Well you hear things...
Word of this place and this graffiti had been passed down from generation to generation.
A hundred years on, it sort of has taken on the air of legend.
You hear that it’s out there and you set off in search of it.
The Chemin des Dames is a ridge about 90 miles north and east of Paris.
During World War I, the Chemin des Dames was very desirable real estate.
Ridges give you height.
And it had the extra advantage of these centuries old chalk mines underneath
which afforded excellent natural protection from bombardment.
All three warring parties, the Germans, the French, the Americans,
occupied them at one time or another.
These are not places that you can find on your own, you have to hookup with somebody
who knows where they are.
There’s nothing in my experience on the scale of these mines.
There are branches and branches and branches.
You’re 30 feet below the earth, with no natural source of light.
It gets cold down there.
The ceilings are very low, often you have to walk hunched over.
One of the first things you see when you get into the mine are artifacts.
Mess tins, shell casings, and bottles.
And if you have any question at all about how the soldiers of World War I got through that war
all you have to do is count the bottles.
Along the walls and the ceiling, you've got layers and layers and layers of graffiti.
The American sector was just crowded with graffiti.
Names.
Units.
Addresses.
Their alma mater.
The name of their masonic lodge and carved beautiful masonic compasses.
They really wanted you to know who they were.
The Yankee division was the first complete American division to arrive in France
in the fall of 1917.
They arrive at the Chemin des Dames and then at some point they move into these mines.
This was very early in the war for Americans.
Before Americans had really been bloodied.
I think one of the most moving pieces of graffiti I ever came across, was written by a corporal,
Joseph P. Shanahan.
And he drew a hand pointing to a radiant heart and he wrote, “merciful heart of Jesus,
have mercy on us.”
I was really moved by that, because I thought this was a man who was afraid.
When I got home I just decided that I would look up as many of these people as I could
and find out what had happened to them.
I looked up Corporal Shanahan.
He survived.
He was cited twice for bravery.
Well very deep I came upon a simple ink drawing that had the name John R. Elliot.
In 1917, when he had barely just turned 17, he lied about his age and enlisted in the
Maine National Guard.
He was sent over to France.
I found this long list of engagements that he had fought in.
At the very end it noted that he had been killed in an attack on November 10th, 1918,
the last full day of the war.
And he was only 18 years old.
Fred J. Brophy.
L.V. Frank.
P.W. Scoufield.
These were guys whose names were never destined to get into history books,
but they wrote them themselves, you can touch a carving and know that that man's hand
carved that name in there, and you feel a very personal connection.
They wanted to leave something of themselves behind.