College men did everything from peeling spuds to commanding ships. Trained minds, plus work and courage in the test of war, forever answered in the affirmative the question whether college education is worth what it costs. The college man mastered navigation more rapidly because he had mastered mathematics. His ability to learn readily paid his country a large dividend upon its investment in educational institutions.
Though colleges and universities were giving instruction and nearly all our ships and stations engaged in training reserves as well as regulars, the typical reserve camp was at Pelham Bay. We needed a training station near New York. We had to have a good waterside location with plenty of space, well drained and wholesome, and we found it in the park at Pelham, which the municipal authorities generously tendered for temporary use. Ten miles from the heart of the city, with water on two sides, Pelham Bay was an ideal location, and there we built a station capable of providing for 25,000 men. It was efficiently commanded by Captain W. B. Franklin, a former officer in the regular Navy, and a fine type of the reservist of mature years.
I made it a habit during the war, whenever my duties called me to New York, to run over to Pelham. Being myself in the reserve class, called from civilian life to service with the naval forces for a period, the chance to touch elbow to elbow with these men was always embraced, and after every visit I returned to Washington with new inspiration and new zeal. Many young reservists trained there won promotion—I say won, because commissions were not handed out. They were awarded by demonstration of fitness. The course was so thorough that the reserves called Pelham the "Reserve Naval Academy."
Eighteen reservists were commended for acts of personal bravery, 110 for courageous and heroic action. Four Medals of Honor were awarded reservists; eleven received Distinguished Service Medals; the Navy Cross was awarded to 265 officers and 50 enlisted men, and special letters of commendation for exceptional performance of duty were sent to 171 officers and 20 men of the Naval Reserve Force.
This is the record that glorified all the reservists, not alone those marked for special distinction but the thousands who were of the same stuff and spirit. They fought well. They died well. They have left in deeds and words a record that will be an inspiration to unborn generations. As illustrating their spirit I recall a legacy left by a valorous young aviator for whom I named a destroyer.
Kenneth MacLeish, of Glencoe, Ill., was enrolled in the Reserve Flying Corps in March, 1917. In October he went to France and became a member of the bombing group, taking part in many air raids over the enemy's lines. While on a raid his squadron was attacked by a dozen enemy airplanes. Fighting desperately, to enable his fellows to escape, MacLeish's plane was shot down and he was killed. His daring, his fortitude, his Christian spirit were a trinity which make him immortal. Writing to his parents, just before he was killed, MacLeish penned this classic that will live in the annals of the Naval Reserves:
In the first place, if I find it necessary to make the supreme sacrifice, always remember this; I am firmly convinced that the ideals which I am going to fight for are right, and splendid ideals, that I am happy to be able to give so much for them. I could not have any self-respect, I could not consider myself a man, if I saw these ideals defeated when it lies in my power to defend them. *** So you see, I have no fears, I have no regrets. I have only to thank God for such a wonderful opportunity to serve Him and the world. *** And the life that I lay down will be my preparation for the grander, finer life that I take up.
I shall live! *** you must not grieve; I shall be supremely happy *** so must you—not that I have "gone west," but that I have bought such a wonderful life at such a small price, and paid for it so gladly.