an American flag for every French flag and scores of American flags for every other allied flag. Gee, it made me glad to know that I was an American. Believe me, these French certainly showed us how very much they appreciated our wonderful army and all that we have done for France. They understand.
On Tuesday work stopped at noon at camp, so we all went to town and when we got to Paris at 1:30 the mobs were beyond control. People were thicker on the streets than bees in a hive. I have never seen people so thick. They surged up and down the sidewalks and boulevards just like ocean waves, and if you got caught in the surf you had to go with it—you could not resist.
Parades followed parades, up and down the avenues, and Old Glory was at the head of every procession. Cafes and restaurants were over filled, speeches were made from the tables and no one was responsible. Gay Paree! Say, I never hope to see another night like that one. I wasn’t responsible for what I did that night either.
I was in a party of six from camp. As we attempted to go up the boulevard, we were intercepted by bands of French. They ran rings around us and before we could get out we had to kiss all the girls for the victory. That was a pleasant job, but we had to do it, so much that after a while it got tiresome. Americans, Americans, they were the whole cheese. And kissing in the true French style, you know, know, requires two kisses—one on either cheek. So you can imagine how many times we were kissed and also how many times we got kissed. All Americans were greeted the same. I never saw anything like it. Such a sight I have never witnessed. But the worst was yet to come.
Nearly every day and night this week has been as bad, and Sunday will be another large day for us all. These are rare days in Paris and I am tickled to death that I am here to enjoy them. Aside from Monday and Tuesday night, I don’t suppose there will be any livelier time in Paris except possibly the night of the day when the victorious allied armies march under the Triumphal Arch, en the Champs, Elysees. That will be a day of all days and I am going to be on some Frenchman’s neck with my kodak taking pictures.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Lieutenant John Marshall Shackleford to his father John D. Shackleford of Little Rock, Arkansas. John M. was with the 650th. Aero Squadron. He was tall and medium body type with brown eyes and light brown hair. He was born November 20, 1895. After the war, he moved to El Dorado and was mayor there several years. He died January 11, 1968 and is buried in the Woodlawn Cemetery, El Dorado.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT.