1996
Brenda Phelan

Post Cards

I have never been much for the wars of our nation. They were historical events I learned about in school and that was as far as my interest went. Until one day many years after I graduated I decided to do a genealogy of my family. In the course of digging up information, I came across boxes of very old photo albums and scrapbooks. I was enthralled at what I had discovered, as I thumbed through the fragile old pages of someone else’s life.

Tucked away so carefully among these ancient pages was the story of my husband’s family. A writer, a poet, a statesman, Daughters of the Revolution, one of the founding families of America, and military involvements from the Revolutionary War to the present war in Iraq. I came upon a scrapbook that stood out among the many others, as I searched through the many boxes. The book was larger than the rest, black with large gold letters that had faded with time, they simply read “POST CARDS.”

I could smell the years that had passed as I opened the pages. Each page so carefully placed to mark the important events in one man’s life. Nameless faces that could no longer be identified, because these people had long since passed into history, pictures of the U.S. Carolina the U.S. Birmingham, pictures of Fort Schuyler N.Y. and Fort Crockett, Texas, the mess tents, the horse and wagons, dance cards with young ladies names printed upon them, pictures of soldiers digging trenches, the many faces of soldiers who would serve and die in World War I, ladies dressed in hats and white linen dresses, a young woman and a handsome soldier frolicking in a park. A smiling soldier, what he was smiling about was lost in time forever. Two handsome young soldiers with their bodies flung over a grassy mound as in death.

How ironic they should play in this manner when eight million men would lose their lives in the upcoming war. The book included letters of congratulations, orders from superiors, and newspaper clippings of record breaking events. Obituaries, and pictures of one particular soldier standing next to other soldiers whose names and faces would one day go down through history, this book was a virtual museum.

I came to learn the most about one man who stood out among his entire family. This was the scrapbook I now held in my hands. He was born Townsend Foster Dodd, a well to do South Carolina family with a background rich in military history. He was the son of Zachary Taylor Dodd and Ruth Ann McLean. The middle son of seven children born on March sixth in the year of 1886.

He grew up as all children do, and attended Anna High School in Illinois, and went on to attend Illinois University. Upon graduation, he enlisted in the Illinois National Guard, Battery C. He next secured a position with the United States War Department as a designing mechanical engineer. Later, finding an opportunity, he joined the Aviation Corp without hesitation. He learned aviation from the best, Orval and Wilber Wright.

On February 14, 1914 he went on to break American endurance and American Non-Stop Distance records with a passenger distance of 246 miles in 272 minutes at a speed of one mile-per-hour.He won the nationally coveted Mackay Award, on December 24, 1914.On February 1, 1915 he broke the record for highest altitude, at 4,000 feet. On December 21, 1915 he went on to achieve the First Night Aeroflight in 30 minutes. He was awarded the winner of the American Medal of Merit on February 3, 1915.

He continued his career by achieving a position on General Pershing’s staff as Chief of Aviation. He became the first american aviator to cross the american border in the Mexican Campaign, as well as, one of two aviators to land across the border in the town of Chihuahua. Among the many metals he was awarded, he was the first aviator to be decorated with the Distinguished Service Metal.

Townsend Dodd did nothing that spectacular in his mind, as with all great men, he preferred to give credit to other men. Stating that the success of his record breaking flight was due to his passenger, who kept an eye on the engine, turned the map, and was always alert and ready at any information for which he asked. There were thirteen aviators at the beginning of the Aviation Corp. many of them died as a result of experimenting with their new flying machines. I could sense from their letters to each other and their families they were very much aware of their possible fate. These men were truly testing unproved ground. And as is with so many recorded breaking feats many men came after to beat these records and Townsend Dodd became a foot note in history.

Aside from his historical life he met and fell in love with a New York girl serving with the Red Cross. He married St. Clair Livingston on April 24, 1919 on Fifth Avenue in New York City. Then, suddenly, the scrapbook so filled with memories ends, only half the pages completed, the rest blank and empty.

At the back of the book someone politely placed two pictures. They are old pictures, black and white with the smell of time about them. The first picture contains many people, military, as well as, civilian, their heads bowed, they are standing in front of an army tent perhaps paying homage. The second is a close up of the tent, there among the many flowers in the center of the photograph lies a coffin. A bouquet of flowers with a letter A in the middle, perhaps standing for Aviator. Then my eye catches the flowers to the left of the tent, they are decorated in the form of wings, there is no doubt left in my mind that this is the funeral of Townsend Foster Dodd. The rest of this story is contained in another scrapbook on a single newspaper clipping, yellowed and ragged with age. Sadly, as abruptly as it started, his historical career, and his life ended probably much the way he had imagined, and doing what he loved best…. flying.

On October 5, 1919, at the age of 33, with the rank of Colonel, still in service of his country, he crashed his plane at the Bustleton airfield in Philadelphia Pa. He was buried with military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. Townsend Foster Dodd and St. Clair Livingston were married only six short months at the time of his death, he left behind no children.

And so the scrapbook came to rest with my husband. It could have been lost forever, discarded with the many moves and many family members who, at one time possessed it. I feel I discovered it to be able to tell his story.

And so I have...