Arrived in Paris about 9 a.m. ...

Grant returned time and again to this hotel in the 9th arrondissement of Paris. The building houses a hotel to this day.

Thursday, May 31, 1917:

Arrived in Paris about 9 A.M. After saying good-bye to Mr. Symons and Miss Mullen we left for our various hotels. Tish Libby and I got a nice room at the Hotel Silvia run by the same management as that running Hotel du Palais where most of the boys stayed. After reporting at the office where numerous papers were signed we spent our time in seeing Paris. The location of the Hotel Silvia was something like this:

The location of our hotel explains pretty well our situation. We were centrally located where we could see everything easily without moving very far from our source.

The first woman street car conductor and motorman almost upset the cab because of the excitement it caused on top.

Grant R. Willard arrived on French soil at the great port city of Bordeaux a hundred years ago today. In this diary entry, he describes the disembarking procedure, ground transportation and his train ride to Paris.

Wednesday, May 30, 1917:

Censors boarded the boat in the night and were inspecting baggage this a.m. when I got up. I fell in line with my passport visaed. Then Sloan and I got our baggage inspected, checked to station in Bordeaux and everything on deck ready to be taken off. The inspectors were funny. Big, fat, greasy-looking Frenchmen who paid no attention to anything but tobacco. Playing cards and matches were completely ignored. Objections were made to my two one-pound cans of Tuxedo until Bill Sloan, who never uses tobacco, claimed one of them as his.
We left the boat about 11:30 this morning and were met by a Mr. Havemeyer who had made all arrangements for us between Bordeaux and Paris. We were taken to the R.R. station in hacks. I don’t doubt we amused the natives tremendously when everybody made a grand rush for the tops of the vehicles rather than sitting inside on the cushions. A hack with no occupants inside, swaying back and forth with its top-heavy load was not an uncommon sight. The first woman street car conductor and motorman almost upset the cab because of the excitement it caused on top. There was much adieu made by groups of French soldiers we passed. Bouquets were thrown at us from second and third story windows. The advent of America in this war has touched a soft spot in the hearts of these poor Frenchmen.

After seeing the sights of the city in a cab with Otto Sharp we returned to the depot about 6 p.m. and had dinner with Miss Mullen and Mr. Symons in the depot dining room.

Miss Mullen and Mr. Symons changed the plans in order to ride up to Paris in our train. We left at 7:45 this evening 2nd class. We got a compartment next to Miss Mullen’s and we had a very enjoyable ride. I slept not a minute more than an hour all night.

The whole trip has been wonderful. I shall never forget it.

Tuesday, May 29, 1917:

It is reported this a.m. that we will be at the mouth of the river by 11 o’clock this evening to lie there until tomorrow a.m. It hardly seems possible that we can be so near the end of our sea voyage. I’m not sorry, however. The fellows are all anxious to “get started” and will all be glad when Paris is reached.

Got up for my first breakfast on board this a.m. Miss Mullen had prepared coffee for us and she boiled an egg which was delicious--I mean an egg apiece. She has been perfectly wonderful for us all and I’m sure is going to be like a mother to us all in Paris.

It is raining and foggy out--the best kind of a day imaginable for the danger zone. The whole trip has been wonderful. I shall never forget it.

No excitement. Played cards with the usual crowd and had our farewell tea party in Mr. Symons’ room.

Miss Lynch is a very clever woman.

Monday, May 28:

Got up at noon, ate dinner and sat on lower deck and sunned myself with Libby and McCarthy who has been quite ill the past four days with asthma.

4 P.M. played bridge with Miss Lynch vs. Symons and Sharp. We won three rubbers in succession. Miss Lynch is a very clever woman.

Miss Mullen gave another tea at 5:30.

After dinner we sat on deck: Miss Mullen, Miss Lynch, Sharp, Symons and Gregory. I stuck it out until 3 A.M. when I left them and went to my bunk. No lights were allowed on deck. We are in the danger zone and every precaution is being taken. You’ve got to hand it to these Frenchmen for system. They have three men in the crow’s nest and four on the bridge with the gunners at their posts and watchmen on the rear deck. No smoking is allowed on deck and few lights are burning within.

Miss Mullen, Sharp and self fell into a philosophical discussion centered around fatalism. As usual we got nowhere because we all had different conceptions of the scope of the word “fatalism.” Omar was brought into discussion and some parts of his philosophy severely criticized. Sharp didn’t think that fore-ordination and predestination were included in fatalism. I can’t see it any other way. If we cannot alter conditions through the will what is the power given us for and why do we continually endeavor to develop and use this power? If all has been planned for us why work to change it? Why not sit idly by and let God have his way without endeavoring to assist and run the chance of standing in his way? We finally agreed that after all has been said and done happiness is the goal toward which we all strive. The friction comes with the difference in method of attaining this goal. Some believe it should be done thru sacrifice in making others happy and some with the idea of the self uppermost.

The life boats are now swung out ready to lower at a minute’s notice...

Sunday, May 27:

Second Sunday on board. Got up at noon and ate a good dinner. A beautiful day with the water as quiet as the day we left N.Y. I wonder where we are. We are said to be due in Bordeaux about Wednesday noon. We are running at greater speed now than heretofore. We have passed many boats in the last two days -- all merchant vessels. The explanation seems to be that the boats are convoyed out of European ports in groups and then when out of the danger zone are abandoned and scatter to the four winds. They say we are to be convoyed in another day.

Tish and I sunned ourselves on the forward lower deck this P.M. for two hours. Many pictures were taken. The favorite objects seemed to be a group of six French soldiers just returning to the front after a furlough of a month in America.

At four o’clock we had another life boat drill and the boats are now swung out ready to lower at a minute’s notice. We have all men in our boat for which I think we can be thankful if anything should happen. Everybody treats the probability lightly, however, and no one seems to be worried. Many are sleeping on deck now, but I am too fond of my bunk.

At nine o’clock we had a concert on board in which we discovered that we had much talent on board. It opened up by a lottery on prizes contributed by people on the ship in the way of eats, drinks and trinkets. Those that were not called for were raffled off and sold at fabulous prices. Next on the program was a French play of which I understood nothing. An American play and take off on beginners in French followed and was very amusing. Then we ascended to the parlor where a very good musical concert took place. Many artists were uncovered for the first time this trip. Mr. Symons’ voice is a tremendous baritone and very good. He sang some ballads. They are reported as having taken in some $825 all of which is to go to some war benefit fund.

After the concert Miss Mullen staged a party in the dining room at which there were about 15 of us. We ate sandwiches, cake and drank punch and had an awfully good time. At 2 A.M. I went to bed.

Will we ever know what the accident was?

Friday, May 25, 1917:
 

The water is more quiet today and the day more clear. Got up at 10 A.M. and took a nice hot salt-water bath after which I shaved and went to dinner. Paul was there, but looks like a wet dish rag. He won’t eat a thing.

We get wireless news every day posted on the bulletin board and today we were informed that the Mongolia returned to New York with the bodies of two nurses killed on board by accident. Will we ever know what the accident was? We get news from France, England, America keeping us posted right up to date.

Read Service until 4 P.M. Crawled into a life boat with my blanket and lay flat on my back for three hours. At 4 I attended Miss Mullen’s tea -- only she always serves coffee -- and afterward played bridge with Miss Lynch against Mr. Symons and Gregory. We won. After dinner Mr. Symons and I played Miss Lynch and Gregory and lost. Went to bed about midnight.

We are running more carefully these nights. We have been passing a number of ships by day and goodness knows how many by night. Up to last night we have been running in utter darkness, but now we have a mast light and red and green on either side. The decks are very dimly lit whereas formerly there was no light whatever. We have had one life boat drill and have another tomorrow P.M. It consists of nothing more than reporting with your life belt at your particular boat on the spar deck.

Paul ate quite heartily this evening and looks much better than he has for several days.

I would give my kingdom for even a bucket full of earth.

Thursday, May 24, 1917:
Still rough, but better than yesterday. Many places are vacant in the dining room. Paul Hoerr still looks ghastly and eats very little.

Got up about noon, ate good dinner and then went up on upper deck, climbed into a life boat out of the wind and there, with Tish and another fellow, spent the afternoon reading Service and Dorothy’s letters. I read her last steamer letter today in which she quoted from Thomas à Kempis that famous passage on resignation: “I am the way, the truth and the light,” etc. A very beautiful passage. Gosh, but it hurts to have to be content with reading these things from her when I was just getting so used to being with her and hearing her say them. If I hadn’t made preparations for going to France and had my mind set on it before I arrived in Ambler, I’m sure I never could have gotten away. I pray to God that all goes well with her while I am away.
This morning at 4:00 A.M. the engines stopped and a man who died of T.B. yesterday on board was fed to the sharks. I did not see the operation. The story goes that he was trying to get home to his family before he died.

We have passed many ships they say, but I never get up early enough in the morning to see them. I surely needed sleep. Never felt better in my life than I do between rocks of the boat. But when it heaves way up, twists and comes down with a crash of foaming water, then I would give my kingdom for even a bucket full of earth.

At 4 o’clock we congregated in Mr. Symons’ cabin and Miss Mullin served coffee. It was surely good and she’s a peach. Later Miss Lynch, Mr. Symons played Gregory and myself in bridge and beat us. After dinner Miss Lynch and I played Mr. Symons and Gregory and beat them all to pieces. Miss Lynch surely can play. At 11 o’clock we parted and went to bed.

Here is Dorothy's steamer letter No. 6:


No. VI—Thursday, Friday, Saturday

Deacon-Husband-to-be!

The ride over to N.Y. and you has been lovely for the train went so fast; and besides the country was so beautiful. I’ve seen little winding streams, woods and wild flowers, and loved them all! In 45 min. I’ll be with you! I wonder if you’ll kiss me, I hope you will, but I’ll make a wager you didn’t! Won’t it be fun to see which one wins?

You will be reading this Thursday way, way out upon the ocean while I’m at school preserving law & order in the school-buildings until 4.00 P.M. Then I shall wend my way houseward—on the trolley if it’s fine weather & train if it’s not! I hope you aren’t sea-sick—for it’s a horrible feeling. The trip will do you good, even if you are, for it will give you time to rest. And rest is the best preparation for the work you’ll find ahead of you. I’ve heard from Agnes and the American Ambulance Hospital is terribly rushed. In about 2 wks. she says (writing May 5th) they’ve brought into Paris over 5,000 wounded & dying to be cared for. Nurses and ambulance-drivers are in great demand, so you see, dear, you are greatly needed; and will be doing a noble service to suffering humanity. I am glad and happy in your work; for I feel that in letting you go willingly, I am helping a bit. I only wish I could be over there with you, doing more. And if it all lasts—who knows but what I may!

Today’s letter really contains Sunday’s sermon. I found a great deal of comfort in these words of Thomas à Kempis, and so will pass them or to you;-

“I will have thee learn perfect resignation of thy self to my will, without contradiction or complaint. Follow thou me: ‘I am the way, the truth & the life.’ Without the way, there is no going; without the truth, there is no knowing; without the life, there is no living…I am the straightest way, the highest truth, the true life, the blessed life, the life uncreated. If thou remain in any way thou shalt know the truth, & the truth shall make thee free, & thou shalt lay hold on eternal life…Verily the life of a Christian is, a cross, yet it is also a guide to paradise. I have begun I may not go back, neither is it fitting to leave that which I have undertaken. Courage, then, brethren, let us go forward together! Jesus will be with us. For the sake of Jesus we have undertaken this cross, for the sake of Jesus let us persevere in the cross. He will be our helper, who is also our guide and forerunner. Behold, our king entereth in before us, & he will fight for us. Let us follow manfully, let no man fear any terrors; let us be prepared to die valiantly in battle, nor bring shame on our glory by flying from the cross.”

I am ashamed because I have tried to “fly from the cross”, but I know that although at times our burdens seem too heavy, with God’s help anything is possible. Nothing I can add is adequate after such a quotation—so, heart of mine, I am going to end this letter with simply—God bless & keep you and sometime bring you back to me—I feel wonderfully peaceful & happy now and hope you do too.

        Ever your Dorothy

The sea really is quite heavy. The foredecks are continually being washed.

Tuesday, May 22:

Arose about noon and ate hearty dinner. Sea is rougher with an occasional wave washing second deck.

Dorothy’s letter today was the best yet. I will certainly miss them when they run out. I wish I were on my homeward way to her instead of leaving her.

Miss Emma Mullen who lives in Paris, but is an American, is on board and very, very nice to American Ambulance men. I met her thru Tish Libby. She makes delicious coffee every afternoon and I was invited to join her party this P.M. Met many nice people among whom were Miss Lynch going to France on a special commission for the New York Sun and Mr. Symons, the baritone. I hope he sings for us before we arrive in Bordeaux.

The sky is overcast and the wind picking up. I have been very thankful for my fur coat. Warm clothes are a comfort. Paul Hoerr has been sick today and looks like a ghost. The sea really is quite heavy. The foredecks are continually being washed.

Dorothy's steamer letter No. IV for Tuesday. Written en route to Philadelphia on May 18, 1917.

Deacon lover,-

The train has just stopped at Elkino Park & I’m thinking of you as you got off here yesterday. I wish we could put the darn old clock back by some “hook or crook”. But every good thing as well as those that aren’t so good, must come to an end. Which may be interpreted to mean that even our present pain and sorrow at parting cannot last forever. Another happy holiday will come some day—and then (with war a thing of the past) we can give ourselves up to the complete enjoyment of each other.

We have been living on the sunniest hill tops—you & I—and even though we must both go down into separate valleys where there will be no sun for a while; we shall not lose for one second, the vision we gained in high places together. And someday, God willing, we shall make those dream-like visions—realities.

I bought a lot of music yesterday—among which was your old favorite—There’s a Long, Long Trail. I’m going to learn how to play that, and make myself sing it, even if I don’t feel very much like warbling just at present.

On the way to N.Y. 2.15 P.M.! I’m so happy for I’m coming to you. I was so afraid that something might happen to prevent my getting off early, but it didn’t. Then came the awful thought that I was so afraid that something might happen to prevent my getting off early, but it didn’t. Then came the awful thought that maybe you’d have to sail before Saturday, and I might not see you again, before you go. But that too has been relegated—with all other disturbing notions—to the dump heap. God’s in his heaven, and all’s right with the world—this present chaos is but part of his general plan of things, and will eventually prove a blessing in disguise.

Just before I left school, mother phoned to say good-bye and send her love and best wishes to you through me. She has been perfectly dear with me ever since Thursday. I think a lot of the trouble was due to me, and her misunderstanding of how things actually were. We’ve had a long talk together, and as a result, I feel sure that everything is going to be all right in that direction. So don’t worry. Your letter must have worked wonders—but there that’s nothing new, I’ve always maintained that—for her voice over the phone was so sweet & cheerful & loving. All she said was I’ll be thinking of you. Honey, be brave and don’t worry. Everything will turn out O.K. and I know it will.

I came across an old telegram from you sent to Glen Morris the day after our all night session. It said: “Reported for work 8.30 this A.M., feeling fine, hope you are the same”. (here my pen saw fit to run dry!) It made me laugh to recall that funny night, when you had to sleep out on the porch. I can just imagine you sending another such telegram (if it were possible) about your Red Cross work—only then it would read P.M. instead of A.M. wouldn’t it?

Do you know I believe I loved you then,- for I simply hated to go upstairs and leave you down there alone. Once I nearly came down to see if you were comfortable, but lost my nerve. So I went to bed, and thought about you instead!

Isn’t it wonderful the way things all work out? I can’t believe yet that we are really engaged; and on the other hand, I can’t remember a time since we’ve known each other that I haven’t hoped & felt that we would be some day.

Mother was horribly shocked last night when I told her I’d go to France with you tomorrow, if I only could. She seemed to think I was forward & lacking in modesty & grace,--to say nothing of being an ungrateful daughter. I guess she’s forgetting how she felt. But you understand me, don’t you, Grant? And love me faults and all??? That’s all that seems to matter now—what you say and think. And I don’t care a hang what any one else thinks as long as I know that you really love me.

I guess I’m selfish too, for my dreams & thoughts are all of you. Everything else has just sort of sunk into the background. But the background now for a time must become foreground, until you return again. Then I shall awake as from a bad dream, and know that I am yours again & forever.

Dorothy.

Water is a bit rougher, but am feeling fine.

Onboard the S.S. Chicago...

Monday, May 21, 1917:

Lady in next cabin still sick. I slept like a log: didn’t get up until about 11 A.M. Ate a good dinner at 12:15. The time is continually changing so that it is hard to keep track of. At 2 P.M. the Norton-Harjes men met and received a few instructions regarding lifeboats and each man was presented with a button to distinguish him from the rest. There about 40 of us on board.

Much excitement! Cited a boat on our port bow. Everybody rushed for their glasses and Kodaks. We passed her at about 8 miles at 2:30 P.M. She proved to be an Italian contraband ship bound for New York. She saluted us with an Italian flag and an American flag.

Water is a bit rougher, but am feeling fine. Am growing a mustache.

Forgot to say that yesterday several of us wanted to be inoculated and found that to get the boat surgeon to do it, it would cost us $5.00 at throw. So we looked up a young doctor going over with the hospital corps who fixed us up for nothing.

Inoculation causing no trouble whatsoever.

Read some more steamer letters this P.M. Grandma Robbins wrote me a very good one for this day. Dorothy’s are superb and I don’t know what I will do when they run out. Guess I will have to start over again. She also fixed up a little calendar with a short sentiment for each day. They are good because she did it.

And Dorothy's steamer letter:

No. III – Monday

Deac-dear,

Just a tiny note today. I cut this out of the paper because it reminded me of that last walk of ours in the rain. Only your eyes were not the only things that talked. I shall never forget that last glorious evening together up by the lake—it couldn’t have been improved upon. Hope the ocean is behaving itself & you are well. “Bon soir, monsieur, je vous aime”—etc.

Dorothée

Grant Willard's first full day at sea:

Sunday, May 20, 1917:

Some of the fellows are sick today and a lady across from us was sick all night. The water is very quiet, however, and the day perfect. Physically I feel fine, but my heart aches for Dorothy. I have read two of the steamer letters she wrote and it made me hate myself for leaving America. It made me curse this war with its sorrows and heart rendings. Dorothy has grown dearer to me than anything I have ever wanted or possessed. I hope these 6 months will go quickly.

My fur coat has proved very practical and a constant companion. I have slept flat on my back on the forward deck in the sun this P.M. and have read some of Robert Service which Dorothy gave me. This trip is going to be a great rest, I’m sure.

I forgot to say that there are about 350 passengers aboard and easily 300 of these are Ambulance Drivers, some units from colleges and some individuals as myself. There are a number of Dartmouth boys aboard, Harvard, Williams and Columbia -- also M.I.T. is pretty well represented.

At night the windows are covered and the deck in pitch blackness. The fellows congregate in crowds and sing to the accompaniment of mandolins and ukuleles.

We had good fried chicken for dinner tonight. We can’t possibly complain of food so far. It is well cooked and of great variety,

Tish and I sat alone in the dark on deck for 2 hours this evening listening to the music of the mandolin and groups of men singing. Went to bed about 10:30.

The "steamer letter" was a byproduct of the great era of ocean travel. Friends and lovers would write a letter or postcard to their loved one for each day of an ocean voyage, noting the day on which the letter could be opened and read. This is the 1st steamer letter that Dorothy Houghton wrote to Grant:

Steamer-letter no. 1

For Saturday only.

Friends Select School

May 17, 1917

Dear Other Part of Me,-

I am going to write you a letter for every day that you’ll be on board—that is for the first week—if you’re much longer than that you’ll have to resort to repetition. So although you must be Post office, postmaster and receiver, all in one, you must play fair and not read them all at once, but save one for each day. Or you would be like the little girl whose brother told her not to swallow her candy too quickly ’cause he couldn’t get it up again! Of course on ship-board many things do come to the surface which one never expects—so this rule may only hold good on land! You can tell me someday how it worked.

First of all, according to the custom of all steamer letters, I wish you, Deacon-lover, “Bon voyage”. And in this particular case, a very happy busy six months of service for your country and mine, and a speedy return to the good old U.S.A. and me! You know—and this is not said in most steamer letters—that I am waiting for you. Furthermore I am thinking of you and praying for you all the time. I have put you in God’s hands, and I am not afraid, for He can take far better care of you than even I could do, though I want to so much.

You know too that I love you—I feel as if I always had and know I always will—no matter what happens. So please, for my sake don’t run any unnecessary risks just for the glory & adventure of this new experience. I wish you were not to be stationed right along the battle front—sometimes I shall get awake at night and think of you in that long convoy of ambulances way over there across the waters, picking your way out in the dark, or by the occasional fire of the big guns. That’s when I’ll cease to be brave and perhaps choke myself with some red-hot tears, for I’ll want you so—just as I used to have you with your big strong arms around me. But I’m going to work hard and keep busy and therefore happy, and the first thing we know summer will have come and gone, and you’ll be home again. And the very best Christmas present I’ll ever have—will be your own dear self.

School is over now—I started this in Study Hall early this morning. It’s Thursday, my day to stay here until 4.00 so I’ll have a nice long visit with you. We had a lecture on Birds by Schuyler Matthews from 1-2 o’clock. And as usual I wished for you. It was awfully good for Mr. Matthews imitated the different bird-calls so cleverly. Each song is individual and yet each means practically the same thing, in English:- “I love you—come to me”. How wonderfully this whole big scheme of things is worked out. Who could love & study nature and not believe that a Great Mind had planned it all? I love the trees, birds and flowers, and I want to know more about them. For even if I haven’t you, there will still be beauty. That reminds me of our friend, Sara Teasdale:- “Ah, beauty, are you not enough? Why am I unsatisfied and crying after love?” Why indeed? When we are made that way. I’ll never forget how surprised I was to learn, during a course in psychology at college, that the little lights we love to watch in summertime under the trees,--i.e. lightning bugs or “glow-worms” to be more poetical,--were all for a definite purpose. I had always thought they were just to look pretty, and not tiny beacons to light the way to each other. Yet how natural and simple it all is. At first, I’ll admit, the idea wasn’t pleasing—I felt that it wasn’t quite nice, and it rather disgusted me. But I’ve learned a lot since then—about myself & other things.

I wish I were going to meet you again today at Broad St. Station (and you may safely bet I’ll keep on wishing it) but instead I’m going to beat my way out on the trolley. It’s a heavenly day and the ride of an hour & a half won’t be half bad—even if I can’t get an open car; and then (here’s evidence of my economical nature) I’ll only spend 10¢. Think of it!

Your telegram arrived about noon, and made me laugh. I believe you are in love, Deac-dear. You seemed to forget more than you remembered. I love to bring them though for somehow it makes me feel very domestic and near you. I feel that way too when I sew or embroider things for future use. That’s something I haven’t told you—I’ve already started a “hope-chest”. Marion has one, so you must know what they are;--but you can’t know how exciting it is to make & save things for them. I have enough now for very light house-keeping—a luncheon set, two silver forks from Senior Parlor (V.C.) and a half dozen spoons (we’d never use knives!); also a goodly assortment of towels, not to mention my own personal belongings—any of which seeming unnecessary I stowe away. Well, I must go—this will be enough for one day.

All yours,

Dot

The boat was a good, stable French liner...

One hundred years ago today Grant Willard set sail for France and a life-altering experience.

THE S.S. CHICAGO was not a massive ocean liner of the day like RMS Titanic or Lusitania. At 508 feet she was little more than half the length of the ill-fated Titanic, and not nearly as fast. Still, she was a pretty ship. Hull painted black and superstructure white, she had twin screws, twin masts and twin funnels painted in the French Line colors of red capped in black. She had room for 360 second-class passengers and twice that number in third class. In those days the CGT (Compagnie Générale Transatlantique) made money shipping thousands of immigrants to America in steerage class. Sailing first between Le Havre and New York, and then Bordeaux and New York, the Chicago transported passengers adequately if not opulently. Then along came World War I and her voyages became more dangerous and less profitable. She had to contend with raiding German U-boats and much fewer passengers willing to risk an Atlantic crossing. Her hair-raising trips were often reported in The New York Times: FRENCH LINER ESCAPES SUBMARINES or a similar headline was not uncommon. Such was the Chicago’s condition when she set sail from New York’s Pier 57 at West 15th Street on May 19, 1917, with 325 young American volunteer ambulance drivers aboard including Grant Willard.

He wrote to his mother before sailing:

May 19, 1917

Dear Mother:-

All red-tape completed. Am aboard. Lillian, Adell Pattison, and Dot saw me off. Everything is aboard and I am feeling fine. Tish Libby and Paul Hoerr are here also. Don’t know who my cabin partner will be.

The last two weeks have been wonderful, Mother. They ought to keep me satisfied for a long time. I will be glad when 6 mos. are up and I promise you that if I can conscientiously do so I shall be in America again in December.

Please keep well and happy and don't worry. The boat is a good, stable French liner. 

In his private journal he wrote:

Saturday, May 19:

Met Dorothy at Martha Washington about 9 A.M. and we went right down to the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique, Pier 57 where I got my baggage inspected. Then we sent downtown to the offices of the French lines where I got some more French paper money, and accidentally met Paul Hoerr who was making final preparations to going over with us this afternoon. Dot and I then went over to the Aquarium at the Battery and from there to Wall Street where considerable excitement was taking place over non-listed stocks. It being about lunch time we went to a quiet little café‚ for our final meal together. It was a good meal, but I couldn’t put much enthusiasm into it. It surely was hard to realize that all our happiness of the past two weeks was about to conclude for 6 months.

At the pier we met Lillian Hutchinson and Adele Pattison. After a short visit I bade them good-bye and with Paul Hoerr, boarded the good French liner Chicago at 1:46 P.M. The girls all left. About 3:40 the gang planks were pulled and we were pushed out into the Hudson River. Many, many people were on the pier waiving [sic] all kinds of flags and handkerchiefs. It was a sight which would make any man’s blood sing for awhile. The English ship Mongolia sailed out about 15 minutes before we did with a load of American Army officers and nurses on board. I didn’t envy them their trip, but surely hope they get through O.K.

Tish Libby, Paul Hoerr and myself got deck chairs together and most of the rest of today was spent on deck. We eat in divisions. Paul Hoerr and I eat second service which means lunch at 12:00 and dinner at 7:15 with breakfast anywhere from 6 to 8:30 A.M. The meals so far have been excellent with usually 3 meats and a couple of vegetables, French bread & cheese & plenty of red and white wine.

My roommate is a William Sloan of New York. About 30 years old, married, two children, architect receiving education in Paris. Speaks French fluently and is very nice. He got two big baskets of fruit given him and has told me it was mine whenever I wanted it.

The lurid tale of The Man Who Came Back

Grant Willard and Dorothy Houghton spent all of May 18, 1917, being tourists in the streets of Manhattan. They rode a "rubber neck" carriage up Riverside Drive to Grant's Tomb.

They dined at the fabulous Marine Grill in the Hotel McAlpin at 34th Street and Broadway. Though the building still stands, the hotel disappeared in the 1970s. Luckily, you can still see some of the amazing terra cotta murals that adorned the walls of the Marine Grill at the Fulton Street Station of the NYC Subway!

And then, like all good tourists do, they went to a Broadway show. The Man Who Came Back, a melodrama by Jules Eckert Goodman, ran at the Playhouse Theatre from September 1916 to October 1917. 

The New York Times called the play, starring Henry Hull (the future "Wolfman of London") and Mary Nash, a "little lurid." A play of "regeneration," it had to do with the debauched son of a wealthy man who drifts around the world until "he and a girl he has picked up on the way drink the dregs together in the lowest opium den in China. There and then--apparently because they have reached the bottom of things--they take hold of hands and wearily start the return to decency." Grant said the play "hit the spot" with him.

Their date ended when Grant dropped Dorothy off at the Martha Washington Hotel, and he made his way to his room at the Biltmore.

He comes to me highly recommended by people of character and standing.

One hundred years ago this month, Grant R. Willard was in New York finalizing his plans to travel to France to volunteer on the Western Front. 

Check out the fascinating passport application below. He (and others) had to swear that he was of sound character and was truly going to France to "do his duty as a volunteer."

Dorothy is a perfect wonder...

Ambler, Pa.,

May 15, 1917

Mother dear:-

After leaving New York City last Friday I came straight for Ambler and here I’ve been ever since and expect to be until Thursday A.M. when I return to New York to pack what I purchased last week. Physically I am weller than ever now. Mentally and spiritually I am the happiest man alive and I defy anyone to contradict that statement. Dorothy is a perfect wonder and I love her with a love that I never knew was possible until last week.

When in New York last week I fixed up my passport which required much red-tape, as given my steamer ticket and I bought most of my equipment. I spent close on to $50 on it but $26.35 of it is furnished by the corps so you see I am getting out of it very easily. There are a few more little things to be gotten and much packing to be done. I leave here Thursday A.M. to be in New York by 10 A.M. and to stay until Saturday P.M. at one o’clock when I board the French liner Chicago from the French pier on 57th St. I am doing my packing at the Hutchinsons who have been very, very nice to me.

Upon my second arrival here last Friday, Dot met me at the station and with the rest of the family, we drove in a car to Valley Forge. It was a beautiful drive on a glorious day and one which will long be remembered. Saturday we all went to Atlantic City staying until 3:00 P.M. Sunday. I can’t stop to tell you the wonders of that place and the perfectly splendid time we had. That ocean breeze would cure any ailment whatsoever. We were met at this end of our return trip by a friend of the family who took us for a beautiful drive in his car to Ambler. Yesterday I got a little horse from the livery and Dot and I drove to Valley Green after her school was over. The day was perfect, the scenery beautiful and everything progressed without a hitch. We took dinner at an old inn by the road and got the most wonderful steak I ever put my jaws into. We got home about 10:30 last evening. In about an hour we leave for Philadelphia where we meet the girls and Mrs. Houghton says she is going to give us a party. What it will be I don’t know. Mother, it has been awfully hard for her to like me but she has been splendid about it all. You see I’m a westerner and am out here after one of the two things that have been nearest and dearest to her for all these years and she naturally was strongly prejudiced against me even before I came. She tries hard not to show it but I can see it and feel it.

This evening one of the Penn. U. students and friend of this family has invited us to a function at the U. Tomorrow there will be a little party with Marguerite Sibley after school and in the morning I leave for New York. (Thurs.)

Now, Mother dear, please don’t worry about me. Mr. Norton said to worry was foolish because nothing would happen. I will cable you immediately upon my arrival in France. Mr. Norton said for you not to expect to hear from me before three weeks after my departure. He said we may arrive in 7 or 8 days and again it may take two weeks and even more, that censorship on cables is so strict that they are very slow in coming. I am cabling you and Dot. Will you please notify the Hutchinsons – no, I’ll get Dot to do that, it will cost less from here.

My addresses will be as follows:-

Cable:-

Volunteer Willard,

Amredcross, Paris

Mail:-

Volunteer Grant R. Willard,

American Red Cross Ambulance,

Rue François Premier,

Paris

Parcels:-

War Relief Clearing House,

40 Wall Str., New York City.

I will try to get a copy of shipping directions so that you will know what you can send me and just how to do it.

Now I must leave you. I think probably you will hear from me again before I sail but if I shouldn’t find the time here’s a farewell. Please don’t worry about me but think of the good which is bound to come from it all. In six months I’ll be back – I hope to stay.

If you have room for Dorothy on your auto trip and would care to have her come along I’m sure she would appreciate an invitation from you and as long as her family will be west she might consent to go with you. Suit yourself on this score, however.

All kinds of love from the happiest man in the world,

Grant.

May 9, 1917: Grant writes home to his mother

In April 1917, Grant R. Willard, of Mankato, Minnesota, left home to volunteer in France with the Norton-Harjes Ambulance Corps on the Western Front. Though he thought he'd only be gone for six months, it would be two years before he came back to America a changed man.

Before shipping out, he spent time wooing a woman from Pennsylvania named Dorothy Houghton. While staying with cousins in Brooklyn, Grant related his feelings about the young woman.

360 E. 19th St.

Brooklyn, N.Y.

May 9, 1917

Mother dear:-

The reaction has come. The strain of the past few weeks has weakened me so that my second inoculation got the best of me. Cousin Elsie doesn’t know it but I was very sick last night with a fever which I thought would burn me up. It is now about 1 P.M. and I have been up but a few minutes. My fever is gone, my arm much better and my throat not half so sore. Tomorrow I hope to be back to par as far as physical health is concerned.

Now for a few heart throbs – my four days in Ambler have made a new man of me. The whole trip out was misery. I thought the suspense would kill me before I saw Dot at the depot. Even after I had been here for two days the suspense still stayed by me. I was so afraid that something would go wrong somewhere and that she would find she had made a mistake in her man. So for two whole days I was bound to be as natural as possible – to be toward her as I would be toward any other girl. They were two hard days. Sunday, though a gloomy day in temperature and brightness was a day which will never be forgotten by me. She is more wonderful than I had dared believe, Mother, and everything has turned out so beautifully. I wish now more than ever that I could have arranged some way to come just this far and no farther but I was deathly afraid to hesitate even a minute lest I be sent, thru conscription, in the opposite direction in which case I’m sure I should have literally pined away. It’s going to be awfully hard to leave the country but the future now looks bigger and brighter than ever before. I think it’s going to be good for all concerned.

Another thing which I am afraid you don’t understand: it wasn’t easy for me to leave home, Mother. It was one of the hardest things I ever did. But don’t you see I couldn’t for a minute let myself down to it? I played human psychology pretty hard, I’ll tell you, and you all were perfectly wonderful for not taking my pins out from under me as you could very easily have done. I saw no further than Ambler. Now I am beginning to look a bit further than Ambler and it hurts like blazes -- not fear but just the thought of being so far from ease and comfort into a new land of misery and suffering. Nobody can deliberately pick up and pull away from a home which has meant as much to him as my home has and go to a new land of venture and hard work without some feeling. Though maybe it doesn’t show it is there and there to stay. As for personal danger, I think this is barely worth considering. Of course, I won’t admit there is any more danger than we are every day subjected to here in this country. No transports between here and the foreign countries have been in anyway molested and there is hardly a possibility that they will be. The danger over there is nothing when compared to the service rendered. So you see, Mother, that by the method of comparisons my move can be strongly fortified and I still feel with all my heart that my course has been the right one for me.

I have come here from Ambler to make sure about my boat. I didn’t understand Dad’s telegram. I find there is no boat until a week from Saturday as I had interpreted the telegram. So I shall be here until Friday noon when I shall again return to Ambler to be with Dorothy until the following Friday if Mrs. Houghton doesn’t kick me out.

Cousin Elsie and Lillian have been very, very nice to me. Cousin Elsie wishes me to say that your letter, grandma’s letter and Alice’s letter have all been received and appreciated. They both send love to all.

Tomorrow I meet Mr. Norton for final arrangements for leaving this country May 19th. I think I will have my trunk sent right out here for packing.

I will write you again from Ambler next week. Dad’s letter enclosing Mr. Hatcher’s has been received. I hope to be able to use it.

These things remember then: Your eldest son is doing what he considers his duty with a much easier heart than he has had for many months and that he is already looking forward to his return when this horrible thing is over with.

Much love-

Grant