Hill, Stanley

Born December 18, 1896, in Somerville, Massachusetts. Son of Willard C. and Clara Laycock Hill. Home, Lexington, Massachusetts. Educated Lexington Schools and Dartmouth College, Class of 1918. Joined American Field Service, May 5, 1917; attached Section Twenty-eight to October 2, 1917. Enlisted U. S. Army Ambulance Service. Wounded by shell, July 15, 1918, in Reims. Died August 14, 1918, at La Veuve Hospital, near Châlons-sur-Marne. Croix de Guerre with palm, and Médaille Militaire. Buried Military Cemetery, La Veuve, Marne.

IF we were to summarize in a word the qualities of Stanley Hill, we should say immediately, "cheerfulness." His was a most sunny, happy, generous nature, full of the joy of living and always responsive to the call of adventure. As a boy he was ready for any sort of game, and as he grew up that spirit grew with him. A classmate of his at Dartmouth tells of his going over the skijump at the Winter Carnival in spite of the fact that he had never done any jumping before, simply because he was unwilling to admit that he could not do it. In the simplicity with which he faced the problems of existence he recognized only success or failure, and he acknowledged no acquaintance with the word "cannot." His outlook on life was so straightforward, his sympathy so ready, his cheerfulness so infectious that we who were privileged in knowing him will always remember him with a particular tenderness.

On May 5, 1917, he sailed from New York with his brother in the American Field Service, writing to his mother just before the ship left the pier, "We are going into one of the noblest services that exists and we do not want you to feel badly . . . . . whatever may happen we want you to bear it bravely, as we know you will." Both he and his brother left Paris in Section 28 and were soon working in the midst of the heavy fighting in Champagne, where, on June 26th, his friend and college classmate, Paul Osborn, was killed while loading his car at an advanced post. Stanley wrote in a letter to his father telling of the tragedy, a sentence that has a striking interest in the light of his own unselfish death. "If anything happens to me, I pray God that I may be as noble, as courageous and as thoughtful of others as Paul was!"

"Stan" loved the French; soon he spoke the language easily, delighting particularly in absorbing all sorts of slang expressions with which he would regale a group of admiring poilus. His smile and unwavering good humor came to be known throughout the division where he was always warmly and affectionately made welcome. Miss Norma Derr, the author of "Mademoiselle Miss" describes him during the exhausting days of June, 1918, as he drove up to the hospital at Epernay. "He was white with dust and haggard after days and nights of steady driving, but just as buoyant and confident as in the old days in Bouleuse when the section was 'calm.'"

The German offensive of July 15, 1918, found Section 28 working in the Reims sector. Throughout that long memorable day they toiled, until at last the posts were temporarily cleared of wounded. As several of the men, worn out with fatigue and hunger, were snatching a hasty bite for the first time that day, a call came in for three more cars. Stanley was the first out on the road. Not far from the hospital on his return trip, a shell struck beside the car wounding him in the forehead. He was taken to the hospital at La Veuve and it was thought he would live. He regained consciousness and even wrote to his family in his cheery way, concerned only for the anxiety of his parents. In one of these two letters he wrote, "All goes well except that I worry as to how you are bearing up under the strain of not knowing just what happened to me."

On August 12th meningitis suddenly set in, and Stanley dropped into unconsciousness, waking only on the morning of the 14th, to answer a question as to how he felt. "All right," he said, with a faint smile, undaunted and cheerful in the face of death as he had been throughout his life. He died at ten o'clock that night and his friends felt that a light had gone out.

• Tribute from Memorial Volume of the American Field Service, 1921