October 2nd, 2018
With the 9 hour difference as I write this from California, it is late afternoon in France. My grandfather Pvt. Frank Gustaf Severin Erickson, a proud and born Swede immigrated to the states when he was 11 years old. He was raised on the Great Plains of Dakota and lived in the Indian lands of the Mandan, Lakota and Sioux tribes, near where my father was later born in Painted Woods.

Frank was a true outdoors-man and learned his skills with guns, knives and tools. Hunting, fishing and building things came early in his life. Just staying warm in the frozen lands of Dakota in the winter was a yearly duty. Frank was well equipped in his skills and life experiences to survive what he was about to be thrown into when he entered into the dark days of the Argonne in early October of 1918.

One hundred years ago today, Frank was well under way along with Company H of the 308th Infantry heading into what he later explained as 'no-man's world,' of the Argonne Forest. They were a part of the Meuse Argonne Offensive that had begun on September 26th. Frank and H Company were under the direct command of Lt. William J. Cullen. Major Charles Whittlesey commanded the 308th of the 1st Battalion, of the 77th Division. The Major would be presented with the medal of Honor Medal for his command in the early days of October in the Argonne. Frank received his medals, one being the Silver Star, but my feelings and others that were aware of Frank's actions, believe he should have received the highest of honors. For what he endured and accomplished as a runner and rifleman in one of the most famous and notorious battles in the war was beyond the pale.

By the late afternoon, early evening the men were deep into a bad situation. The beginning of a fiasco that would soon be written about in newspapers all over the world. The creation of the term, the 'Lost Battalion' was under way. What my grandfather was thinking during this period I can only guess. He told me many stories, even answering some of my questions: "What was it like? or What did you feel when you realized you were surrounded and cut off?" Answers I knew that were difficult to explain for a Skandi like Frank, like my father was also in his tales of the Air Corps in 1944. Frank responded, "I just did what I had to do, no matter what that was."

Frank had arrived in France in August of 1918 and a little more than a month later Company H and the 308th were about to walk into infamy. Lost Battalion fame not withstanding, the 500 plus men at that very moment were about to experince life changing, threatening and for many life ending experiences. By the end of the week's calamity Frank had been mustard gassed and witnessed countless friends fall. Of the 554 men that entered into combat that first day, only 194 emerged on October 8th through 'the pocket' to safety. The rest were either killed or captured by the Germans.

Weeks later he was to learn his brother Pfc. Ernest Julius Erickson was killed by a sniper on October 10th on another front of the Argonne campaign. As a runner for Lt. Cullen, Frank had vaulted like a deer through the woods carrying messages and as a crack shot riflemen used his skills defending himself. As he later said, "We all were just trying to stay alive."

The sniper fire was accurate and deadly. The artillery barrages, both German and some friendly fire was intense enough for anyone. It rattled their minds and made them cling to the earth. Loud and harrowing! The hand-to-hand combat became Frank's trade that long week in the Argonne as he delivered messages to his commanders and supplies to his comrades.

Like all of the men of the 308th, lost in a sense as many later were told, yet more out of touch with command would be best mentioned. Trapped behind enemy lines and in the grips of the Germans was closest to being accurate. The 194 did walk out of that hell. A true miracle Frank survived in body and soul. I am lucky I knew him when I was growing up. He was a true western man, a hero to me and others in the family and to his friends.

So to you Grandpa Frank, may you rest along with men of the 308th and travel far with my grandmother Clara Amelia into the mystic blue skied lands of the Great Plains that you knew and loved so much.