Story of an "unknown" soldier.....

OK, now here’s the story about that headstone.


Back in late summer my kids, mother and I went to Resurrection Cemetery to pay respect to my grandfather.
Now mind you, he’s not my biological grandfather, but treated me and my brother like we were his biological grandkids. He and my non-biological grandmother loved us, doted on us (well, him more than her but…that’s ok, eh?) took care of us, was supportive of us, gave us gifts…you know what I mean; what a grandparent should do.


So along with us looking at the gravesites of him, our grandmother, some aunts and uncles from my step-father’s side of the family my mother attempted to find other family members from that side of the family that were buried along the “old part” of the cemetery.
We got all mixed up there, lost in a way.


Well, not lost where we wouldn’t be able to find our way out of the cemetery but we drove, and drove…and drove more according to mom’s orders: “Here! It’s by that huge statue! No wait! Turn left here NOW! Wait! Stop! No, wait…go straight! It’s near the tiny mausoleum! No, wait!” Oh, my….goodness! So here I am, in my car on a warm day with the ADHD kids, mother and dog, driving all over Resurrection Cemetery listening to “mi general” threatening to leave her here with her boyfriend the Cucuy because she’s making me waste gas driving for almost an hour in a cemetery looking for a grave!
After taking a deep breath and realizing how funny it would be me explaining to my tias why I left mom in a cemetery I started to notice in the “old side” of the cemetery there were headstones that had birthdates in the 1800s. I then had the kids and mom and the dog play a game to be distracted with the anxiety I had caused by Mrs Cucuy. I shouted, “HEY! Let’s play a game! Who can find the oldest headstone with the earliest birthdate!
I know, right? Some game for the whole family, eh? “Come on, everyone! We’re going to the cemetery to play momma’s favorite game, “FIND THE EARLIEST BIRTHDATE ON HEADSTONES!”


Yes, Halloween is our favorite holiday, we love the Munsters, Addams Family, Svengoolie and I have skulls all over the house. We may be slightly clinically macabre, but it was a pretty good idea because instead of the kids fighting over which side of the back seat was theirs and which side the dog could drool on, they shut the heck up and were hanging out the car windows looking for dates on headstones. We were shouting out dates “1901! 1843! 1871(which made my daughter excited because she studied about the Great Chicago Fire which occurred in 1871…read a book, y’all) and debating who had the earliest date with the person who finds that stone must point it out to us. After this went on for a bit we were near an area my mother “THOUGHT” was where this mysterious gravestone was as she suddenly shouted “STOP HERE!”


Orale.


I stop the car; slowly turn my head to her and she, totally oblivious of my annoyance glibly asked me and my daughter to venture out to look for the name on the “brown” headstones.


I thought, ok; I’ll stretch my legs a bit and get the kid some exercise to chill her out as well….but then I wondered if my mother would drive away and leave me with the Cucuy as I threatened her repeatedly, so I took the keys, my daughter and trekked down a row of stones.
We were looking for the name mom told us, admiring the craftsmanship of these amazing monuments that were created to remind loved ones of their deceased family members. There were such amazing carvings of angels, saints, Jesus and Mary with gemstones tucked in some of the stones…I felt like I was in an outdoor art museum for masonry.


And the dates on these stones! 1849, 1877, 1861, 1865…I mean, we were looking at history! I was tempted to go to the local grocery store for parchment and crayons! Anyone else macabre like me will know why one would use crayons and parchment paper in a cemetery.


Then, as my daughter won the game with the earliest birth headstone (1843) I came across this very simple and old stone.


It reminded me of the headstones they use in both Arlington National Cemetery in DC and the fallen from D-Day in Normandy, France. It was very simple, plain, rectangle. It was a basic, white military headstone. Well, should have been white but was filthy with age. It was difficult to see the date as it was at the bottom of the stone with chunky dirt at the bottom that was so thick and caked on, it was like moving hardened cement. I genuinely tried to move some to see the date but just got my fingernails full of dirt.


I was so touched by the simplicity of this military stone and felt compelled to take a picture of it. It also made me sad that there was no one in this person’s family to visit and pray, to leave flowers or an American flag, or to even tend to the gravesite.


I forgot about that photo until today when I was cleaning out my phone and happened upon it, so with that in mind, I not only felt my history “boner” get on (yes, I’m vulgar…no apologies) to research this individual who lived a long time ago in our galaxy, but felt that it’s my small, patriotic duty to share the information I found out about that gravestone, as it does pertain to my Facebook profile picture.

His name was Joseph H. Chylewski/Chyleuski, PVT 355 INFANTRY, 89 DIVISION, COMPANY K.


I found him in the database of the 89th Division web page which listed the 355th Infantry which was established 5 August 1917 in the National Army as the 355th Infantry and assigned to the 89th Division. It was organized 27 August 1917 at Camp Funston, Kansas and demobilized 1-3 June 1919 at Camp Funston, Kansas.


This division of the US Army had some of the original “Dough Boys” who were trained to fight in northeastern France in the Lorraine/Argonne Forest area where one of the most brutal battles of World War I occurred: The St. Mihiel Offensive and Battle at Meuse-Argonne. That was the biggest operation and victory of the US Army in WWI.


I was able to find quite a bit of information!


He was born in Chicago on March 16th, 1887 at 4841 South Paulina…in his house and according to his draft record he was a private firefighter for the Union Theater at 4658 South Ashland by Back of the Yards.


If anyone knows what the heck a “private firefighter” was during the early 1900s, leave me a comment please! Thanks!


His draft/enlistment record also showed that on June 5th, 1917 he was still living with his parents who immigrated from Germany in the late 1870s , was a natural citizen of the United States, was of tall and slender build, white race, light brown eyes, black hair…slightly balding….?


Hey, don’t give me guff about the balding bit and kill the messenger, eh? That’s what I read. I sound like Elaine from “Seinfeld” describing George Costanza.


His parents were Mary and Andrew and both immigrated from "Germany" after the Franco-Prussian War in the late 1870s, when a lot of Polish named immigrants left what should have been Poland but was actually part of Prussia.


He was discharged 1st of June 1919 and went into the National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers which had a facility in Johnson City, TN in 1921. He was admitted for advanced tuberculosis; he died January 17th 1929 and is buried at Resurrection Cemetery.
Now you’re probably wondering what in the world made me write all this for you to read. Well, it IS Veteran’s Day, and by all means we should remember and honor our veteran’s in every branch of the military and every war that has been fought by them as if it weren’t for them…yes, and I’m sure some of you are tired of hearing “they fought for the freedoms of all Americans,” but they did.


I’m not tired of hearing what our vets and soldiers have done and continue to do. I try my best to honor them by doing as much as I can despite they seem little to some. I have a veteran neighbor down the block who needs occasional help with grocery shopping or cleaning his home. I buy poppies almost every Memorial Day and when I can, I donate to food banks and even to coat banks for our vets.


I did this little research project, for a brave former “Dough Boy” who too fought for our freedoms all the way across the pond, in a country whose language he had absolutely no knowledge of whatsoever. He was disconnected from everything he knew and was familiar with bunking with a bunch of fellow “Dough Boys” who were also scared. Him and the “Dough Boys” couldn’t help but feel terrified, horrified, displaced, lonely, homesick, hungry or thirsty, sickened by mustard gas exposure, surrounded by death, freezing, wet from rain and/or snow, sick with tuberculosis and trench foot. Some of them even had facial disfigurements from various shrapnel explosions….


…and all this without telephones, televisions, radios, the internet…..YES, everyone! This was 100 years ago. Snail mail was almost literally at a snail’s pace.


But they endured. They adapted and improvised. Some came back home; some didn’t and those who did make it back to what they called “home” were never the same again.


If this makes you think again about thanking a vet and you go do just that or you donate, or volunteer your services, then my little project isn’t so little, is it?



God bless our vets!