Omaha daily bee., 1919-09-09

(InOCO from an Ola h1DuH
part in the lives of our children. The
war entered into the playtime Of
Laclede's children. Popular heroes
of the war became their heroes and
in their play they emulated their
heroes.
Who was Johns hero?
Grant.
And, in later years, a cadet at
West Point, John was to see his
hero alive and he was to honor him
dead.
Sister Tells of Pershing's Boyhood.
The gener; S sister, Mrs. D. NJ.
Butler, born May Elizabeth PERISH
ing, but known to Laclede folks as
Bessie" the third child of the
Pershings, told me much of this part
of his life. Sitting in her home at
l74S B street, in Lincoln, Neb., her
brothers only surviving child snug
gled up against her, she recounted it.
,, Il was born June 10, 1864" said
Mrs. Butler, "and my earliest men,
cries go back to John. AS | see him,
a boy again, he was very much as
this boy, his son, is today" And
Mrs. Butler reached up a hand to
stroke the blond head nestled in her
shoulder.
II recall him as boy-all boy. He
was n'ischievous as all boys who are
real boys are michievous. What
stands out most clearly is our moth
er's tenderness towards him. She
was a remarkable woman. John
owes much to her.
His Mother, His Sweetheart.
"All through her life she was his
sweetheart They were sweethearts
together. The lessons of life he
learned at her knee have guided him.
| recall as if it were yesterday the
day my mother made the first
American flag ever flung to the
breeze in Laclede John and | sat
beside her as she made it. With
each stitch she explained to US what
the flag stood for; what each star
meant, what each stripe meant.
Then, too, John owes much to
his father. l remember distinctly
as clearly as I recall the fag-ob-
servanee of the first Memorial day
in Laclede. Our father was spon-
sor for the observance. He got
most Of the children together. You
know many of our people frowned
upon our Memorial day. But he did
not care. With John and I on
either side Of him, one of us by each
hand, the other children following
behind. all carrying flowers, he led
us out to the cemetery where our SOL
der dead were buried. He told US
why we went; why we should honor
the memory of these soldiers, and
why we should pay reverence to
them. He told us why they died
to preserve the Union. Then, at
his direction, we laid the flowers on
the graves.
Those recollections 50 clear to
me today, must be as clear today to
John. They must be guideposts in
his life.
Mrs. Butler ceased speaking and
Warren, triae restless, slipped
from her arms. He ran to a table
near which we were sitting apd
caug hit up photograph in his
hands. He brought it to me.
Today's General AS Daddy.
"See! he exclaimed. "A picture
Of my daddy"
1t was an unusually fine picture
of the general, taken only a few
weeks before in Paris. And, writ
ten just below the picture in the
generals hand, were the words:
with love to my son, Warren,
from Papa
Warren waited while I read, then
spoke up again.
Il get letter from daddy every
week." the child said.
"He writes and tells US what he is
doing. write him, too"
A moment more the child had
left the room-gone to play, pre-
haps at soldiers even as his father
played at soldiers more than half
century ago, never knowing that in
later life that he was to become one
of the greatest soldiers history
knows, the first American general to
lead an army of Americans on for
eign soil in the greatest war of his
tory.
His father over again." Mrs.
Butler remarked as the boy depart
And he is his father over again