ANSWER: Grover Cleveland. He married Frances Folsom in the Blue Room of the White House. She was 21 years old at the time! Two other Presidents, John Tyler and Woodrow Wilson, got married while they were still serving in the White House, but their ceremonies were held elsewhere.

(2) QUESTION: A constitutional amendment establishing the minimum voting age as 18 was enacted during the month of June. Who was President at the time?

ANSWER: Richard Nixon. The Amendment provides that the “right of citizens of the United States, who are eighteen years of age or older, to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of age.” Previously, 21 years old was the legal voting age in most states. The Vietnam War pushed the change: Why should young men be subject to a draft when they were not allowed to vote for the policies that may or may not lead to war?

(3) QUESTION: Juneteenth was made a federal holiday during the month of June. Which President signed this into law?

ANSWER: Joe Biden. He signed the Juneteenth National Independence Day Act in June 2021.

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(2) A constitutional amendment establishing the minimum voting age as 18 was enacted during the month of June. Who was President at the time?

(3) Juneteenth was made a federal holiday during the month of June. Which President signed this into law?

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The Kentucky native had served in World War II as a combat nurse, leaving behind her new husband to do it. She’d married Army officer Capt. Harold E. Fillmore just one short month before being deployed.

The two would not see each other for 21 months! They were finally reunited in December 1944. By then, Betty was a heroine. Harold was recuperating from an injury at an Army hospital in France.

“We were so excited we could hardly eat,” Betty wrote her family back home. “We talked ourselves hoarse, winning the war and going over all the things that have happened since I left the states . . . .”

They must have had a lot to talk about. Betty had been serving in Italy with nine other surgical nurses. She was in the Presenzano sector, where the nurses were serving close to the battlefront. They’d even been stationed ahead of the heavy American guns at one point. Their proximity to battle allowed them to save some of the more severely wounded soldiers.

“We were right behind the front lines,” Betty later explained, “and we got the worst cases, the ones that couldn’t be moved back. Of course it was hard work, but we were doing what we wanted to be doing—nursing—and every case was an important one.”

Her Bronze Star Medal was awarded for her service between November 1943 and January 1944. According to newspaper reports, Betty took charge of 340 cases during that time. She saved nearly 250 men.

Nevertheless, one episode stands out during that time period. The field hospital that Betty was working in had been bombed, leaving the young nurse wounded. Newspapers would later report that Betty “persuaded a medical aid to patch up her arm and side” so she could keep working. In the end, she stayed on duty for 24 straight hours, attending to the wounded in the face of her own pain and exhaustion. When the immediate crisis was over, she collapsed and reportedly slept for days.

Betty’s service earned her both the Bronze Star Medal and the Purple Heart, making her the first American woman to get two awards for her service in World War II.

A journalist later spoke with her parents, reporting that Mr. and Mrs. Cook are “especially proud of their heroine daughter, who they say ‘doesn’t like to talk much about those medals she received.’”

For her part, perhaps you won’t be surprised to hear that Betty didn’t think she’d done anything special. “I didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t have done,” she shrugged.

Yet another story of bravery and sacrifice from the Greatest Generation.

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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The two wrote more often than that, of course. And, if any of those letters could be recovered, they would contain a treasure trove of information for historians. Unfortunately, Martha burned all the correspondence between herself and George after his death. Despite his long life in public service, George was a private man and it seems that she was trying to respect that.

Martha missed two letters, which were later found by her granddaughter in a small writing desk that she’d inherited. How crazy to find your grandparents’ letters like that?! Especially if your grandparents are George and Martha Washington. What do you suppose she thought as she unfolded the letters to read them?

The first of these letters was written from George to Martha on June 18, 1775. He’d just been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, and he was preparing to rendezvous with the American forces then stationed outside Boston. George wrote: “I should enjoy more real happiness and felicity in one month with you, at home, than I have the most distant prospect of reaping abroad, if my stay was to be Seven times Seven years.” In the second of these letters, written on June 23, 1775, he wrote Martha quickly: “As I am within a few Minutes of leaving this City, I could not think of departing from it without dropping you a line . . . . I retain an unalterable affection for you, which neither time or distance can change.”

George signed his letter, “Your entire George Washington.” The words, one Mount Vernon historian notes, “display vulnerability, nuanced with passion.”

Washington seems to have held serious views on the institution of marriage. He was somewhat practical about it, as reflected in a piece of advice that he offered to his step-granddaughter in 1794:

“Love is a mighty pretty thing; but like all other delicious things, it is cloying; and when the first transports of the passion begins to subside, which it assuredly will do, and yield—oftentimes too late—to more sober reflections, it serves to evince, that love is too dainty a food to live upon alone, and ought not to be considered farther, than as a necessary ingredient for that matrimonial happiness which results from a combination of causes; none of which are of greater importance, than that the object on whom it is placed, should possess good sense—good dispositions—and the means of supporting you in the way you have been brought up.”

Remember, at this point, George and Martha would have been married for 35 years—an especially long period of time, given the shorter life expectancies back then. What is really important in marriage? George was speaking from experience. But he wasn’t stuck in pragmatism, either. He seems to have found genuine happiness in his own marriage and was always longing to return home to Mt. Vernon and to Martha.

Perhaps a little bit of this attitude is reflected in a letter that he wrote in 1786.

“[M]ore permanent & genuine happiness,” Washington wrote, “is to be found in the sequestered walks of connubial life, than in the giddy rounds of promiscuous pleasure, or the more tumultuous and imposing scenes of successful ambition.”

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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What a feat! It could easily have gone the other way, especially given the events of the day before.

Late on June 16, Colonel William Prescott had been dispatched with about 1,200 men to fortify Bunker Hill, just across the river from Boston. Unfortunately, Prescott ended up fortifying the wrong hill. Breed’s Hill was closer, and it was a more aggressive stance than Bunker Hill would have been. (See yesterday’s post.)

When the sun rose, American soldiers finally saw just how close they were to the British in Boston. “The danger we were in,” one soldier later wrote, “made us think there was treachery and that we were brought there to be all slain . . . .”

Their fortifications weren’t done, though, and they went back to work.

It must have been quite a scene! The British began bombarding the area with cannon. The fire was mostly ineffective, but one shot found its mark, killing an American. Prescott leapt into action. He jumped on the redoubt and strode forcefully back and forth, encouraging his men to keep working. He’d made himself a target, but he wasn’t about to let his men be intimidated, either.

By early afternoon, the British were setting fire to churches and other buildings in Charlestown, at the base of Breed’s Hill. Soldiers were also being ferried across the river from Boston. Soon, they began marching on the American position.

Remember, many of these Americans had been building fortifications all night. They were about to fight an intense battle on little to no sleep. Yet they still managed to obey their instructions: Don’t fire until the redcoats get very close. At least apocryphally, Americans were told: “Don’t one of you fire until you see the whites of their eyes!”

Most likely that precise phrase was never uttered, although one officer may have told his soldiers to look for the whites of the half-gaiters the British soldiers would be wearing.

Either way, Americans held their fire. Finally, when the British were fairly close, the first barrage of musket fire finally came. It took down many, many British soldiers. The British attempted a second attack on the hill, with the same result. The third a ttack went better for the British, partly because they had reorganized and partly because the Americans were running out of powder.

The British had technically won, but it was a costly defeat. They had more than 1000 casualties, compared to 400 for the colonists. American General Nathanael Greene would write: “I wish [we] could Sell them another Hill at the same Price.” For his part, British General William Howe later said: “The success is too dearly bought.” He’d lost every member of his staff—and he’d even lost a bottle of w ine that was carried into battle alongside him.

A bottle of w ine?! Was he too quick to assume that he’d end the day on a happy note?

If Americans achieved nothing else that day, perhaps they taught the British to have a little more respect for the ragged group of colonists who were fighting for their freedom.

P.S. The painting is of the death of General Warren at Bunker Hill. He was one of the many heroes that day, but his particular tale is a story for another day. ;)

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Oddly, that battle wasn’t fought on Bunker Hill. Instead, the conflict occurred nearby, on Breed’s Hill. Why the confusion? The answer can be found in a decision made by Colonel William Prescott on the evening of June 16.

Or maybe it wasn’t Prescott. Perhaps it was General Israel Putnam. No one is quite sure.

At that point in 1775, of course, Americans were holding the British under siege in Boston. The British had been there ever since the “shot heard round the world” at Lexington Green. Naturally, the British had no intention of letting the matter end there. Colonial leaders soon received intelligence that the British had a plan to break out of Boston. They would take Dorchester Neck, then move to Charlestown.

The colonists decided to take preemptive action. Fortifying Bunker Hill, near Charlestown, would give them the extra defenses that they needed to keep the siege against the British firmly in place.

Prescott was sent to fortify the hill. He was joined by about 200 more soldiers led by Captain Thomas Knowlton and General Israel Putnam. An engineer also accompanied the expedition: Lt. Colonel Richard Gridley.

The Americans began their trek toward Bunker Hill shortly after 6 p.m. on June 16, arriving a few hours later. One would think that the most logical thing to do would be to get to work immediately, building fortifications before the sun rose and revealed their work to the British. Actually, Bunker Hill already had partially constructed fortifications. Using them would have made perfect sense.

Except the Americans didn’t stop at Bunker Hill. They continued another half mile to Breed’s Hill.

Why? No one is quite sure. Only one account exists of the deliberations that occurred that evening. It states that Gridley and two officers reconnoitered the hill and discussed what to do. Gridley and one officer wanted to stay at Bunker’s Hill, but “on the pressing importunity of the other general officer,” they decided to move on to Breed’s Hill. This third individual could have been either Putnam or Prescott.

Did they misunderstand their instructions? Were they confused about which hill? Did they simply opt to do something more daring? There is no way to know.

Regardless, the decision had consequences. Prescott’s group arrived at Breed’s Hill late, with only four hours to work before the sun rose. Maybe worse, Breed’s Hill was closer to Boston. Fortifying Bunker Hill could have been viewed as a defensive posture. But fortifying Breed’s Hill was “an unmistakable act of defiance” that “invited a forceful response from the British army,” as historian Nathaniel Philbrick notes.

Unsurprisingly, Americans did not complete their fortifications before the sun rose. At daybreak, they realized that they had a serious problem on their hands.

What happened at the (inappropriately named) Battle of Bunker Hill on June 17th? Yep. You guessed it. The story continues tomorrow.

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He is the only ground combat soldier to receive a Medal of Honor in that theater.

Knight’s little brother, Bill, remembers the day that his three oldest brothers, including Jack, left to join the Texas National Guard. It was November 1940, and the boys did not think they would be gone for more than a year.

“I worshipped those boys,” Bill said many years later, as Jack was inducted into the Ranger Hall of Fame. “They were my heroes.”

All three brothers were assigned to the 124th Cavalry Regiment. Needless to say, the attack on Pearl Harbor more or less ensured that they were not home within a year. To the contrary, by February 1945, Jack was in Burma, near Loi-Kang. He was then in command of F Troop, which had been assigned to the Army’s MARS Task Force.

That task force has also earned a “forgotten” label, with one veteran calling it the “Most Forgotten Unit in the Most Forgotten Theatre of That War.” Its job was an important one: The Task Force had gone deep into enemy territory, battling Japanese forces and opening the vital Burma Road.

Control of the road was needed so supplies could get through to the Chinese.

One of the last battles to clear the road came on February 2. First Lt. Jack Knight was right in the thick of it, along with his brother First Sgt. Curtis Knight.

Things were going well. Our boys had knocked out multiple enemy pillboxes and taken their initial objective in about half an hour. But just as they were preparing to dig in, more Japanese pillboxes and foxholes were spotted ahead and to the right.

The enemy emplacements had been skillfully concealed and posed an immediate threat to Jack’s men. Naturally, he leapt into action.

“Preceding his men by at least 10 feet,” his Medal citation describes, “he immediately led an attack. Singlehandedly he knocked out two enemy pillboxes and killed the occupants of several foxholes. While attempting to knock out a third pillbox, he was struck . . . .”

The blast left Jack blinded, but a little thing like not being able to see wasn’t going to stop him. He rallied his men and continued forward, crawling on his hands and knees. Unfortunately, he was hit by another grenade.

Curtis tried to get to his brother, but he was also hit by enemy fire. Jack’s last act was to order his brother taken away for first aid. Curtis survived. Jack did not.

Because of Jack, most of the Japanese positions were eliminated that day. The last portions of the Burma Road were finally seized a few days later.

Jack posthumously received a Medal of Honor four months later, and Louis Mountbatten, Supreme Allied Commander in Southeast Asia, would later dedicate the area of his action as “Knight’s Hill.”

“What Jack Knight did that day is something for every American to be proud of,” regimental commander Colonel William Fox Osborne concluded. “It is officers of Jack Knight’s caliber and the troops that follow his kind of leadership that are winning the war—not colonels and generals.”

Rest in peace, Sir.

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ANSWER: William Taft. The cool breezes washing over the White House roof helped him sleep.

(2) QUESTION: Which President kept the AC blasting so he could enjoy a burning fireplace, even in summer?

ANSWER: Richard Nixon. An energy crisis in 1973 meant that he faced criticism for this habit.

(3) QUESTION: The first attempt at air conditioning in the White House was “an electric blower [that] pushed air through a screened box with ice and ice water inside,” as the White House Historical Association explains. Who was then President?

ANSWER: James Garfield. Tragically, they were trying to get the temperature down in the room where he lay mortally wounded. The attempt didn’t work too well, and the temperature was still 80 degrees in that room.

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(2) Which President kept the AC blasting so he could enjoy a burning fireplace, even in summer?

(3) The first attempt at air conditioning in the White House was “an electric blower [that] pushed air through a screened box with ice and ice water inside,” as the White House Historical Association explains. Who was then President?

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She wasn’t Bea Arthur back then. When she applied to the Marine Corps Women’s Reserve, her name was Bernice Frankel. She’d applied just five days after the Marines announced the creation of the Women’s Reserve on February 13, 1943.

“I was supposed to start work yesterday,” she soon wrote, “but heard last week that enlistments for women in the Marines were open, so decided the only thing to do was to join.” The letter concluded with her willingness “to get in now and do whatever is desired of me.”

Why did she join? Arthur never talked publicly about the decision, but she was the daughter of Jewish immigrants. Perhaps the war felt personal? Either way, she was soon wading her way through a challenging application process.

Because the Marines would take only the best of the best.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall during her interviews? “Described as having a poised and trim appearance,” the National WWII Museum explains, “(and exhibiting “meticulous good taste”), Arthur was also considered to be ingratiating, frank, and open, though overly aggressive and argumentative. A special note on one assessment read: ‘Officious—but probably a good worker if she has her own way!’”

Private Frankel began at Marine Corps Headquarters, working as a typist. Presumably, she found that boring because she soon requested a transfer to Motor Transport School at Camp Lejeune. She’d grown up in New York, which made her request an interesting one. After all, many girls raised in the city didn’t drive much. Nevertheless, her request was approved in June 1943, and she would serve as a truck driver and dispatcher for much of the rest of the war.

She performed well, obtaining promotions and an honorable discharge as staff sergeant in September 1945.

By then, she had married fellow Marine Robert Aurthur. The marriage wouldn’t last, but she kept the last name (sort of). “Arthur” made a better stage name than “Aurthur” when she later went to Hollywood.

Her time as an actress became legendary, of course, but she never spoke of the Marines—even when asked about it during a 2001 interview.

“How did World War II affect you and your family?” the interviewer asked. “Like everybody else,” she paused. “Traumatic.” The interviewer jumped in again: “I had read somewhere that you joined the Marines. Is that true?” “Oh, no. . . . No,” Arthur laughed, quickly changing the subject.

Her military personnel file became public after her passing, raising questions about the exchange.

Why deny serving? One National WWII Museum historian believes the “no” wasn’t so much a denial of service as it was a dismissal of the question and an attempt to redirect. “[It’s] not uncommon for people to downplay their service,” Kali Martin notes.

Some wonder, alternatively, if she preferred to separate her military service from her life in Hollywood.

Maybe. Arthur was more straightforward with her son, but he says she “almost never” spoke about being a Marine “beyond saying she could drive any vehicle.”

The Golden Girls author Kate Browne takes a different approach, focusing on reasons Arthur would have been a Marine in the first place. “Her service becomes like evidence of badassery,” Browne concludes. She notes that Arthur was generally unafraid to support causes she believed in. “I think there’s a loyalty. . . . it makes sense to me if there were a call for service in WWII, she would answer that call.”

A rather unexpected story from the Greatest Generation. Why do you think she did what she did?

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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Perhaps you know that division for its well-known nickname: the “Screaming Eagles.”

Mere days before, on D-Day, Cole had been among those invading Normandy. In fact, his unit was making its first combat jump that day—and Cole had the honor of being the first to jump out of the lead plane.

Unfortunately, the soldiers were badly dispersed during the drop. At first Cole could only find four of his own men, but he finally managed to gather about 75 soldiers. Together, they went to work, destroying certain coastal defenses and preparing Utah Beach for advancing Allied forces. With this first mission accomplished, Cole and his men met up with the U.S. 4th Infantry Division at the dune line.

The next task would be tougher.

Allied commanders had set their sights on the French city of Carentan, which sat centrally located on highways and rail lines. Capturing Carentan would enable Allied forces from Utah and Omaha Beaches to link up with each other.

The critical action came on the night of June 10-11. Cole was trying to get his men down a long, exposed causeway that ran above some marshes and flooded areas. Four bridges also had to be crossed. Unfortunately, Cole’s men began taking heavy enemy fire, and they became pinned down. The conflict that followed has been called the “bloodiest engagement in the Cotentin Peninsula.”

After a day and a night of this, Cole had had enough. He’d gotten a portion of his men past the last bridge, and it seemed that most enemy fire was coming from behind some hedgerows at a nearby farmhouse. He decided to order artillery smoke, then to lead his men in a bayonet charge on that position.

A fixed bayonet charge during World War II?!

Reportedly, Cole was also firing his pistol as he ran. “I don’t know what I’m shooting at,” he yelled over his shoulder to his men, “but I gotta keep on.” The men laughed, breaking some of the tension. Amazingly, the charge was successful, although the casualties were high.

Cole survived that incident, but he would not survive another a few months later. During Operation Market Garden in September 1944, Cole’s men inadvertently came under friendly fire. Cole ran into an open field, seeking to lay identification markers that would redirect American airpower away from his men.

Unfortunately, he was spotted by a German sniper while in this exposed position. Cole was killed instantly, never knowing that his actions at Normandy would prompt his country to award him the Medal of Honor.

“He died as he had lived,” a West Point Association of Graduates website concludes, “unafraid, with his first thoughts for his men.”

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And yet most Americans today have never heard of this daring pioneer.

Law bought her first airplane from Orville Wright in 1912. She hoped he’d teach her to fly, but he refused to do it. He thought women were not mechanically inclined. Law was undeterred. She found another teacher and learned to fly in three short weeks.

“The surest way to make me do a thing is to tell me I can’t do it,” she wrote several years later.

Law is perhaps best known for a 1916 attempt to fly from Chicago to New York City—and for the speed and distance records that she smashed along the way. The trip was a hard one back then, of course, and she stopped twice for fuel. The Boston Post reported that Law “fell, rather than stepped out of” her seat at the first stop. “A mask of ice glazed her face. Her eyes were fixed like those of a marionette. Her arms remained at right angles as though she had not yet let go the wheel. It was several minutes before the daring girl could walk erect or talk connectedly.”

Remember, she was sitting in an open-air seat in front of the plane (see picture). She was completely unprotected from the elements for hours. In fact, she’d prepared for the flight by sleeping in a cold tent atop a hotel roof.

Law was running low on fuel again by the time she concluded her journey in New York. It was foggy and she could barely see, but she managed to glide safely into Governor’s Island. A brass band celebrated her arrival! Her total time in the air had been 8 hours, 55 minutes, 35 seconds. “Little girl, you beat them all,” General Leonard Wood grinned at her as she landed.

Law had known that fuel might be a problem, of course. She was flying a little Curtiss pusher biplane; her attempts to buy something bigger had run into a dead end because Curtiss thought the “big machine was too much for a girl to handle.”

Maybe he came to doubt that assessment? He later told a Chicago Tribune reporter that “Miss Law’s feat is the most wonderful in all aviation.” He wouldn’t have thought that the plane she’d used “would make more than 100 miles in sustained flight.”

She’d flown nearly 900.

Naturally, this episode was just a small part of Law’s career. She was the first to fly to the Philippine Islands with official air mail. She was the first woman to do the loop-to-loop. When the United States entered World War I, she was prohibited from serving as a military pilot, but she raised money for the Red Cross through exhibitions and air shows—and she was the first woman authorized to wear a non-commissioned officer’s military uniform.

Law’s flying career came to an abrupt end in 1922. Her husband had long acted as her agent, but now he was worried: Law’s stunts were getting more and more dangerous. It seems that he got tired of tempting fate. He simply announced her retirement to reporters one day. What would Law have done in another day or another time? There’s no way to know. But, in 1922, Ms. Ruth Bancroft Law returned to her life as Mrs. Charles Oliver.

Either way, her decade-long career was inspirational to many other women of her time—and it had helped to defuse the notion that only men can handle “mechanics.”

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This blow was dealt by the independent-minded Rhode Island, which was sometimes called Rogue’s Island. Perhaps it is unsurprising that the state would take the first hit at Britain?!

Rhode Island merchants suffered under the taxes imposed by the British Parliament in those years. They received a double whammy because the British cracked down on smuggling along the Rhode Island coast. In early 1772, British Lt. William Dudingston was sent to find smugglers—and he was relentless.

Dudingston stopped virtually any ship he could. He impounded the sloop, Fortune, in violation of the law. He even stole from locals. Many believed that his policing efforts were violating the colony’s charter.

Matters came to a head on June 9. Dudingston’s ship, the Gaspee, was giving chase to a tiny packet ship, the Hannah. The little ship refused to stop! After a long chase, it instead took off down a shallow area that was difficult for the bigger Gaspee to navigate. Gaspee ran aground. Hannah’s captain promptly turned around and headed toward Providence to report on the situation: Gaspee was stuck, at least until the tide turned the next day.

One wealthy merchant in the city snatched the opportunity. He had his trusted captain, Abraham Whipple, gather as many boats as he could. The town crier went through the streets, beating his drum and gathering men. Several dozen men took off toward Gaspee late that evening. Muffled oars silenced their approach toward the British ship. Indian headdresses or smeared faces may have been hiding the identities of some of the raiding party.

The men aboard Gaspee did not notice the colonists until the last minute. When they eventually saw the approaching boats, they called out, asking who was approaching. The attack party did not answer. Eventually, Dudingston himself came out to ask the same question. Whipple finally identified himself as a sheriff and demanded surrender.

Emotions must have been running high. One man, Joseph Bucklin, was with Whipple’s crew. He discovered that he could take a shot at Dudingston. And he did. Bucklin’s descendants would subsequently claim that he had the honor of firing the first shot in America’s war for independence.

Matters moved quickly after that. The raiding party boarded the ship and removed Gaspee’s crew. Gaspee itself was set afire and destroyed.

The British were outraged and tried to hold members of the raiding party accountable. But they could never figure out who was responsible, in part because none of the Rhode Islanders would snitch on their fellow colonists. In the end, a court of inquiry could never find sufficient evidence against any one person.

One Rhode Island historian later described the Gaspee Affair: “[I]t was the first bold blow, in all the colonies, for freedom, and the earliest blood shed in the war of independence. It was the beginning of the end. The Revolution had commenced.”

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Cicchetti didn’t have to serve. He had a breathing problem that prevented him from meeting the Army’s physical standards. Some might have seized upon the excuse, but not Cicchetti. Instead, he underwent surgery to correct the nasal problem.

Perhaps he was just that sort of a selfless young man. “[M]y father thought the world of his brother,” Cicchetti’s niece concluded.

The young soldier’s heroism came on February 9, 1945, as our boys fought to recapture the Philippines from Japanese forces. The 37th “Buckeye” Infantry Division was making a drive against the enemy near the Manila gas works, and Pfc. Cicchetti was right in the middle of it.

“The Japanese had converted the partially destroyed Manila Gas Works and adjacent building,” his Medal citation explains, “into a formidable system of mutually supporting strongpoints from which they were concentrating machine-gun, mortar, and heavy artillery fire on the American forces.”

We were taking too many casualties, and medics were struggling to get everyone out. They called for help. Naturally, Cicchetti volunteered, quickly organizing a team to carry a litter in and out of the chaotic scene.

It was a 400-yard stretch through “the most intense enemy fire,” his citation recounts, but Cicchetti and his team went back and forth anyway. Over the course of four hours, they saved 14 men.

On one of these trips, the rescuers became blocked by intense machine-gun fire. Cicchetti leapt into action, deliberately exposing himself and drawing the enemy’s fire while the others escaped to safety. He survived the stunt, neutralizing the threat with his own rifle.

He would not be so fortunate on his last rescue, made as he ran through enemy fire alone. A shell fragment struck him in the head, leaving him with a gaping wound. Nevertheless, he slung one of the wounded soldiers across his shoulders and carried him 50 yards to safety before succumbing to his injury.

“Our men knew the tortures they would receive if captured,” Major General Robert S. Beightler explained as he later presented a Medal of Honor to Cicchetti’s father. “Not one man of the 37th ever was taken prisoner. It was in protecting his wounded comrades that Pfc. Cicchetti was killed.”

Just last year, his hometown put up a sign commemorating and honoring his service. Locals wanted to ensure that no one would ever forget Cicchetti’s brave sacrifice.

Scott Denniss, curator at the local MAPS Air Museum, was among those dedicating the sign. His son served in Ohio’s 148th Infantry, just like Cicchetti, and is proud to say that all new recruits are told Cicchetti’s story.

“Through his skilled leadership, indomitable will, and countless acts of courage, Cicchetti saved many soldiers at the cost of his life,” Denniss concluded. “There are many kids and families that might not exist today without his actions.”

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ANSWER: Harry S Truman. The valedictorian, Charlie Ross, also happened to be a lifelong friend of Truman’s.

(2) QUESTION: Which sitting U.S. President has given the most commencement speeches at university graduations? Bonus points if you know how many speeches he gave.

ANSWER: Barack Obama (26). Bill Clinton and George W. Bush are tied for second place (25).

(3) QUESTION: Which military academy has hosted the most commencement addresses by a sitting U.S. President?

ANSWER: United States Naval Academy. According to the American Presidency Project, about 30% of all presidential commencement addresses are given at military academies. The totals are below:

• United States Naval Academy (20)

• United States Military Academy (14)

• United States Air Force Academy (12)

• United States Coast Guard Academy (12)

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(2) Which sitting U.S. President has given the most commencement speeches at university graduations? Bonus points if you know how many speeches he gave.

(3) Which military academy has hosted the most commencement addresses by a sitting U.S. President?

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John Trumbull was born to a prominent family in Connecticut. His father, Governor Jonathan Trumbull, hoped that his son would attend Harvard and enter the ministry. Presumably, he didn’t quite know what to do when the younger Trumbull wanted to become an artist?!

Nevertheless, Trumbull went to Harvard, as his father hoped—and then the war intervened.

Soon after shots rang out at Lexington and Concord, Trumbull enlisted in the army. He briefly served as an aide-de-camp to George Washington and even attained the rank of colonel, but he never saw direct combat.

The aspiring artist resigned his commission in 1777. He would soon begin his art education in earnest.

Trumbull hoped to study under Benjamin West, an American-born artist then in Europe. It was the middle of the war, but Trumbull went to London anyway. He was just beginning his studies abroad in 1780 when London learned about the execution of British Major John André, Benedict Arnold’s accomplice.

Trumbull had been “perfectly secure under the name of an artist” in London, until this news arrived. Unfortunately, as Trumbull later wrote, some “had interest enough to persuade the ministry that I was a dangerous person, in the service of Dr. Franklin . . . . I had no idea of the storm; was apprehended at midnight.”

Despite this innocuous explanation, some historians suggest that Trumbull may actually have been a spy for Benjamin Franklin. Either way, he was arrested and imprisoned for months. He was eventually released on the condition that he leave London until peace was declared.

Trumbull was stuck, unable to complete his formal training. But in a twist of irony, he would eventually return to London after the war—and he would begin some of his famous paintings of the American Revolution in that city.

At least one person appreciated the effort. Upon seeing “The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker Hill,” Abigail Adams reported that “in looking at it, my whole frame contracted, my Blood Shiverd and I felt a faintness at my Heart. He is the first painter who has undertaking to immortalize by his Pencil those great actions; that gave Birth to our Nation.”

Trumbull accepted a few diplomatic roles in the decades after the war, but painting was his passion. He spent years traveling and visiting various Revolutionary-era players because he wanted to depict them accurately. He wrote Jefferson of the effort that he put into the Declaration of Independence painting. “The picture will contain Portraits of at least Fortyseven Members,” he wrote, “for the faithful resemblance of Thirty Six I am responsible as they were done by myself from the Life.”

His crowning achievement came in 1817, when he was commissioned to “compose and execute four paintings commemorative of the most important events of the America Revolution, to be placed, when finished, in the capitol of the United States.” Trumbull submitted large scale paintings of the Declaration of Independence, Surrender of General Burgoyne, Surrender of Lord Cornwallis, and General George Washington Resigning His Commission to Congress.

Trumbull once wrote that the “greatest motive I had or have for engaging in, or for continuing my pursuit of painting, has been the wish of commemorating the great events of our country’s revolution.”

And isn’t that exactly what he did? Yet another hero to remember as we approach our 250th birthday.

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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Americans entered battle with a priceless advantage: They’d recently broken a Japanese naval code. The U.S. Navy had a pretty good idea of when, where, and how the Japanese would attack.

They’d barely figured out the “where.” As cryptanalysts listened to the intercepted messages, they kept hearing references to location “AF,” but they didn’t know where AF was. Could it be Midway? They decided to test the theory.

The personnel at Midway were asked to broadcast an uncoded radio message, reporting that their water purification system was broken. And wouldn’t you know it? American intelligence soon picked up a coded Japanese message, faithfully reporting that “AF” had a water shortage.

Japan had been tricked into confirming the location of “AF.”

The Japanese attack was sighted on radar early on June 4, as expected. Naturally, Midway was already on alert. Moreover, three United States aircraft carriers waited nearby, just beyond the reach of any potential Japanese radar or reconnaissance planes.

The battle that followed was intense. Japanese planes rained down fire on Midway Atoll, but Americans returned unrelenting antiaircraft fire. In the meantime, American planes from Midway took off toward the Japanese carriers. “All of these attacks would be bravely carried out but ineffective, scoring no hits on any Japanese ship,” historian Ian W. Toll describes. “But the continuous pressure of new air attacks, however ineffectual, put the Japanese off balance.”

Torpedo bombers from the U.S. aircraft carriers finally arrived, but they fared badly. Mitsuo Fuchida, an officer aboard the Japanese carrier Akagi, later recounted his “breathless suspense, thinking how impossible it would be to dodge all their torpedoes.” But most of these planes did not have fighter escorts, and they were quickly defeated.

Nevertheless, the Japanese were contending with their own problems. Their commanding officer had waffled on whether to arm his planes with land bombs (to attack Midway) or torpedoes (to attack the American fleet). Ultimately, the Japanese carriers were caught in a vulnerable position. Some planes were refueling; some were rearming with torpedoes. Bombs and torpedoes were lying around the hangar deck of the carriers, not yet returned to their magazines: All this material created a risk of secondary explosions in the event of a strike.

Complicating matters, even those planes that were already in the air were flying too low to deal with what came next: American dive bombers.

Yes! The Navy’s most effective weapon chose that inconvenient moment to arrive.

“The terrifying scream of the dive-bombers reached me first,” Fuchida recounted, “followed by the crashing explosion of a direct hit. There was a blinding flash and then a second explosion, much louder than the first. . . . Then followed a startling quiet as the barking of guns suddenly ceased. I got up and looked at the sky. The enemy planes were already gone from sight.”

Within about five minutes, three aircraft carriers in the Japanese fleet were effectively destroyed, including hundreds of pilots, aircraft, maintenance crews, and repairmen. A fourth aircraft carrier would be fatally damaged by the end of the day.

Americans suffered losses, too, but their victory was undeniable: Japan’s ability to fight an air war had been severely compromised.

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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Is Barry rightfully called the Father of the Navy or should the title go to John Paul Jones? You will hear arguments made for both men. ;)

Barry came from poor beginnings in Ireland, where he learned a love of ships from his uncle. He came to America when he was 15 years old and soon found himself commanding merchant vessels. He was thus overseas when shots were fired at Lexington and Concord. When he returned home from a trip to London in the fall of 1775, the Continental Congress was debating the creation of a navy. Fortunately, Barry arrived just as the matter was being discussed. He brought word that “Eight men of war, from forty to fifty guns each” and several British regiments were being sent to America.

The report revived a lagging debate on naval issues. On October 13, Congress resolved to fit out two armed vessels. Soon, Congress had obtained these vessels, “Lexington” and “Reprisal.” Barry was commissioned Captain of Lexington on December 7.

In other words, Barry was a Captain in the Navy, right from the beginning.

Within months of being commissioned, he also became the first Continental Navy captain to capture an armed British ship. The Royal Navy sloop, “Edward,” was captured off the Capes of Virginia, but only after an intense battle that lasted for about an hour. Barry wrote the Marine Committee that he had “shattered [Edward] in a terrible manner,” and he brought the captured vessel back to Philadelphia.

It was a big morale boost for the Patriots. John Adams soon reported: “We begin to make some little Figure here in the Naval Way.”

As it would turn out, Barry also fought during the last sea battle of the Revolution. On March 10, 1783, Barry was escorting a transport ship when he ran across the British ship, HMS Sybil. After an intense battle, Sybil was badly crippled and withdrew. Barry had successfully protected the important cargo (money) entrusted to his care.

Barry fought other naval battles, of course, but he also helped with other efforts on land. For instance, he served with the Continental Army at Princeton. He also helped to make Pennsylvania’s affirmative vote on the Constitution possible after the war. Some Pennsylvania legislators were hiding, preventing a quorum on a critical vote. Barry and others found two legislators and took them to the State House, thus completing the quorum.

During Washington’s presidency, Barry was appointed as a captain along with five other men. He was the senior captain in the group and was later named Commodore. In this position, Barry supervised the building of USS United States, and he also commanded her. He was involved in naval engagements during the Quasi-War with France.

Barry retired from active service in 1801 but still retained his title as head of the Navy when he passed away on September 13, 1803. One historian has described him thus: “Captain Barry was early in the struggle, foremost during its continuance and latest in service.”

Another hero who should not be forgotten as we approach our 250th birthday.

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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“She is both famous as the first First Lady and completely unknown,” her biographer Patricia Brady concludes.

The future Mrs. Washington’s given name at birth was Martha Dandridge—but her family called her “Patsy.” The Dandridges were modestly successful plantation owners. Thus, Patsy would simultaneously learn to work her father’s plantation, even as she had the benefit of learning to read and write.

In other words, Patsy could handle herself in Virginian society, but she wasn’t afraid of a little hard work, either.

When Patsy was just 18 years old, she married someone much older: Daniel Parke Custis was 38. He had long been a bachelor because his father, John Custis IV, was a grouchy old man who kept squashing Daniel’s love interests.

Indeed, John initially objected to Patsy, too. The Dandridge name and Patsy’s modest dowry weren’t good enough for his son!

Amazingly, Patsy managed to talk John off his ledge—a feat that no one else had been able to accomplish. A family friend soon wrote Daniel. “[Your father] has so good a character of [Martha],” the friend wrote, “that he had rather you should have her than any lady in Virginia—nay, if possible he is as much enamored with her character as you are with her person.”

That Patsy must have been something else!?

Daniel was finally free to marry Patsy, which is exactly what he did on May 15, 1750, mere weeks before her 19th birthday. The home he moved his bride into, interestingly enough, was named the White House.

The couple seemed happy, but then tragedy struck. Two of their four children died. Then Daniel also became very sick and passed away in July 1757. Patsy was left behind, a wealthy young widow with two small children.

Such tragedy was all too common in those days, of course. Patsy pulled herself together. By the time she met Colonel George Washington, she was running her plantation with efficiency and good sense. Moreover, Patsy’s “beauty and good humor,” as Brady describes, turned George’s thoughts toward marriage. But Patsy also had another suitor—a wealthy planter—and George wasn’t yet the impressive national figure we know today.

She could have chosen either man, but she chose George. “[I]t seems clear,” Brady concludes, “that Patsy fell passionately in love with George almost immediately and decided to please herself in her second marriage.”

The two were married on January 6, 1759.

Patsy and George lived a long life together, as everyone knows, but did you know that Patsy followed George to all of his winter encampments during the American Revolution? She made friends with the other officers’ wives. She spent hours knitting dry woolen socks for infantry. She had fun with George, singing with friends, or enjoying a nice dinner.

When she couldn’t be with George, the two wrote to each other. Patsy was George’s emotional rock, a shelter in the storm. He undoubtedly needed it: He was the head of a ragtag Continental Army that had dared to wage a Revolution against the most powerful Army and Navy in the world.

“George Washington was the indispensable man to the success of the American Revolution,” Brady concludes, “and Martha Washington was the indispensable woman to him.”

Americans have learned much about the Indispensable Man. Perhaps it’s time to learn more about the Indispensable Woman.

Sources can always be found on my website, here.

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