Chapter III: Boyhood and Student Days

IN the family were three boys and three girls (of the nine children) that lived to manhood and womanhood. Ward, the general's younger brother, an officer in the Spanish-American war, is dead. Lieutenant Paddock married the General's sister, Grace. He died in China during the Boxer uprising. Two other sisters now reside in Lincoln and a brother is in business in Chicago.

The writer quoted above also says, "John was always settled as a boy. There was nothing sensational or spectacular about him. He had the confidence of everybody." Another of his boyhood chums writes: "John Pershing was a clean, straight, well behaved young fellow. He never was permitted to loaf around on the streets. Nobody jumped on him and he didn't jump on anybody. He attended strictly to his own business. He had his lessons when he went to class. He was not a big talker. He said a lot in a few words, and didn't try to cut any swell. He was a hard student. He was not brilliant, but firm, solid and would hang on to the very last. We used to study our lessons together evenings. About nine-thirty or ten o'clock, I'd say:

"'John, how are you coming?'

"'Pretty stubborn.'

"'Better go to bed, hadn't we?'

"'No, Charley, I'm going to work this out.'"

One, who distinctly recalls him as a boy, describes him: "His hair was light and curly. He had large black eyes; was square-jawed and was iron-willed. His shoulders were square, and he was straight as an arrow. He had a firm, set mouth and a high forehead, and even as a boy was a dignified chap. And yet he was thoroughly democratic in his manner and belief."

Another, who was a playmate, has the following tribute: "As a boy Pershing was not unlike thousands of other boys of his age, enjoying the same pleasures and games as his other boyhood companions. He knew the best places to shoot squirrels or quail, knew where to find the hazel or hickory nuts. He knew, too, where the coolest and deepest swimming pools in the Locust, Muddy or Turkey creeks were. Many a time we went swimming together in Pratt's pond. At school John was studious and better able than the most of us to grasp the principles outlined in the text books. As a rule he led his classes, particularly in mathematics. His primary education was obtained in a little white school house of one room, eighteen by twenty feet, which is still standing. Later he attended Lewis Hall, a building which formerly was a hospital in the War of the Rebellion. It was located across the street from the Pershing residence. This building later was moved to the old Pershing farm (now owned by Mrs. John Deninger's family) and is used as a barn.

"John was and is naturally human and that is why he always had so many friends. His old playmates and friends are all proud of his success as a soldier, but they love him because of his high standards of principles and his unswerving integrity. As a boy he was forceful, honest in every way and when he had given his word we all knew we could depend upon it absolutely."

This boyhood friend acknowledges modestly that he and John were not entirely ignorant of the sensations produced by certain hickory or osage switches in the hands of an irate or hasty teacher, but this chapter is not enlarged. There is, however, an unconsciously proud and tender touch in his closing words, "I have two sons in the army doing their bit, and I am thankful that they will be under the direction and order of my old friend, John J. Pershing." True praise could not be better expressed than in this gracious and kindly reference.

But the future general's boyhood was not all, nor even chiefly devoted to swimming and nutting. There was hard work to be done and he was a hard worker. Long rows of corn had to be planted and cultivated, pigs and cattle must be fed and cared for, and the "chores" on a Missouri farm began early in the morning and were not all done when at last the sun set. The boy Pershing did much of his labor on the farms that his father had leased near the village. Frequently the farm-work lasted until late in the fall and thereby interfered with attendance at school. Here, too, there were obstacles to be overcome and the commander of our army in France was early learning his lessons of control and self-control in a little hamlet in Missouri.

At that time Laclede and vicinity had more negroes than whites in its population. When Pershing had arrived at the mature age of seventeen, the teacher of a local negro school suddenly left and the school was turned over to him. There were three elements in the "call" to this untried position--the school had no other teacher, the need was great and in spite of his youthfulness it was believed there was no one who could do better under the circumstances for the colored children than he. He understood them, he wanted to help them, and he was able to control them. And he did. "Discipline," as it was commonly understood in the country schools, might have been defined as the ability to whip the older boys. Discipline as a positive as well as a negative force was something new, and the new teacher finished the year with the reputation of having trained his pupils to do something worth while.

Then white schools were taken by the youthful pedagogue, and in them also he succeeded. There was growing up in his mind a strong determination to secure an education. In this way he was earning and saving money by which he should be able to carry out his growing plans. Dimly in the background also was an ambition ultimately to study law. In this desire not only his father and mother but also his sister now was sharing.

In the _Missouri Historical Record_, April-July, 1917, there is recorded the story of a contest into which the young teacher was forced by an irate farmer whose children had been disciplined.

"Though he never sought a quarrel, young Pershing was known even at this time among his fellows as a 'game fighter,' who never acknowledged defeat. To a reporter for the _Kansas City Star_, who was a pupil under Pershing when the general was a country school teacher at Prairie Mound, thirty-seven years ago, was recently related an incident of him as a fighting young schoolmaster. One day at the noon hour a big farmer with red sideburns rode up to the schoolhouse with a revolver in his hand. Pershing had whipped one of the farmer's children and the enraged parent intended to give the young schoolmaster a flogging.

"I remember how he rode up cursing before all the children in the schoolyard and how another boy and I ran down a gully because we were afraid. We peeked over the edge, though, and heard Pershing tell the farmer to put up his gun, get down off his horse and fight like a man.

"The farmer got down and John stripped off his coat. He was only a boy of seventeen or eighteen and slender, but he thrashed the old farmer soundly. And I have hated red sideburns ever since."

Through all these various experiences he was saving every penny possible, with the thought in view of the education he was determined to obtain. At last the time arrived when he and his sister departed for Kirksville, Mo., to enter the State Normal School. His father had done all in his power for him, but his main reliance now was upon himself. There he continued his former steady methodical methods, doing well, but not being looked upon as an exceptionally brilliant student. He was still the same persistent, reliable, hard-working, successful student he had formerly been.

It is not quite clear just when his decision for West Point was made. His room-mate at the State Normal School reports that it was in the spring when he and Pershing were at home in vacation time that the matter was decided. According to his recollection and report to the writer, when the two boys were at home the elder Pershing urged his son's room-mate again to enter his store as clerk. A definite answer was postponed until the following day. "So next day I saw Pershing," he writes, "and asked him what he was going to do. He didn't know; he didn't want to teach a spring term of school; believed he would go back to Kirksville for ten weeks. And then came the West Point opportunity."

Another friend of Pershing at that time sends the following quotation from the local paper which evidently places the date at another time: "In looking over some old papers the other day, I ran across a copy of the _Laclede News_ under date of December 28th, 1881, and among other news items found the following: 'John J. Pershing will take his leave of home and friends this week for West Point, where he will enter the United States Military Academy. John will make a first-rate good-looking cadet with Uncle Sam's blue, and we trust he will ever wear it with honor to himself and the old flag which floats above him. John, here's our hand! May success crown your efforts and long life be yours.'"

In reality, however, the only confusion is between the time when the thought entered Pershing's mind and the time when he entered the Military Academy.

An advertisement had appeared in the local papers concerning a competitive examination for entrance. The announcement bore the name of Congressman J. H. Barrows, the "greenback" representative of the district, formerly a Baptist minister. He was looked upon by his constituency as true and reliable, a reputation that was not without its appeal to the lads who wanted to go to West Point. It is a current report that not always had these appointments been made on merit alone and that "from $250 to $500 was the amount frequently paid to obtain them." The examination was to be conducted at Trenton, Mo., and was open to all who were eligible.

Pershing decided to try. In making this decision his sister strongly encouraged him, and was the only one of his family who was aware of his plan. His room-mate writes that Pershing urged him also to try. "No," I told him, "I didn't know that I could pass." "Well," he said, "you'd better come and we'll take a chance. One or the other of us ought to win." I told him he had been in school three months while I had been selling goods, and that if he thought he would like it, to go, that I didn't care for it. But I should like to have the education, though I should probably stay in the army if I happened to pass. "No," he said, "I wouldn't stay in the army. There won't be a gun fired in the world for a hundred years. If there isn't, I'll study law, I guess, but I want an education and now I see how I can get it."

Eighteen took the examination and Pershing won, though by only a single point, and that was given only after he and his competitor, Higginbottom, had broken the tie by each diagramming the following sentence--"_I love to run!_"

Higginbottom's solution--

"I"--subject.
"love"--predicate.
"to run"--infinitive phrase qualifying the meaning
of the verb.

Pershing's solution was as follows:

"I"--subject.
"love"--predicate,
"to run"--is the object.

The commission preferred Pershing's diagram, and thus by a single point he won the competitive examination and received the appointment.

When, however, Pershing and his sister informed their mother that he had passed the best examination and was to receive the appointment to West Point, she expressed her strong disapproval of the plan to make a soldier of John. Her objections were finally overcome, and she consented, partly because she believed her boy when he said "there would not be a gun fired for a hundred years" and partly because she was even more eager than he for him to obtain a good education.

Thirty years afterward General Pershing himself wrote: "The proudest days of my life, with one exception, have come to me in connection with West Point days that stand out clear and distinct from all others. The first of these was the day I won my appointment at Trenton, Missouri, in a competitive examination with seventeen competitors. An old friend of the family happened to be at Trenton that day and passing on the opposite side of the street called to me and said, 'John, I hear you passed with flying colors.' In all seriousness, feeling the great importance of my success, I naively replied in a loud voice, 'Yes, I did,' feeling assured that no one had ever passed such a fine examination as I had."

In spite of his success, however, Pershing was not yet ready to take up the strenuous course in the Military Academy. The work is severe and only the fittest are supposed to survive. He must have a more careful preparation in certain branches, he decided, and accordingly entered the Highland Military Academy, Highland Falls, New York, in which he continued as a student until the following June (1882). The head of the school was sincerely loved and deeply respected by his boys, and in after years General Pershing usually referred to him as "splendid old Caleb"--for "Caleb" was the title the students had bestowed upon Col. Huse.

In the military school Pershing's record is much what one who has followed his development in the preceding years would expect it to be. He was an earnest, consistent student, doing well and steadily improving in his work, without any flashes of brilliancy. He was moving not by leaps but steadily toward the education he was determined to obtain.

Those who recall him as a pupil at Highland say that he is best remembered for his physical strength and his skill as a horseman. Doubtless he had had training and experiences which were outside those which many of his classmates had shared.

At last in July, 1882, when he was not quite twenty-two years of age, Pershing became a plebe in the United States Military Academy at West Point. A part of his dream had been realized. His record shows that he still was manifesting the traits he already had displayed. Persistent, determined, methodical, a hard and steady worker, he was numbered thirty when he graduated in his class of seventy-seven. However, his "all around" qualities were shown by the fact that in his fourth class or final year, upon the recommendation of the commandant of Cadets, he was appointed by the Superintendent of the Academy to be the senior, that is, first in rank, of all the cadet captains--an honor worth while and of which Pershing was justly proud.

His love of West Point has always been strong. He is proud of the school and proud to be counted among its graduates. Loyal in all ways he has been specially loyal to West Point. Perhaps his true feeling can be best shown by the following letter written by him when he was in far-away Mindanao. He was class president at the time and sent the letter for the twenty-fifth anniversary of the graduation of the class. Like many an "old grad" the thoughts of the writer turn affectionately to the old days. The joys and disappointments are alike remembered and General Pershing shows a slight tendency to recall an occasional slip in the strict rules of the institution. This infraction is not upheld by him, and his friends, who are fully aware of his belief in strict discipline, will perhaps condone the slight infringement when they are aware that he records also the strict penalty which followed it. He indirectly shows that the infraction was due not to a desire to avoid a task but came of a grim determination to accomplish it.

GREETING TO THE CLASS.

Headquarters, Department of Mindanao.
Zamboanga, P. I.
March 15, 1911.

To the Class of 1886,
U. S. Military Academy,
West Point, New York.

DEAR CLASSMATES:

The announcement in the circular sent out by your
committee saying that I would write a letter of
greeting to be read at the class reunion imposes
upon me a very pleasant obligation. It gives me an
opportunity as Class President to write you
collectively and to say many things that I would
like to say if I were writing to each individual.
Above all, however, I am permitted to feel myself
a real part of the reunion. This letter shall be
a heartfelt and sincere word of greeting from the
opposite side of the world. I shall try to imagine
myself among you around the banquet table or
perhaps again in the old tower room, first floor,
first division, or familiarly even in the "usual
place." With this greeting I also send a word of
explanation and regret for my absence, a few lines
of reminiscence and pages of affection and
friendship for all recorded at random.

It is unfortunate indeed for me that higher
authority has concluded that I should not leave my
post at this time. This is a great disappointment
to me. There is nothing that could equal the
pleasure of meeting once more with old
'86--companions of my youth, the friendship for
whom is above all others the dearest and most
lasting. To be again for a few hours as in the
olden days at West Point with those who stood
shoulder to shoulder with me and I with them
through over four years, would be worth a great
sacrifice. The thought makes me long for cadet
days again. I would gladly go back into the corps
(although of course it has gone entirely to the
dogs since we were cadets) and gladly (in spite of
this) go through the whole course from beginning
to end to be with you all as we were then. Life
meant so much to us--probably more than it ever
has since--when the soul was filled to the utmost
with ambition and the world was full of promise.

The proudest days of my life, with one exception,
have come to me in connection with West Point
days that stand out clear and distinct from all
others. The first of these was the day I won my
appointment at Trenton, Missouri, in a competitive
examination with seventeen competitors. An old
friend of the family happened to be at Trenton
that day and passing on the opposite side of the
street, called to me and said, "John, I hear you
passed with flying colors." In all seriousness,
feeling the great importance of my success, I
naively replied, in a loud voice, "Yes, I did,"
feeling assured that no one had ever quite passed
such a fine examination as I had. The next red
letter day was when I was elected President of the
Class of '86. I didn't know much about class
presidents until the evening of our meeting to
effect a class organization. To realize that a
body of men for whom I had such an affectionate
regard should honor me in this way was about all
my equilibrium would stand. Another important day
was when I made a cold max in Phil. at June
examination under dear old Pete, with Arthur
Murray as instructor. This was the only max I ever
made in anything. I fairly floated out of the
library and back to the barracks. The climax of
days came when the marks were read out on
graduation day in June, 1886. Little Eddy Gayle
smiled when I reported five minutes later with a
pair of captain's chevrons pinned on my sleeves.
No honor has ever come equal to that. I look upon
it in the very same light to-day as I did then.
Some way these days stand out and the recollection
of them has always been to me a great spur and
stimulus.

What memories come rushing forward to be recorded.
It was at Colonel Huse's school, now called The
Rocks, I believe, with splendid old Caleb at its
head that several of us got the first idea of what
we were really in for. Deshon, Frier, Winn,
Andrews, Clayton, Billy Wright, Stevens, Segare
and the rest of us at Caleb's used to wrestle with
examinations of previous years and flyspeck page
after page of stuff that we forgot completely
before Plebe camp was over.

Splendid Old Caleb]

This brings up a period of West Point life whose
vivid impressions will be the last to fade.
Marching into camp, piling bedding, policing
company streets for logs or wood carelessly
dropped by upper classmen, pillow fights at tattoo
with Marcus Miller, sabre drawn marching up and
down superintending the plebe class, policing up
feathers from the general parade; light artillery
drills, double timing around old Fort Clinton at
morning squad drill, Wiley Bean and the sad fate
of his seersucker coat; midnight dragging, and the
whole summer full of events can only be mentioned
in passing. No one can ever forget his first guard
tour with all its preparation and perspiration. I
got along all right during the day, but at night
on the color line my troubles began. Of course, I
was scared beyond the point of properly applying
any of my orders. A few minutes after taps, ghosts
of all sorts began to appear from all directions.
I selected a particularly bold one and challenged
according to orders, "Halt, who comes there?" At
that the ghost stood still in its tracks. I
then said, "Halt, who stands there?" Whereupon the
ghost, who was carrying a chair, sat down. When I
promptly said, "Halt, who sits there?"

After plebe camp came plebe math and French. I
never stood high in French and was prone to burn
the midnight oil. One night Walcott and Burtley
Mott came in to see me. My room-mate, "Lucy" Hunt,
was in bed asleep. Suddenly we heard Flaxy, who
was officer in charge, coming up the stairs
several steps at a time. Mott sprang across the
hall into his own room. I snatched the blanket
from the window, turned out the light and leaped
into bed, clothing and all, while Walcott seeing
escape impossible, gently woke Hunt, and in a
whisper said, "Lucy, may I crawl under your bed?"
I paid the penalty by walking six tours of extra
duty.

The rest of it--yearling camp and its release from
plebedom, the first appearance in the riding hall
of the famous '86 New England Cavalry, furlough
and the return up the Hudson on the _Mary Powell_;
second year class with its increasing
responsibilities and dignity--must all be passed
with slight notice. While the days were not always
filled with unalloyed pleasure, to be sure, yet no
matter how distasteful anything else may have been
up to that time there is none of us who would not
gladly live first class camp over again--summer
girls, summer hops, first class privileges,
possible engagements, twenty-eighth hop, and then
the home stretch. As we look back from the
distance of a quarter of a century the years went
by all too rapidly.

The career of '86 at West Point was in many
respects remarkable. There were no cliques, no
dissensions and personal prejudices or
selfishness, if any existed, never came to the
surface. From the very day we entered, the class
as a unit has always stood for the very best
traditions of West Point. The spirit of old West
Point existed to a higher degree in the class of
'86 than in any class since the war. The West
Point under Merritt, Michie and Hasbrouck was
still the West Point of Grant, Sherman, Sheridan,
Schofield and Howard. The deep impression these
great men made during their visits to West Point
in our day went far to inspire us with the
soldier's spirit of self-sacrifice, duty and
honor. Those characteristics were carried with us
into the Army and have marked the splendid career
of the class during the past twenty-five years.
The Class of '86 has always been known in the Army
and is known to-day as a class of all-around solid
men--capable of ably performing any duty and of
loyally fulfilling any trust. The individual
character of each man has made itself felt upon
his fellows in the Army from the start. In civil
life, as professional men, or as men of affairs,
wherever placed the Class of '86 has always made
good. Well may we congratulate ourselves upon
reaching this quarter century milestone, on the
achievements of the class.

If I thought you would listen longer I should
continue, but the evening will be full of song
and reminiscence. Those of us out here will
assemble at Manila and wish we were with you at
West Point. It may be that age and experience will
prevent a repetition of the lurid scenes enacted
at the class dinner in New York in '86. Yet when
you feel time turn backward and the hot blood of
those days again courses through your veins, there
is no telling what may happen. Still all will be
for the glory of the Class and will be condoned.
Then here's to the Class of '86, wives and
sweethearts, children and grandchildren, your
health and your success!

Always affectionately,
J. J. P.