Dem
51
GOP
49
On August 2, 1956, Albert Woolson passed away at the age of 106. His death was national news, enough so that President Dwight D. Eisenhower issued a statement about it, observing that "The American people have lost the last personal link with the Union Army." Note that Ike did not say "the last personal link with the Civil War." That is because there were three men still living, at that time, who claimed to be veterans of the Confederate Army.
Mathematically, it was rather unlikely that the last three survivors of the Civil War would come from the army that included roughly 35% of the people who served in the conflict. And today, it is generally accepted that the claims of the three "Confederates" living in August 1956 were false, prompted by a desire for attention or for a veteran's pension or both. So, Woolson is now generally regarded as the final living veteran of the Civil War.
That said, "generally regarded" is not the same as "universally regarded." It is not so easy to be sure who did, and did not, serve in the Civil War, for two main reasons. First, because "service" is an imprecise term. Do you have to see combat? Do you have to be formally sworn in as a soldier? What is the cutoff date for service in a war that is generally understood to have ended on April 9, 1865, but where there were troops still in the field as late as August 1865? The second problem is that record-keeping was sketchy in the 19th century, particularly when it came to the Confederate forces. In some cases, out of necessity for want of documentation, state governments adopted the standard that if someone would vouch they saw you fighting, that was good enough.
We bring this up because while it's easier to address questions of service for 20th century wars, it's still not possible to draw a bright-red line between "served" and "didn't serve." Sometime not too far off, in roughly the year 2040, the last living American to have served in World War II will shuffle off this mortal coil. And the last living members of various subgroups will pass before that—the last American to score a kill in aerial combat, the last American to fight in The Philippines, the last American to participate in the D-Day invasion, etc.
The smaller the subgroup, of course, the more quickly it is going to pass into memory. And one of the World War II subgroups that will soon be gone is the Tuskegee Airmen. That very famous, all-Black unit (because the armed forces were segregated back then) included 992 pilots and roughly 10,000 support personnel. Active from 1940-48, the Airmen earned three Distinguished Unit Citations and, thus far, 96 Distinguished Flying Crosses, 60 Purple Hearts, a Silver Star and 14 Bronze Stars. We write "thus far" because the Pentagon does sometimes go back and retroactively bestow or upgrade military honors. In particular, don't be surprised if one day that Silver Star, awarded to Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., who commanded the Airmen and saw them shoot down over 100 enemy planes, is upgraded to a Medal of Honor.
Davis, who was 30 when he took command of the Tuskegee Airmen, and who retired from the Air Force in 1970 as a full general, was never going to be the last living member of the unit. It's always someone who joined very young and very late. Someone like Homer Hogues, who was born in 1927, and so was 19 when he joined the Airmen as a mechanic. He remained with the unit until it ceased to exist in 1948, thanks to the integration of the U.S. military (a process where then-Col. Davis served as a key adviser to Harry S. Truman).
Hogues ultimately attained the rank of staff sergeant, and enjoyed a level of equality not generally available to Black men outside of the military at that time, up to and including marching in Truman's inaugural parade. Once Hogues left military service, however, it was time for second-class citizenship. Despite being an experienced aerial mechanic, he struggled to find work with the country's major airlines, excepting janitorial work. He did eventually find employment at a manufacturing facility, and hung on to that job for 40 years before retiring.
Meanwhile, in his off hours, Hogues participated in the Civil Rights Movement, and also spoke to countless groups about the Tuskegee Airmen, helping to keep that history alive. Well after his retirement from the labor force, he was invited to be part of a presidential inauguration for a second time. In this case, it was in 2008, as an honored guest of then-president-elect Barack Obama.
As you have presumably gathered by now, Homer Hogues died this week, at the age of 96. Every single obituary describes him as "one of the last surviving Tuskegee Airmen." Exactly how many others are left, and exactly who they are, is hard to say because of the fuzziness we describe above. It's entirely possible that, one day soon, Americans will look back and conclude that Hogues was, in fact, the last of the Airmen. And even if that does not prove to be the case, this is nonetheless a chapter in American history that will soon come to a close. Father Time is, after all, undefeated.
Given the Supreme Court's decision (see above) and the fact that this is the last Freudenfreude entry prior to the Fourth of July, this seemed an apropos choice of subject. Have a good weekend, all. (Z)