As far as we know, no known Communists are buried at Arlington.
—Lt. Col. DOUGLAS C. JONES,
Defense Department,
January 28,1966
In 1949, Sylvia Thompson’s second husband, Robert Thompson, a highly decorated veteran of World War Two, was among ten other top leaders of the American Communist Party charged under the Smith Act with “conspiracy to advocate the overthrow of the government with force and violence.” He served a total of five years in prison. Upon his death in 1965, Sylvia wished to bury him at Arlington National Cemetery.
I thought a lot about Bob even before I met him, because when Sam Hall was having his brain surgery in September ’53,1 it was just about the time that Bob Thompson was hit over the head in prison. The cosh he got on the head almost killed him, and certainly the results of which he suffered the rest of his life. And I was thinking that here were two men, both with head problems, one was getting the best neurosurgeon in this country and the other had a prison doctor. Bob was hit on the head by a Yugoslav fascist who was supposed to be deported the next day. Bob always wondered who within the government could have been responsible for that incident. A prisoner in a cafeteria line does not come across a big piece of lead pipe—it just doesn’t happen.
Bob came out of prison after three and a half years, which was his sentence, but he was still under indictment. There was an administrative thing that anyone jumping bail would be given extra time. There was an appeal as to whether he would have to serve an extra year and a half for jumping bail. When he came out of prison, he and his wife separated, and I met him shortly thereafter. Later, he did have to go back to jail for that year and a half. Actually, he was given less than some of the other Smith Act victims because of his war record.
He was never a well person all the time I knew him. He had a very large metal plate in his skull, and one doctor told me he had as much plate in his head as was possible for a person to have and still have his faculties.
Bob died on a Saturday morning in the middle of October 1965. He was to appear later that day as a leader of the first big anti—Vietnam War parade to take place in New York. Someone got word to the leaders of the parade that he had died that morning, and I remember being told by so many that when it was announced there was a hush through the whole crowd because it was so unexpected. He was fifty years old at the time of his death.
It just made sense to me that he should be buried in Arlington Cemetery. The man was a soldier—he led a battalion in Spain and he won the Distinguished Service Cross2 in World War Two. And there were those who said that had he not been a Communist he would have won the Congressional Medal of Honor. As a matter of fact, Bob used to tell me how MacArthur would talk to him, and I wondered why a general would speak with a sergeant.
This was a man who had no formal education. Bob went to work with his father in logging camps when he was twelve years old. Anyway, he was proud of his record in Spain and of what he accomplished in the South Pacific, and he knew the thousands of American lives he was responsible for having saved because of that bridgehead he established on the enemy side of the river.
I’d received a letter from the Army, the superintendent of the cemetery, saying the interment was approved and I should let them know what day I wanted and how many people would be coming with me. The ashes were sent to Arlington, and there were a few articles in the New York Times about it. About a week before the interment was to take place, I had a call at my job from a general in the Army, saying the government had changed its mind and I should let them know where I wanted the ashes to be returned.
I called friends to let them know what happened, and a close friend called back saying that CBS wanted it on the news that evening. There was an interview, and then an attorney for the ACLU in Washington was interviewed. The next day I met with an ACLU attorney who agreed that the ACLU would take up what then became known as the Arlington case. It’s probably one of the pettiest things that I can think of that the government could do.3 The reason they cooked up was that anyone who was guilty of a felony who served as long as five years in jail could be denied burial in Arlington. It’s pretty well known that there’s one Nazi, a prisoner of World War Two, who is buried there.
Bob had received the Distinguished Service Cross, he’d been injured during World War Two, he was recognized as a hero. It was a pretty brutal thing. It took three years for the case to be resolved. There were all kinds of briefs on the part of the ACLU, the government kept appealing. It was a long battle. Much came out of it in those years.
Bob was a very modest person—he rarely talked about himself. He was very self-effacing. I learned more about him during the three years of the Arlington struggle than I learned when I lived with him. I’m not talking about ordinary details, but about the regard people had for his courage and abilities.
Apparently, Bob’s lieutenant and captain thought so highly of him that they went to him for advice. That’s in letters that appeared in newspapers in the Midwest, that he was really in charge. I understand that his name was submitted several times for officership but was always turned down because of his politics. Bob told me that they would talk to him about how it was a shame about his politics, he should have been a full-time military person. [Laughs.] This is a man who never went through junior high school.
There’s a place in Haymarket Square where William Z. Foster and the Haymarket Seven are buried, and it’s seen as a very hallowed ground for the Left.4 There’s only a handful buried there. But I just felt that Arlington was proper. A lot of people didn’t understand that. It’s what Bob would have wanted. What he did in World War Two was something that he was very proud of, and he knew his worth as a soldier. He thought of himself partly in terms of the two wars in which he’d fought. Soldiering had been part of his life, and to me it was only fitting that he be buried in Arlington.
Bobby Kennedy submitted two editorials from the Washington papers to the Senate floor. He also was quoted by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., in Bitter Heritage. He’s talking about phony patriotism and things that could happen as a result of that. Schlesinger says, “Thus an American Communist, who had won our country’s second-highest decoration, the Distinguished Service Cross, for extraordinary heroism in the Second World War, has been forbidden burial in Arlington Cemetery.” Then he goes on to quote Bobby. “So Robert Kennedy read aloud on the floor of the Senate an editorial from the Washington Daily News condemning the decision not to bury the Communist war hero in Arlington. ‘We learn from our mistakes,’ the editorial said, ‘and one of our lessons is that to hate and harry the sinner to his grave is hardly in the American tradition.’ Robert Kennedy was later heard to say somberly that he did not think that anyone now buried in Arlington would object to the holder of the Distinguished Service Cross lying there, so he could not see why veterans’ organizations were so agitated about it.”
On Thanksgiving Day, 1988, a friend of mine was in Washington with his wife and kids. Because his son was named after Bob, he asked for the grave site number and location at Arlington so he could take his children to the grave. He called to tell me that the marker had been vandalized and there was red paint splattered over the name and part of the inscription. He took pictures of the marker, and after I had the roll of film developed, I wrote to the superintendent of the cemetery. I also wrote to my own congressperson and I wrote to Senator Ted Kennedy. I sent Senator Kennedy and the congressman photos of the vandalized marker. I informed the superintendent how upset and indignant I was that such a thing could happen in a national cemetery. I had an immediate answer from Senator Kennedy, assuring me that the marker had been cleaned up and restored. I also had a letter from the superintendent of the cemetery apologizing for what happened. But since then, I must tell you that once a year I have someone go by Arlington Cemetery to check out Bob’s grave site to make sure it hasn’t happened again.
That was the Arlington case. What a crime to have had to go to court for the simple act of burying a man who was an acknowledged hero in two of the Army’s own official histories.5 So when you think the McCarthy period ended in the middle fifties, forget it. It took a fight up to the beginning of 1969 for the right for his ashes to be interred in Arlington Cemetery.
1For more on Sam Hall and Sylvia Thompson, sec her stories under “Five Minutes to Midnight” and “Fighting Jim Crow.”
2A U.S. Army decoration, second only to the Congressional Medal of Honor, awarded for extraordinary heroism in combat.
3While still in prison and recovering from his head wound, Thompson learned from the Veterans Administration that under a clause excluding persons guilty of “mutiny, treason, or sabotage,” his war-casualty pension had been stopped.
4On May 1,1886, 350,000 workers nationwide struck for the eight-hour day. During a rally held three days later in Chicago’s Haymarket Square, a bomb was thrown, killing several policemen. Firing into the crowd, the police killed or wounded at least two hundred protesters. Eight labor leaders were later arrested and charged with murder. Only one, the main speaker, had actually attended the rally. One received fifteen years, three were sentenced to life imprisonment, and on November 11, 1887, the remaining four were hung. Years later, it was concluded that Rudolph Schnaubelt, a sometime anarchist and police agent, actually threw the bomb. Out of Haymarket Square grew the significance of May Day as an international labor day.
William Z. Foster (1881–1961) led the great steel strike of 1919 and later served as national secretary of the Communist Party of America. In 1949 he was charged under the Smith Act, along with other top leaders of the CPA. His case was severed because of his ill health.
5Victory in Papua (Washington, D.C.: Office of Chief of Military History, 1957) and 32d Infantry Division, World War II (Madison, Wis.: Bureau of Purchases, 1957).