Thomas Enright - Forgotten American Hero

This article was written by Mike Connors. It first appeared in the September and December, 2004, issues of Historical Happenings.

I was reluctant to work on a cold Veterans Day in the early eighties, although we had set out in the morning to do just that. My conscience was appeased by an unexpected snowfall, which sent us back toward home through Stanton Heights. A large stacked pile of curbside treasure attracted my attention and we pulled over to investigate.

Under a light dusting of snow, on top of an end table, was a placard signed by John J. Pershing commemorating the service of Thomas Enright. In the garbage on Veterans Day, it was a tragic irony.

Thomas Enright, one of the first American battle casualties of World War I, was born May 8, 1887 on Taylor Street in Bloomfield. He was the seventh child (the fourth surviving child) of Ellen Enright and her considerably older husband, John. Thomas was their first child not born in their native Ireland. He spent his youth on Taylor Street and attended St. Mary’s School in Lawrenceville.

In 1909, while the construction of Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Hall was under way, a few weeks before the start of the World Series, during the inaugural season of Forbes Field, when Honus Wagner and the Pirates defeated the Detroit Tigers led by Ty Cobb, Thomas Enright enlisted in the United States Army.

By the end of his second enlistment, Tom had served in China, the Philippines, and Mexico. While fighting Moros in the Philippines, during General John Pershing’s rule as military governor, he earned the title of Expert Cavalryman. In Mexico, he was part of the Pershing-led punitive expedition in pursuit of Pancho Villa.

In 1914, as a member of the 16th Infantry, Tom was one of 3,000 troops in Vera Cruz harbor when seaman Francis Delowry, a former classmate at St. Mary’s in Lawrenceville, was shot from the mast of the U.S.S. New Hampshire. In 1916, while pursuing Pancho Villa in Mexico, he wrote to his sister Mary that he saw nothing but starving cattle.

Tom left the army in 1917, but after a short time back in Pittsburgh -- motivated perhaps by a sense of duty, by talk of U.S. involvement in the European war, or by a good look at his brothers’ lives as industrial laborers -- he re-enlisted and re-joined the 16th Infantry. He arrived in Fort Bliss, Texas, where the 16th was stationed, just in time to be sent back across the country by rail to Hoboken, New Jersey.

Like most of the United States Army, the 16th Infantry, 2,600 strong, was made up largely of new recruits. As America prepared to enter World War I, many of these young men were expecting a Boy Scout-type adventure.

Their new experience began with a two-week crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, in the first troop convoy of the war. On June 26, 1917, they disembarked in St. Nazaire, France, as part of the First Infantry Division.

The First came to be known as Pershing’s darlings. “The best damn division in the army,” Pershing would call them. Their chief of operations was Uniontown’s George C. Marshall, whose name would later be famous in history.

When the French government requested a U.S. Military presence for a July 4th ceremony, Pershing ordered a battalion from the 16th to Paris. The scene is best described by Pershing himself in his Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir, My Experiences in the World War.

The French wished to honor our Independence Day, and suggested some of our troops should participate with theirs in its appropriate observance. The people of Paris had not yet seen any American troops and the authorities felt also that their actual appearance would have a good effect on French morale. A battalion of the 16th Infantry was brought from St. Nazaire for the occasion. Although these troops were from a Regular regiment, we were not prepared to make much of an impression from the military point of view as the unit had recently been raised to war strength and about two-thirds of the men were recruits. The untrained, awkward appearance of this unit, which was regarded by French officers as representing our Regular Army, could have not escaped their critical observation.

A stand of our national colors was presented by the President to our battalion and a pair of guidons to me. There in this national shrine, sacred to the memory of the glorious past of the French people, where Napoleon assembled his cabinet to do honor to the immortal Washington when he died, and where Napoleon himself lies buried, an official welcome was extended on Independence Day to America's first contingent of troops. No other occasion that I recall was more significant or more clearly indicated the depth of French sentiment and affection for their old ally.

The first appearance of American combat troops in Paris brought forth joyful acclaim from the people. On the march to Lafayette's tomb, at Picpus Cemetery the battalion was joined by a great crowd, many women forcing their way into the ranks and swinging along arm in arm with the men. With wreaths about their necks and bouquets in their hats and rifles, the column looked like a moving flower garden. With only a semblance of military formation, the animated throng pushed its way through avenues of people to the martial strains of the French band and the still more thrilling music of cheering voices.

Many people dropped to their knees in reverence as the column went by. It was on this occasion and upon this spot that utterance was given to an expression that could have been born only of inspiration, one that will live long in history – “Lafayette, we are here!”

One could imagine that as a schoolboy in St. Mary's, along with the three R's and religion, Tom was taught American history and learned about the role the Marquis de Lafayette had played in that history. Lafayette, came to Lawrenceville in 1825, waved from his carriage at veterans of the Revolution and War of 1812 and was surpassed in esteem only by George Washington.

One day shy of four months after the proclamation "Lafayette, we are here,” the United States Army was for the first time at the front. Company F, 16th Infantry, to which Tom Enright belonged, had been in the trenches only a few hours. The Germans were aware of their presence, having been informed by a French deserter.

A little after 3:00 A.M., November 3, 1917, the Germans launched a nearly hour-long "box assault.” This was an artillery assault to the left, right and rear of Company F's position, cutting them off from reinforcements or retreat.

Across a frozen no-man's land, two hundred seasoned German shock troops advanced with the odds ten to one in their favor. Eleven men of Company F were taken prisoner. Five others were left wounded. Merle Hay, James Gresham and Thomas Enright were killed.

Merle Hay was shot, stabbed and stomped to death. Corporal James Gresham was shot between the eyes. A few yards away lay Thomas Enright, expert cavalryman, face down, his head was nearly severed from his body by a trench knife - a 20th century weapon little improved upon since the days of ancient Rome. Scattered in and about the trench, were a few German helmets and rifles. "A hard and desperate hand to hand fight had been fought."

On November 5, 1917, Thomas Enright, James Gresham, and Merle Hay were buried in the country where they had died, with the following inscription to mark their graves: "Here lie the first soldiers of the illustrious Republic of the United States who fell on French soil for justice and liberty."

The deaths of these three young men would solidify the country's resolve, becoming a notorious episode in U.S. military history. Enright, Gresham, and Hay were no Quentin Roosevelts; no sons of privilege. They could have been any farmer’s or millworker's boys. Losing them was “reason enough for war.”

Cheeks stained with tears, soldiers fired large French 75's (artillery pieces) in the direction of the German lines with "a prayer they would hit their mark."

In Pittsburgh on November 5th, the Post-Gazette’s banner headline announced the news of Tom Enright’s death: "HUNS KILL LOCAL YOUTH." On the editorial page was a drawing of Lady Liberty, Columbia herself, cloaked in the flag, her arms stretched toward the heavens. She stood at the steps of the "TEMPLE OF WORLD FREEDOM AFTER THE WAR IS WON." Three columns rose above the names of Enright, Gresham, and Hay.

At the election-night smoker of the Pittsburgh Commercial Club, the members made plans to build a memorial to Thomas Enright. Every person in the city would be asked to contribute a number of pennies equal to his or her age. In City Council, James Heron introduced a resolution to rename Premo Street in Morningside, where Tom’s sister Mary lived, “in honor of the dead patriot.” Mary was quoted in the papers as saying, “I know that if he had a moment of consciousness right before death came he was glad to go the way he did.”

Mary wired the War Department asking for her brother’s body to be returned, as did Mayor Joseph Armstrong and the United Spanish War Veterans. Despite their requests, Thomas Enright would lie in a French grave for more than two and a half years after the Armistice was signed.

In July of 1921, on the same Hoboken Pier from which Tom and his comrades had departed, General John “Blackjack” Pershing stood straight and square to greet the transport ships Wheaton and Somme, which carried the bodies of Thomas Enright, James Gresham, Merle Hay. More than seven thousand flag-draped coffins were unloaded from the two ships. When carried onto the embarkation pier, they stretched row upon row.

General Pershing spoke with a measured voice -- but with visible emotion.

These men who died on foreign soil laid down their lives for us.

They fought for freedom and for eternal right and justice, as did the founders of the great American Republic before them.

Freedom was their battle cry. I saw them go forward, scornful of danger, to save a well nigh lost cause. Only one who was actually with them can ever know the sublime heights of heroism and devotion to which they rose.

Under each of these flags lies a boy who was nurtured at the altar of an American home. Each of these homes now mourns. In the presence of this grief, and sharing it, no heart can remain unmoved. But with this grief is mingled pride and exaltation. We feel their spiritual presence. We feel that it will help lift us to their plane. Their story will live down the ages. They gave all, and they have left us their example. It remains for us with fitting ceremonies, tenderly with our flowers and our tears, to lay them to rest on the American soil for which they died.

Pershing gently laid wreathes on the coffins of Gresham, Hay, and Thomas Enright. “With muted brass and muffled drums came strains of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers.’” The service concluded with the playing of “The Star Spangled Banner” and the sounding of “Taps” by a bugler from Fort Hamilton.

It would be speculation to say that Pershing knew Thomas Enright. However, the two had shared many of the same experiences as one remained a private and the other rose to the rank of General of the Armies. Enright served under Pershing first when the famous man was a Brigadier General commanding a few thousand troops in the Philippines, then when he was a Major General chasing Pancho Villa through Mexico, and finally when he was Commander in Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces, speaking in front of a battalion of the 16th at Lafayette’s tomb. Most likely, Thomas Enright’s face was familiar to Pershing. In 1931, although he had been just one among tens of thousand of casualties, he was mentioned by name in Pershing’s memoir.

That July of 1921, World War, Spanish War and Civil War veterans, along with crowds of civilians, who had by then mostly put the war behind them, held funerals throughout the country.

On Tuesday, July 12, Tom’s casket arrived at Pennsylvania Station in Pittsburgh, accompanied by William Wiggans. Wiggans was one of the very few members of Company F to have survived the box assault intact. Attired in uniform, he stayed with the casket throughout the next few days.

Friday morning, July 15, Allegheny County commissioners, comrades of various veteran organizations, and a squad of motorcycle policeman escorted Enright's casket to Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Hall, where, like Francis Delowry before him, Thomas Enright lay in state. A steady stream of mourners came to honor him, and dozens of floral arrangements were delivered.

On Saturday, his flag-draped casket was carried through the front doors of Soldiers and Sailors Hall and down the long walkway to Fifth Avenue. There it was placed on a caisson drawn by six horses. All of his pallbearers were alumni of St. Mary’s School and veterans of the Great War.

During the formation of the procession, headed by a detachment of five hundred ex-servicemen from the Pittsburgh police and fire departments, "the great crowd stood in silent tribute. Many wept unashamed."

The VFW Band played "Nearer My God to Thee" as the caisson made its way along Fifth Avenue to the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, which could not accommodate the overflow crowd. Thousands crammed their way inside, filling the aisles. Most waited outside while a mass was held by Bishop Boyle.

From Oakland, the funeral procession made its way to St. Mary's Cemetery in Lawrenceville, where after multiple conflicts and thousands of miles, Private Thomas Francis Enright was buried again, not far from where he had been born. Pershing's wreath was laid upon the freshly mounded earth.

The Enright Memorial, which had been planned by the Pittsburgh Commercial Club, was never built. However, a new East Liberty theater was named in honor of Tom. It was dedicated on a pleasant, unseasonably mild Saturday in December of 1928, more than eleven years after his death.

The opening ceremonies began with a parade. The 324th Observation Squadron departed from Rogers Field – now the site of Fox Chapel High School -- flew their PT Army planes low across the sunny sky, and dropped wreathes upon the theater's roof.

Another of Tom's sisters, Mrs. Charles Trunzer, raised the flag to the top of the gleaming new flag pole, while the 107th field artillery drum and bugle corps from Elizabeth, Pennsylvania, played the national anthem.

Two of the speakers were Major C.B. Shaffer, who also served as the parade marshal, and Major Robert Woodside. Dr.Herbert Dewar, county commander of the American Legion, unveiled the commemorative lobby tableau. A prayer was offered by Rabbi Benjamin Lichter of B’nai Israel Congregation. Pittsburgh City Council President James F. Malone accepted the theater on behalf of the proud city. In attendance were vice presidents of the Stanley Company, which had paid nearly three million pre-depression dollars to build the palatial playhouse. A cannon was on hand to fire a twenty-one gun salute.

The civic-conscious crowd stared in disbelief as the first volley of cannon fire shattered the windowpanes of the new box office. The following blasts broke dozens of windows, roaring implacably on over the screams of police and populace.

In less than thirty years, all of the theater's windows would be broken again, this time, intentionally and for good. The Enright Theater and the flagpole on which Old Glory had been raised by Mrs. Charles Trunzer would be destroyed by urban planners.

By the time of the theater’s demolition, Thomas Enright's tombstone had become worn and illegible -- due in part to the quality of the Pittsburgh's air. On Memorial Day, 1961, through the efforts of VFW Post 897, headed by Commander Joseph Borkowski, a new stone was unveiled.

Today a Dutch Girl Cleaners and a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette distribution center occupy the former site of the Enright Theater. About two blocks to the west, along the neighborhood border of Friendship and East Liberty, is a tiny fenced-in area with a swing set and a slide, which is called the “Enright Parklett.” Its name is discernible on a piece of wolmanized lumber fashioned into a sign. (A phone call to City Parks confirmed the obvious - the fenced-in area is too small to be a "park." Thus, parklett.)

In Morningside, in spite of Councilman Heron’s efforts, Premo Street is still called Premo Street. Some residents objected to his plan.

Off Broad Street in East Liberty is Enright Court, a group of homes built during the urban revitalization that tore down the theater and created the East Liberty circle. There is irony in the city’s having named a dead-end street for Enright.

I asked several residents of Enright Court, who had spied me looking at their street sign, if they knew for whom, or what, their street was named.

They had no idea.