Time is important. It is one of the only (if not the only) components of life that humans cannot control (yet). Our tourney baseball team knows the importance of time, with 6:09 being a rallying cry for the WFB Dukes White team over the past two years. But the story of 10:59 may usurp all others in regards to the importance of time - and the power of one minute. 11:00 AM, on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. The time was set for an end to the most brutal and vicious war of all time to date, bringing a close to four years of fighting and millions of dead soldiers. The military on both sides actually continued fighting until the very last minute. Near the armistice time, an American soldier jumped up in charge an enemy machine gunner, possibly to restore some lost honor, or possibly to fire one last shot. A minute later, the guns fell silent, soldiers on both sides cheered, and the war ended. Henry Gunther did not get to see that celebration. At 10:59 AM on November 11, 1918, he was shot and killed – the last American soldier to die in World War I. It's really an amazing and sad story, and one that I have read about and listened to a few times. But when I read Rick Rubin's Back Over There and found out that he visited the location of Gunther's death, I put it on my itinerary. Rubin and Mark Van Ells both commented on the challenges of locating the marker for Gunther's death. I figured that, since I'm part bloodhound, I'd be able to find it without much of an issue. There had to be signs, and it could be too far off the beaten path. Per usual, I was wrong, but that made my 45 minutes adventure much more rewarding. After driving into Chaumont-devant-Damvillers in the Meuse Argonne region and seeing no signs, I asked a nice local lady she knew anything about an American soldiers memorial. She told me to go up this road and turn this way and then that way. I thought she meant to go right, but she probably meant for me to go left – but I went anyway. After walking a few kilometers along a couple of dirt farm roads that are only drivable by tractor, I almost gave up. Then, I remembered the story, remembered something about him charging up a hill, remembered seeing a picture of the memorial on what looked like a crest. So, I looked up at the top of the huge ridge and saw a white pole standing up in a place where it shouldn't be. While there was no flag on it, I figured I'd give it one more chance - so up the hill I went. (I told myself it would be my second exercise for the day after the Sgt. York Trail.) After huffing and puffing up a steep plowed field with no one there to help with an AED, I neared the crest and saw that, below this white pole, was indeed a historical marker, leading to a combined euphoria of accomplishment and relief. I stood there for a while to take it all in – standing on the spot where the last of the 50,000+ Americans died in battle, looking over the vast and beautiful Meuse Argonne area, and feeling a little bit incredulous and almost questioning my sanity for being in the middle of basically nowhere in France, all merged to make it a moment that I will always remember. Plus, I was able to take a couple pictures of it by propping up my camera and some rocks – I'm not a big fan of historical selfies, but I had to do it. As I trod back down the dried out plowed field, I wondered if this was the actual path of Henry Gunther's last moments and what it would be like to do this in battle. Thankfully, I'll never have to know that. The stories of the soldiers help me realize that freedom is not free, and I am forever appreciative of their sacrifice, both living and gone.
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