Many good Americans have died fighting for this country and there was one guy in my outfit who was a conscientious objector—but once he was in the thick of battle, he fought like a true American and almost captured the whole d—nmed German Army single-handed. His name was Alvin York and he was a hero.
—Otis Merrithew (aka William B. Cutting),
21 October 1965
The life and legacy of Alvin C. York continues to have an influence on the American psyche. This fixation has as much to do with his battlefield heroism as it does with his lifelong legacy of trying to make a lasting contribution to improve the lives of his people. It is this that perhaps makes him stand out among so many other worthy heroes of the Great War. Clearly, it was the 8 October 1918 battle in the Argonne that brought Alvin notoriety, but it was what he did with the fame that so impressed his nation. It was York’s endeavor to use his name and fame to build schools, to help the poor and needy in Tennessee’s Cumberland Valley, that served as evidence to the public at large that this man was “the real thing.”
Considering this, it seems that there were two major turning points in the life of Alvin York. The first was his conversion to Christianity on 1 January 1915. It was this which brought a moral and personal transformation that set the conditions for Alvin’s subsequent life. It also led him to initially object to military service and then, once that matter was resolved, gave him the spiritual assurance that no matter what happened, he would come out alive. It also gave him the humility to use his fame to help others. Without his conversion, York would have faded into history as so many had, and certainly would not have performed as he did on the field of battle. This is because his new faith was the basis of his confidence and resolve, and laid the foundation from which he went on to accomplish what he did. The second turning point was the 8 October 1918 Argonne battle, which brought him renown and forever changed his life. Both of these dates are inseparably and firmly linked. For York, one could not have transpired without the other.
Of course, throughout his life, and even to this day, there has been a string of detractors who question whether the York saga is genuine, or the result of propaganda. Usually the detractors suggest that his feat of 8 October 1918 was contrived, or exaggerated for some nefarious reason. Another tactic employed by his detractors is to belittle him by portraying his religion in a negative light. Both of these approaches require attention.
The subtle approach of assailing York’s fundamentalist type of Christianity seems more informed by a postmodern negative view of faith in general than by fact. Earlier biographers and writers on York from the interwar period never questioned his faith. Writing at a time when church attendance was still the norm and faith was more widely accepted, authors such as Thomas Skeyhill and Sam Cowan treated York’s beliefs respectfully. Modern writers, however, use harsh words or phrases when addressing Alvin’s deep faith, calling it a volatile mixture of faith and violence. They assume, reflecting the cynicism of our age, that faith is naive, irrational, and misguided.
In fact, York’s faith seems more in line with New Testament practices of grace, mercy, and kindness than modern-day detractors would have one otherwise believe. For instance, when York was thrown in with his rowdy, partying platoonmates, there is no record that he condemned, judged, or otherwise told them that he disapproved of their drinking and womanizing. Instead, York and his friend Murray Savage sought to live out their faith in honesty and integrity in the army without casting aspersions on those who lived differently. York looked to his own house and did not sit in judgmental condemnation over those who did not share his faith. It was this that impressed his officers. Despite his moral dilemma, York tried not to cause trouble in his unit, and whatever work he was given, he did it to the best of his ability. This may in part explain why Major G. Edward Buxton and Captain E. C. B. Danforth tried so hard to convince him to fight for his nation as a Christian. This is also borne out by the fact that there is no derogatory information in his service record. Furthermore, his church proved that it was not so strict and legalistic as to excommunicate him for fighting in the war.
Finally, what of York’s detractors, those who assailed his integrity and character? York answered the critics without harsh censure. The only time he defended his war record was in May 1919, when a New York Times reporter made a fabricated claim that there were those in his unit who questioned his Medal of Honor. York remarked, “Sure ’nough? Well the [soldiers] made affidavits … that I had done all the things claimed.”1 Years later, when Merrithew (aka Cutting) attacked York’s war record, York refused to be baited to discuss the matter. Such is the measure of a man walking in grace and freedom, and not under the self-righteous patterns of a stern and “volatile mixture of faith and violence.”
The most common approach to undercut York is to question the accuracy of the 8 October 1918 Argonne action. Although it is true that newsmen and other York boosters added hyperbole and exaggeration to what transpired, neither York nor the army ever claimed that he single-handedly mastered the Germans that day. As this study demonstrates, based upon the archival record, battlefield archeology, ballistic forensic evidence, and analysis done by the nation’s leaders in these fields, what was claimed by York and the army about the action did happen. However, we now know that York did have good help in that battle, which the army investigation of 1919 alludes to, with the ballistic evidence specifically pointing to Private Percy Beardsley. Beardsley had the opportunity during the division’s investigation in 1919 to “blow his own horn,” but instead he took the honorable road. York was not aware of how important Beardsley’s support was that day, being focused on the charging enemy. Despite this, York continuously mentioned the other men who were with him in that fight and never claimed or alluded to being a “one-man army.”
Another increasingly popular approach to undermine what York accomplished on 8 October 1918 is to dismissively suggest that those Germans were eager to quit the war. However, such an assertion is not supported by historic fact. If the Germans were in such a poor condition, why did they fight so hard? When York’s sister battalion (1st Battalion) attacked through Châtel Chéhéry on 7 October 1918 to seize Hill 223, they suffered their highest single-day casualty rate of their service in the Great War. It seems doubtful that they were facing a broken force of old and battle-weary Germans. Likewise, when York’s unit attacked into the Argonne the next day, they too suffered their highest one-day casualty rate in World War I. Historically stated, the Germans fighting in the Argonne were not eager to quit, but rather did their best to make the Americans pay for every foot of ground.
Even the lead detachment of the 210th Prussians, who were caught eating breakfast that 8 October morning, redeemed themselves thereafter. When York’s unit clashed with them a week later near the Kriemhilde Stellung, they fought tenaciously. So it was all along the line. Although these were not the same fresh troops of 1914, they knew how to fight and did so until the Armistice went into effect, causing nearly eleven thousand Allied casualties in the last hours of the war, more than the American losses in Normandy over a twenty-four-hour period on 6 June 1944. (It will be remembered that the Great War ended at 11:00 A.M.).
Another popular theme among York’s detractors is to avoid talking about the history and instead suggest that there was some great conspiracy to elevate York because “America needed a hero.” The premise is that since York was Caucasian, Protestant, and Anglo, he fit the mold of an American hero. This weak hypothesis goes on to suggest that because of this ethnic-religious blend, York was given special treatment and elevated above all other heroes of that time. Yet nothing could be further from reality.2
First, York would have been more palatable had he been from a mainline denomination, and not from a fundamentalist, “back to the Bible” branch of Christianity. Furthermore, there was no clamoring for a hero in 1918, as scores of them were being written about and introduced to the public. Even the Ladies’ Home Journal touted heroes for some years after the war had ended. Frankly, modern writers making these statements that “America needed a hero” betray their ignorance of the period.3 Indeed, there were heroes aplenty, as one would expect from 1.2 million men fighting in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. In addition, there were scores of national heroes available from the other campaigns fought by the AEF on the Marne, in Belleau Woods, Cantigny, etc. America had plenty of heroes. It was not looking for another one, especially not York, at least not yet.
York’s rise as an icon had more to do with the personal initiative of the war artist Joseph Chase in contacting reporter George Pattullo than with some sort of government orchestration. It was Pattullo’s article in the Saturday Evening Post that gave York notoriety, and then the initiative of the Tennessee Society, which wanted its native son to have a celebration in New York City. This denotes the acts of private citizens and not some national conspiracy to elevate a hero. Understandably, both Chase and Pattullo were intrigued by York’s unique story. They both correctly noted something unusual in York’s going from objector to fighter.
This begs the question then, why does York continue to stand out as an American icon while hundreds of other Great War heroes have been virtually forgotten? It appears that York stood out for a number of reasons, not least of which being what he did with his fame. Had he been a typical person, he would have accepted the offers of fame, made his fortune, and then perhaps faded from the collective memory. Yet Alvin York was different. He not only refused offers to become rich, but as soon as he could, he returned to Tennessee to go back to his life as a farmer.
Adding to this curious case, after Alvin returned to Pall Mall he realized that he could not let life go on in the Cumberland Valley in blissful ignorance. With that awareness, he used his fame to build schools and make other improvements to life in the region. He did this not to enrich himself, but to help others. Adding to his unique personality, York typically refused to talk about his war experience. When his heroism was mentioned, he dispelled ideas that he acted alone and continually pointed to the fact that there were other men with him. When Cowan and later Skeyhill came forward to write a book on York’s experience, he agreed to their doing so only so that he could use the money to build and maintain his schools. That he died a pauper is testimony to the fact that the money he raised went to the schools, and not his bank account. York’s continual touring of the nation to solicit donations for his school projects also had the effect of keeping his heroism alive in the memories of the general public.
Some writers suggest that Alvin was a confused isolationist, wanting to withdraw the nation behind the oceans, as it had been before the Great War. This is a misrepresentation of the facts. Like most people even today, York preferred that the nation fight only defensive wars. However, as the threat of Japan and Germany became clear, he was one of the very few public voices calling the nation to arms. To be sure, the 1930s were a turbulent era for the United States. It was reeling from the Great Depression, with the preponderance of the public and politicians demanding some form of isolationism. This was endorsed by America’s most popular citizen, Charles Lindbergh, and bolstered by the America First Committee under the political leadership of U.S. senators Gerald P. Nye and Burton Wheeler.4 It was at this point that the United States needed a hero, someone of credible public influence to withstand the political clout of the anti-interventionalists. That hero would be York. York’s credentials were already established, and the attempts of earlier detractors to damage his reputation had largely failed.
In 1936, at the height of the isolationist grip on power, York called the nation to stop Japanese aggression in China. In 1938 he was calling the nation to “knock Hitler off of the block.” York, on his own initiative, and at the risk of being condemned as a warmonger (the approach of Senator Nye), took the unpopular position of calling the nation to military intervention. This could have hurt him both personally and publicly, in that by taking such a stand his endeavors to raise money for his Bible school would suffer. At this point, he was virtually a solitary voice taking on the influential Lindbergh and the powerful anti-interventionalist senators in Washington, making his cause a rather brave position to take up at that time.
York’s prediction about another war with Germany and his public view on Hitler and Nazism proved correct. With this in mind, Jesse Lasky came forth with the proposal in 1940 for making the Sergeant York movie and successfully appealed to Alvin’s patriotism to convince him to do it. It was this movie that would forever burn the York saga into the collective memory of the American identity. Interestingly, the movie would propel York to such renown that he is even used as a comparison for other nations in propelling their own heroes, with Canada claiming their own Sergeant York in Normandy in 1944 and the Red Chinese in their 1949 civil war.5
There seems to be much that appealed to the American public in the movie at that time. In one sense, York served as a bridge between America’s colonial past and the World War II generation. He looked like a modern Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone to many, and personified the minuteman ideals of the farmer-soldier of the American Revolution putting down his plow to take up his rifle and fight off the Redcoats, or in this case the Germans. But there is more to the saga. The Sergeant York movie not only presented the past; it also represented the present.
When Sergeant York came out in 1941 the nation was literally preparing for war. Never before was a movie so well timed to reflect what the average American family was going through in real life. The scene of York registering for the draft in 1917 was really happening to millions of young Americans in 1941. The portrayal of York saying good-bye to his tearful mother and crying girlfriend was being played out around the nation. Americans saw themselves reflected in York, if not as him, then as the girl being left behind, the mother, brother, sister, or others seeing a loved one off to war. The young man, registering for the draft, saw himself in watching York deal with the moral dilemma of killing in the name of his country, and then, the struggle to fit in with strange and different recruits from around the nation.
Such serendipitous timing served to engrave the ideals of Alvin York on an entire generation, who would then keep his name alive for generations to come. In this way, York represented not only the First World War generation but also the Second World War generation. He seems to personify how and what Americans thought of themselves, and the value of seeking the greater good of the nation.
Alvin C. York proved to be a hero throughout his life. He took politically unsafe positions in the 1930s to call the nation to arms, he nearly went broke to build schools, and he gave more back to his community and nation than his community and nation gave to him. Throughout it all he never compromised his faith. The decision he made in 1915 to become a Christian was the single most important point in his life and was the hinge on which everything else he put his hands to swung. It was this that made him the hero in the end, as he actually lived up to the lofty ideals that Americans believed about themselves. In York many saw a connection with America’s past, perhaps a glimpse into the nation’s founding fathers, or the pioneers of old. This unassuming, modest man appealed to the very soul of America, even those struggling with the ideas of isolationism and war, Christianity and peace, and the rise of America as a global power. Only when pressed and all other options had been exhausted did York take the call to arms. This seemed a shadow of the nation’s own struggle with going to war.
Despite being repeatedly tempted to compromise his faith, he consistently chose the right over the expedient. Whether being surrounded by French wine and women in 1918, the enemy in the Argonne, or hostile board members in Jamestown in 1934, York endeavored to do the right thing. Had he watered down his beliefs to appeal to the public at large, or given in to the temptations that come with fame and money, York’s name would have become a byword for our cynical postmodern generation. It was, however, his faith in daily choosing to walk his talk that continues to intrigue people.
For some, his personal testimony is too much to bear, and they seek a way to cast aspersions on him to avoid the conviction that one must face when looking into the life of a genuine hero. Yet, with York we find a man who was faithful in both the small and big things, in his private and public life. Meanwhile, for others, Alvin York serves as an example of what one can accomplish in choosing this day to serve the Lord. York remains an interesting subject of discourse not only because of what he did, but also for what he believed. Either way, it is evident that in the case of Alvin York, he lived life well and left behind a legacy worthy of emulation.