MacKenzie, Gordon Kenneth

Born January 31, 1887, in Concord Junction, Massachusetts. Son of Kenneth T. and Adelaide H. MacKenzie. Educated Concord schools. Business, Hood Rubber Company, Stanley Automobile Company, and for himself. Joined American Field Service, November 11, 1916; attached Sections Ten, in Balkans, and Two, in France. Enlisted U. S. Army Ambulance Service, September 26, 1917; attached Section 626. Died in Beauvais, June 14, 1918, of wounds received in action near Montdidier, June 12th. Croix de Guerre, with palm. Buried in Beauvais, Oise. Body transferred to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Massachusetts.

GORDON KENNETH MACKENZIE, of Sections Ten and Two, was one of those genial, adaptable, and utterly unselfish fellows who made the day seem bright, no matter how damp and cold and dark the dugout. "Mac," by reason of his unaffected cheerfulness, was always the life of a section.

Several months before America entered the war, "Mac" joined the ambulance service. The second "Salonica" expedition, Section Ten, was being organized, and he volunteered for service in the Balkans. Once there, his resourcefulness was ever taxed to keep the Section in high spirits in face of the never ending downpour of rain and difficulties besetting the unit. "Mac" made board walks between the tents to keep the Section above the pools of water. He erected a fence and dried the blankets when the sun came out occasionally. From an old gasoline can he made a stove; another he converted into a shower bath. He elected himself Section barber. En route he organized an orchestra, that talent should not perish for want of practice, he himself playing alternately the flute and the saxophone.

"Mac's" unit served six months in Albania, after which he was transferred to France. He joined Section Two, then stationed in the Verdun sector in the thick of the fighting. With this Section, which afterwards was Section 626, U. S. A. A. S., he served for nearly a year in Lorraine, on the Aisne, and on the Oise. In June, 1918, the 48th Zouaves, to which the Section was attached, was thrown into the counter offensive near Montdidier. The toll of wounded was frightful and the ambulances were worked exhaustingly long hours. On June 12th "Mac" was in a hospital courtyard at Neufvy waiting for his car to be loaded, and meantime feeding some wounded Frenchmen. Without warning an obus dropped, exploded, and blew an ambulance to pieces, killing several Frenchmen and wounding MacKenzie.

Though the wound was not fatal in itself, blood poisoning set in, and "Mac's" life slipped away on June 14, 1918, in the Hospital at Beauvais. The nurses who attended him wrote of his patience and endurance, of his consideration for others in the ward, and of the fineness of character revealed even in his weakness.

Everywhere he was a favorite. Learning of his death, a friend in another section wrote, "A man from 'Mac's' section came into the hospital to see me and told me of his death. He said that the unit would lose fifty per cent of its morale by his going. It was 'Mac,' he said, who faced the music always, encouraged the others, and made light of every trouble."

MacKenzie's character is revealed unconsciously in his own letters. This extract, for instance,. written from Albania, where "Mac's" heart strings were jerked by the misery of Albanian natives, usually overlooked by soldiers. "Mac" wrote, "One case especially is that of the 'Little Mother,' as I call her. This little mite of a girl, no bigger than a pint of cider, always comes around with a tiny fourteen months' old babe in her arms. She sits on the stone walk very patiently, waiting for our meal to end to see if she can scare up a stray piece of bread.

"The first time I spotted her I sneaked back and pinched a large piece for her and also prevailed on the cook to give her a pail of left-over soup. I carried the soup for her as far as the main street. Then she took it in one hand, with the babe in the other arm, and toddled out of sight. It's the same old story with me. I just had to sneak around the corner and pull out my dirty handkerchief to wipe a few tears that began to run down my cheeks., I'm certainly a hell of a soldier. I stopped at a little store and bought a little dress that I'm going to give her. I couldn't find anything small enough for the thin little baby, but I'll try again.

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