Laurence “Laudy” H. Adams (1899-1960)

Laurence H. “Laudy” Adams was born 3 Sept 1899, the son of Oscar F. Adams and his wife Lurline Hopewell. His mother died when he was young, his father remarried. He had siblings and the family lived in Scranton, his father working various white-collar jobs in shops, or companies.

Adams enlisted with the Army on 19 July 1917 and by the 15^th of August he had arrived at Camp Mount, Georgia for assignment. This is when the correspondence starts; the first letter is dated August 15^th, 1917.  Adams appears to have already been in a relationship with Hazel “Dutch” Schramm before his military service started.

After a week at Camp Mount, he moves on to Camp Hancock, also in Georgia, presumably for basic training. In Oct of 1917 he was appointed bugler, having been a private. By 16 May 1918, Adams is ready to ship overseas and moves to the embarkation point at Camp Merritt, New Jersey and by May 30^th he is at sea. In June of 1918 they land in England and are issued English rifles.

   By June 9^th he is “somewhere in France.” On 4 July 1918 he is appointed as a motorcycle dispatch rider when he is not needed as a bugler. By August he is in war and is constantly being shelled by the Germans as he moves to the front. He observes Germans from a hill with his Colonel, Colonel Duffy, who later would be killed. Adams is sleeping in the woods, in the rain, and has not bathed in six weeks. He fights in various battles: Chateau-Thierry Sector (29 June – 13 July 1918); 5^th German Offensive (14-27 July, 1918); Advance on Ourco and Vesle (29 July – 9 Sept, 1918) and Meuse-Argonne Offensive (26 Sept – 2 Oct, 1918).

    Adams was wounded in the right shoulder by German machine gun fire on October 2 1918, at Varennes during the During the Battle of Meuse-Argonne Offence, the largest battle in World War One for the Americans. Two days later he is in Hospital #17, having the bullet surgically removed, and a week later he was sitting up, being spoon fed by an American nurse. Adams spent October to December of 1918 recuperating in the hospital, it was a slow recovery.

       While in the hospital, on 11 November 1918, the “Armistice” took effect; the war was over. On 12 January 1919 he is sent back to his unit, which is at Uruffe, France, as bugler. By 9 April 1919 he is on the coast at Le Mans waiting to be shipped back home to the United States. He arrives in Philadelphia on 7 May 1919 and moves on to Camp Dix, New Jersey where he is discharged from military service on 19 May 1919.

By August 1919 he is working for the Gaylord International Engineering and Construction Company, at Hopbottom, Pennsylvania, but the next year (1920 Census) finds him working as a bookkeeper for an automobile company.

Adams appears to have married his girlfriend Hazel Schramm after coming home from the war. Hazel was born about 1898, the daughter of Sophia Schramm, of Pennsylvania. In the 1930 and 1940 Census Adams was working as an automobile salesman and was listed as having had two sons with Hazel. In 1940 his mother-in-law was living with him. They had been living in Scranton all this time.

       Laurence H. Adams died 1 June 1960 at Scranton and was buried at Abington Hills Cemetery, Abington Township, Lackawanna County, Pennsylvania. Adams worked as department manager of ICS at the time of his death. He died of Chronic Lymphatic Leukemia, with marked Anemia. Adams wife outlived him, and she applied, and was successful, in placing a veteran’s military tombstone on his grave.

The correspondence covers his entire period during the war. From boot camp, to going to France to fight, to being wounded and hospitalized, as well as his time in France after the war and after being discharged from the hospital, to finally being shipped back to the United States, being discharged from the military and taking a job in Scranton. When Adams writes to Hazel he calls her “Dutch” or “Dutchy” an apparent nickname of hers.

         Sample Quotes:

“By candlelight, Mt. Gretna, Aug 15, 1917

My Dear Dutch,

Did you get my postal card? I mailed it this morning while it was still dark. We’ve had some time today getting the camp ready. It was payday tonight after mess, so all the boys are going down town, but I am staying in camp, writing a few letters and then turning in. I slept about 10 minutes al last night. You can imagine how much on a troop train.

I am sorry you didn’t see me at the station. I hollered as I passed you but a big cop was pushing you back. Tell you mother I enjoyed the big eats. I ate the last of the chocolate cake this afternoon.

This afternoon Co’s A & C got orders to have everything packed and be ready to move to Georgia tomorrow night (16) and most likely will go late this week. We were the last to get here. All the rest are here and believe me it is some big camp. Ours alone besides a Quartermasters [truck] section, artillery on the other hill and Hospital & Sanitation Corps about 1000 men below us.

I really don’t think you had better figure on coming down Labor Day, ‘cause we’ll surely be gone by then. Tell Rum I’ve been thinking of him tonight and wishing he were here with the rest of the gang cause I know he’d like to be.

You ought to hear the buglers at night, 10 of us all blowing the same kind bugles from the top of the hill in front of Regimental Headquarters….Laudy”

“Somewhere on Sea, 1:30 A.M. May 30, 1918,

My dearest Dutch:

How’s everything with the ‘Bunch’? They’re not very far away from the honorary member? Have had a big time on our ocean trip, it’s just about over now, so I’m writing this and mailing it as soon as we land someplace, was awful sorry that I couldn’t send a letter or card out before our boat left the dock, but was so busy getting organized own ‘below.’ The boat pulled out quietly left the pier, but I finally was able to write a Red Cross card on sea they said it might be picked up. Did you get it?

Believe me life on a transport isn’t so bad, one of the fellows and myself have a nifty little state room (where I’m writing this). We have steward service and all just like a young hotel, the east were plenty fair, better than I expected, & believe me, I sure did eat, no such thing as sea-sickness, was in a big storm for 4 days, waves big…still didn’t get sick.

Did you get the letters Harriet Gladwin & Mrs. Webb took back? Gee I wonder when I’ll get any mail. Listen you just keep on writing a couple a week just the same if I were in old U.S. I’ll get them sometime, someplace, you see your letters won’t be censored either, of course all mine are, but what do I care who knows how much I think of my little girl waiting for me in old U.S.A. only ‘bout 4,000 miles away, and you can just bet I’m going to write just as often as I’m allowed, of course they can’t be very newsy…Laudy”

“Somewhere in France, Sunday night, June 9, 1918,

My dear Dutchy:

Am feeling fine, and having a great time living in a French billet of course its a good barn as far as French barns go, but Baldy & I are able to “hit the hay” every night even so.  We’re getting along god in our French, learning all the “eats” first, have ate out all the “estaminets” within miles of our “chateau de barn.”

As yet I haven’t had any mail from America, wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t get any of mine yet either because the mail is naturally all tied up on account of being newly arrived troops. My address will be the same Co. and all, except use the word “American E. F.” instead of just “E.F.” on account of the Australian E.F…. Did you get my card from the King of England to us Sammies?....Laudy”

“Somewhere in France, 2:30 A.M. July 4, 1918,

My dearest Dutch –

Was happiest guy in the world when I got 4 of your letters tonight dated May 18, 22, 24 & 25 maybe they didn’t come in good to celebrate the 4^th was a big day besides your mail. I got my first American newspaper the Stars & Stripes printed by & for the A.E.F. I got it at the Y which has followed us up to the lines also some real chocolate, then to top it off get a bunch of mail when I came back to billet from duty, have a great job as dispatch rider on a real American machine, of course there’s no work as a Bugler in the trenches, We’re in a great town now , what’s left of it, of course it was deserted when we got in to it and so we have free run of all houses and stores in the place, so you can bet our billet is fixed up swell, especially our living room, have couches, tables, clocks, hall clocks, piano, anything and all we want from the houses, and in our dugout where we sleep and beat it too when the shells come over its an old wine cellar built way under the ground safe as home to us, there we have big mattresses and feather ticks so we’re sure of a good sleep, even when our artillery is shooting right along in back our house, and all around the town, then we have a kitchenette, all this just for 18 of us in the one dugout, so we have some wild eats, with the use of the gardens around here, and good charcoal stoves...

And again had to quite my letter, but we’ve been so rushed we hardly have time to sleep. While I’m writing this during a rest between trips, have to listen to all the “Boche” big shells going over our heads, they ‘whiz….bang’ they’re the one’s we must duck, but the ‘bang…..whiz’ are the ones we like cause then they’re ours going over to Jerry….

…and Dutchy if anything should happen you can remember forever that all my thoughts and hopes were for my “Dutchy Over There” and that every  night I’m here and before every dangerous trip, when I ask “him” for protection it’s always finished “for her sake” – so dear you know you have the most rue blue soldier in the world fighting hard so to get back Home sooner to the best girl in the world, Dutch well it must be “au Revoir” now from your Laudy…”

“Somewhere in France, Aug 8, 1918,

My Dearest Dutchy,

Got you letters 6/30 & 7/8 OK. Sure was glad to get them. I am awful sorry I couldn’t answer sooner, but we’re still pushing the Hun up on this drive and that means moving everyday sleep an hour or so on when we’re stopped on a wagon, in a dugout along the  road, we’re in a little clump of woods now with a dug out bout 4 feet square and 3 ft high covered with logs and dirt, imagine 3 of us calling  it Home and blame lucky to have  it we’re right close to all our big artillery every time they shoot they jar the ground & give a guy a headache but we get use to it, but I guess I’ll never get use to the big one old Bosche sends over cause the more a guy hears them and see’s their work the more we all fear them, but we all got so you can tell just bout where they’ll break, I hope we’ll stay in here for a day or so to rest cause we just came back from way upon the line, up where we could see the Huns and watch our own big shells bust. Boy it’s a sight no man can forget being up on top a big hill with the Major all alone in the middle the night with a view of miles all full of our big guns shooting over our head them watch them drop in Fritz’ lines. I tell you it’s a weird scene makes one think of home & the girl that’s waiting for a fellow. Someday, and you can bet there’s a good many silent prayers going up in No Man’s Land for “His protection.”

We all had a big time this morning found a little pond at least it was water enuf to wash our first wash in just 11 days, put on some new clothes somebody threw away in the push cause we all lighten are pack to a blanket & shelter half and the clothes we have on, talk about your home on one’s back…Laudy”

“Base Hospital #17 Oct 8, 1918,

My dear Dutch,

I suppose you heard by this time that I got ‘banged up’ last Wed. night the 2^nd. I’m getting along fine here at a big base in South France getting treated great by the YMCA & Red Cross. Gee, it seems queer to be around real civilization again, lots of American gals here, was just listening to some guy “rave’ on the piano, it was all Greek to me for being the new hits it almost made me homesick cause its a long time since. And maybe it isn’t a great to sleep in a real bed, even sheets and just fancy ‘Pajamas.’ They give us loose corduroy suits to loaf around in.

The wound isn't all bad just a machine ’un bullet went in the top of my right shoulder and they operated and took it out in back of my shoulder. I’m glad it wasn’t shrapnel cause that makes a ragged hole, but believe I think I’m some lucky to get mine so easy. But I got the bullet and it’s my proudest souvenir. Gee one thing I’m glad of while I’m back here, I’m not broke cause the last thing Capt. Dolph did before I was evacuated was to give me 150 francs on my back pay and I understand we get 45 f. per month casualty pay….Bests to all the family & bunch, Love from your Lundy”