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Lenoir County WWI vet died days before ceremony scheduled to award him France's highest
honor Elliott Swann Russell, at 102, out lived all other known Lenoir County veterans of World War I. He outlived the remaining members of his ambulance corps who braved impossible odds to carry the wounded through the mired French countryside of the Muese-Argonne campaign. He even outlived the application and approval process that designated him to receive the French Chevalier, the National Order of the Legion of Honor, which stands as the highest honor awarded by the French government. In fact, the only thing he couldn't outlive was the time necessary to deliver and present the award to Russell before his death March 11, 1999. When David "Mac" Wood, of the local Veterans Affairs office, saw the announcement in 1998 that the French government wished to bestow their medal of honor to qualified Allied Force World War I veterans still living, he knew he had to move fast. The tribute, intended as solemn thanks to those who helped defend France during those dark years, included strict specifications. Each recipient must have served honorably on French soil during the period of the war prior to November 11, 1918, have no criminal record, and be living at the time of application. "I immediately thought of Mr. Russell," Wood recalls. "However, given his advanced years and declining health, I wanted to make sure we did everything right the first time. Time was important due to the stipulation the applicant be living when the application was filed." Giving the matter priority, Wood took care to verify each requirement. He drove to Pink Hill to assist with the needed paperwork, notified the appropriate officials, saw to it the form was submitted, and then tried to relax. "It worried me that Mr. Russell's health continued to fail. We waited. Mr. Russell transferred to a skilled nursing facility from the assisted living status he had been enjoying. He was still pretty independent despite his age. We waited some more. He continued to decline. I sent follow-up letters. I contacted the French Embassy, anything I could think of to speed things up. "They were very cooperative, but of course each applicant needed to be checked out and they were all up in years, too. I kept the Embassy updated of his health status. Word came on March 8, his award had been approved. Needless to say, I was elated. But they wanted to present each veteran in person. The Vice Counsel General planned to make the sweep of North Carolina. There were three recipients in eastern Carolina, so she planned to come to each place, from Wilmington to here, in succession. Sad to say, Mr. Russell expired on March 11, and his presentation ceremony was scheduled for the 23rd." No-Man's Land While serving in the 317th ambulance company as a "wagoneer," Russell drove a primitive motorized ambulance that bounced unmercifully across what General Pershing himself named "no-man's land." The term "road" used to designate the three routes leading through the area only loosely described the obstacle course drivers such as Russell navigated with their young, bloodied cargo. During the fierce fighting of the infamous Muese-Argonne, wounded soldiers first endured hours huddled in the trenches until they could be lifted and carried to a tent or "aid station." Then, under cover of darkness, the rescue teams rushed in to haul them onto horse-drawn wagons or motor-wagons, like the one Russell drove. That's when things got bad. The countryside had already been devastated because as France faced the German army bearing down, they had blown up sections of their own roads to hinder the German advance. New craters emerged as enemy shelling on Allied troops intensified. Pounding rains turned ruts into mud-mires. "The Greatest Praise" In his memoirs, General Pershing acknowledged the forbidding task faced by the medical evacuation units: "In many instances they were under constant exposure on or near battlefields for long periods. Their supply truck trains and ambulance trains went back and forth at all times, and were often hit by artillery fire or shot up from airplanes. Evacuation hospitals were frequently bombed, and several nurses were wounded. Altogether, the Medical Department deserves the greatest praise for its service in this operation." To visualize the ambulance journey, picture a washed out logging trail, times ten. Then imagine driving a truck circa 1918 full of wounded soldiers over the trail blindfolded. By the time Mr. Russell's health failed at 102, his memories seemed intact, although it became increasingly difficult for him to express them. However, when he was younger, (only 100), he was still able to articulate his experiences: "Night was the only time we could move up to the front to collect the wounded…We moved at night, and we couldn't have our lights on because that's what the enemy was looking for…Two orderlies would help me put the men in the ambulance…Cries would fill the air… Men would shout 'Put me out - let me die in peace'… "The ambulance had solid tires - they weren't filled with air. It was difficult to steer and turn the tires if you weren't moving (fast enough)…The roads were terrible and shot full of holes…The ambulance didn't have a glass windshield, either… "We were moving all the time…Usually we had to walk when we traveled…What sleep we could get, we got during the day…in the ambulance… "One time we were driving up a mountain road and the vehicle in front of us almost went over the side…" Three Passes to Paris When the Great War finally ended, there was much jubilation. Helen Crews, Mr. Russell's daughter, recalled her father telling her how an officer, once peace was declared, asked for three volunteers from the company for an unnamed task. No one ventured to volunteer at first, and one man spoke up to ask what the assignment was. "To bury a dead horse," came the reply. This brought even less response. Seeing no one was going to volunteer, finally Russell and two others stepped forward to accept the task, amidst snickers from the other men who would be celebrating whilst they sweated at the gruesome deed. The officer then took them aside and quietly told them, "No dead horse," handing the three young volunteers the biggest prize in a twenty year-old's life - three passes to Paris. He explained all he had were the three passes, and no other way to choose who got them. A Buzzing of Bees Mrs. Crews notes that her father never told her any war stories as such. Not much of the ordeal would be what a man would want to tell his daughter. But she did remember one other incident he shared with her. "Once, my father and another soldier went to town, wishing to purchase some honey from the local store. Neither of the soldiers spoke French, and they soon learned the girls at the store spoke no English." Resorting to American ingenuity, the two young men began buzzing like bees, and trying to depict the flying insects in pantomime. Soon the two French girls were laughing so hard they could barely stand, but the soldiers did leave with their honey. Mac Wood relates Mr. Russell once telling him, "The French ladies were very pretty, and very kind." A Man of Respect Before the war, Russell had worked in a buggy factory with his father. Years later, on his one hundredth birthday, he would declare, "I'm the only son of a farmer…the best and the meanest!" To mark the event, he even received birthday greetings from the President and First Lady. Residents of Kinston remember Elliott Russell not as a man of war, but the friendly face who for twenty years ran the service station on the corner of Shine Street and Queen. Wood recalls how Russell, when asked why he did not seek assistance from Veterans Affairs, replied simply he had done well enough himself: "I'm a man of respect;" he responded with quiet pride, "I'm self reliant." And so it was that Elliott Swann Russell, the man with five double consonants in his name, was laid to rest only days before Vice Consul General Nicole Saade' was to arrive to present him with the French Medal of Honor, signed by Jaques Chirac, President of the Republic of France. The tribute Wood helped arrange for Russell was to include presenting a letter of congratulations from Governor Jim Hunt, posting of colors by Army ROTC and the playing of both The Star Spangled Banner and the French national anthem La Marseillaise. Family and friends looking forward to paying their respects to Russell at the ceremony found themselves paying him their last respects instead. For Wood, who had worked so diligently to make the award a reality, the blow hit especially hard: "It's just really hard to put into words - how - really sad we all felt. It was all approved. The Award was actually issued. It was just the presentation itself that was left. I truly believe they didn't realize there were so many American World War I veterans, 900, who had served with honor in France, still living in the U.S. And they were committed to present each one in person. The logistics alone of getting to each place took time." Russell was once asked if the two years he spent in the battlefields of France seemed like forever. Reflecting how his whole time there was spent in a race against death carrying the wounded from the lines, he answered honestly, " No. Sometimes things moved mighty fast." No one knew better than Elliott Russell: In that final race against death, sometimes, they do. "Merci, frere d'armes." Sources for this article include "My Experiences in the World War" by John J. Pershing, The Kinston Free Press and personal interviews. 
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