A Hanging at Camp Dodge

Several years ago I learned about the hanging of 3 black men at Camp Dodge near Des Moines, Iowa, when thousands of soldiers were going through basic training for World War I. Through a bit of research, help from Myron, and a letter to Camp Dodge, I learned that my grandfather, Peter Linn, and his brother, Frank Linn, were witnesses to the hanging.

I wrote the following then as part of a story about Grandpa, but my readers who are descended from Frank Linn will undoubtedly find this interesting, and troubling, as well.

THE HANGING AT CAMP DODGE

They were in trenches, just about 100 yards from each other. The German soldiers on one side, the U.S. soldiers on the other. Late at night, they could hear the roar of the fighter airplanes overhead, Red Baron types chasing each other through the night sky. Whenever a German plane was shot down and German airmen died, one could hear the cheers from the U.S. trenches. And when a United States airplane was shot down and U.S. airmen aboard died, a tremendous cheer would rise from the German trenches.

In one of those trenches was my grandfather, Peter Linn, a private in Company E, 349^th Infantry, 88^th Division of the United States Army, stationed in the Alsace region of France in November 1918. He was part of the cheering when German planes went down; he was part of the despair when he realized that U.S. soldiers had died. Peter knew that the U.S. soldiers who had been shot down were heroes, would have a hero’s burial, and would be written about in their hometown newspapers as heroes of fighting the Germans in World War I.

But in that trench on a cold November evening, Peter also reflected on other soldiers’ deaths, those deaths that took place on July 5, 1918, at Camp Dodge, just outside of Des Moines, Iowa. Camp Dodge was a major basic training post in the United States. In 1917, a “city” of nearly 40,000 rose almost overnight and was the army encampment for thousands of Midwesterners who were going through basic training and then to Europe to fight.

Peter had arrived for basic training in early May, 1918. It was his first time, as a 25-year old man, to be away from home, off the Iowa farm he worked with his father, and the first time away from his girlfriend, Maude Olofson.

On May 24, 1918, just a few days after Peter arrived for basic training, a 17-year old white girl was allegedly raped at Camp Dodge; and four black soldiers were quickly arrested. In separate military trials, three of the soldiers were found guilty of the rape and sentenced to hang. Both President Wilson and Newton Baker, the Secretary of War, upheld the verdicts.

On the 5^th of July, the entire camp, nearly 30,000 soldiers, was ordered to come to the quickly constructed gallows to watch the hangings. It was a muggy, humid summer evening around 9 p.m. The 3,000 black soldiers in camp were led from their segregated bunkhouses and forced to stand closest to the platform as a reminder of what happens to black soldiers who get out of line. In addition to the entire division, hundreds of curious onlookers, mostly civilians from Des Moines, watched the spectacle. It looked like an amphitheater with gallows in the center and soldiers tiered on every side. With no wind, every sound, every noise carried to the far reaches of the amphitheater setting.

Peter was on a hill, nearly 50 yards away but still close enough to hear and to see the proceedings. Word spread among his fellow soldiers that the three men were really innocent of the rape. How could this be happening? Were these fellow soldiers innocent? Could they have been guilty of such a dreadful crime? This 25-year old Iowa farm boy private could only watch in some kind of shock and disbelief. He saw the three men being led slowly to the gallows; saw two of the young, black soldiers walk silently, heads bowed. But the third man was wailing, and as they marched closer and closer to the gallows, his wails grew even louder. It was guttural, wailing from the soul, wailing that everyone in the camp could hear.

Peter watched with a mixture of curiosity and confusion as the nooses were slipped over each of the three men’s necks and then tightened. These 30,000 young, inexperienced soldiers, just ordinary young men, mostly farmers, were watching the most horrendous site they had ever seen. The three condemned men stood with hands tied behind their backs, heads lowered, moaning and wailing.  Most of the soldiers in camp had to turn away.

Three ropes fell from the platform to the rear of the scaffold. Only one of the ropes activated all three traps—two were dummies—and only Captain Harry Baker knew for sure which rope was alive. Three of Baker’s enlisted military policemen stood with upraised axes and upon command simultaneously cut the ropes.

This was the only execution in the state of Iowa carried out for a non-murder charge. For many of the men, including Peter, it was said to be worse than anything they ever saw in battle.

And on this night in France in a muddy trench, Peter reflected on that painful July night, just 4 months earlier. Three young black soldiers, guilty or innocent? Given a fair trial or not? Victims of racial discrimination or guilty of the rape of a 17-year old white girl? These three young men would not be seen as heroes of the war, would not be written up in their hometown newspapers as anything other than guilty of rape and dead by hanging at Camp Dodge. My grandfather Peter carried this picture, this story, those memories, with him his entire life.

For more information on the hanging, read Wartime Illusions and Disillusionment

Next week we will look at the lighter side of Grandpa's wartime experience. If you have stories to share, please email me and I'll include them.