Hobbs, Warren Tucker

Born November 3, 1895, in Worcester, Massachusetts. Son of Wilber W. and Marina Tucker Hobbs. Educated Worcester Classical High School, Worcester Academy, and Dartmouth College, Class of 1919. Joined American Field Service, May 5, 1917; attached Transport Section 526 until June 8, 1917. Enlisted French Aviation, June 10, 1917. Attached Escadrilles N 153 and N 158, December 11, 1917, to March 16, 1918, as Corporal. Entered U. S. Aviation; attached 103d Pursuit Squadron. Killed by antiaircraft fire over the lines near Ypres on June 26, 1918. Buried in British Military Cemetery, Poperinghe, West Flanders, Belgium.

"DON'T worry," wrote Warren Tucker Hobbs, "Flying is the most fascinating game I ever played. It is even better than hurdling." He loved to play the game, this tall, clean-limbed athlete, and, as a brother flyer said, "The qualities which served him on the track made him a fearless and a skilful pilot." By this same skill and courage in combat, Warren won the confidence of all his comrades, to whom from the start "his ready humor and constant desire to help others endeared him mightily." Which helps to explain how bitterly his loss was felt among his fellows, when, within a month of joining the 103d Pursuit Squadron, he was killed, his machine being struck by an anti-aircraft shell and falling inside the British lines. "The news dazed me for days," said a classmate; "He was one of the finest, dearest chaps I have ever known, and the world has lost a real man."

As a schoolboy Warren won great popularity and prominence through his running. Yet, while "one of the greatest hurdlers and high jumpers any preparatory school ever had . . . . . . in everything he showed an engaging modesty." Entering Dartmouth with the Class of 1919, his athletic success waxed greater, but even without it a man of Warren's character must have won hosts of friends. As it was, he became in two years one of the big figures of his college generation, captaining the college track team as a sophomore. He set up a world's record in indoor hurdling in competition with the best runners in collegiate circles, and was frequently referred to as a it one man track team."

But for Warren Hobbs these games, however engrossing, were secondary to the one big game of living and doing one's part in life according to one's ideals. Warren gave up college soon after war was declared and joined a Dartmouth unit of the American Field Service. Even as he went to the front with Transport Section 526 of the Reserve Mallet, he was planning eagerly to transfer to aviation, and inside of a month secured his release from the Field Service. Two days later he enlisted in the French air service. After the regulation training at Avord, Tours, Pau, and Plessis-Belleville, he served with two Spad Escadrilles, N-153 and N-158, until March, 1918, when he was commissioned a First Lieutenant in American Aviation and went to the 103d Pursuit Squadron. Several times he narrowly escaped death or capture. His first accident came as he was returning on January 30, 1918, from patrol over the German lines. His gasoline gave out, he was forced to land in rough ground and his plane turned over, injuring him quite badly. Immediately upon leaving the hospital he returned to his escadrille, only to have another fall. This time fortunately he received hardly a scratch.

In Flanders, southeast of Ypres, his last adventure came to Warren Hobbs. At half past seven in the evening of June 26 he rose from his field alone, attempting to overtake his patrol which had left some minutes earlier. He flew toward the lines, gaining altitude as he went, but, because his engine was not functioning properly, crossed into German territory still quite low. Then the unusual occurred. His machine was struck by a shell. In the words of a flyer: "An angry black puff sprang out close beside the distant plane, which veered and fell flaming in the British lines." There he is buried in the consecrated ground of Flanders.

Warren's own words, written of men he had seen die in action, apply aptly to him who followed them, "Just the same, you can't help thinking what a wonderful way it is to die; and I know there is nothing too good in the world beyond for a man who dies game, fighting for the right."

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