William, Luther and Cody

Feb. 28, 2019, 6:45 a.m. ·

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Three Nebraskans separated by a century, but united by the common bond of soldiers. Meet William, Luther and Cody.


WATCH the story of "William, Luther and Cody," featured on NET Television's "Nebraska Stories."

(NET Television producer Mike Tobias and Capt. Cody Cade look through letters at the Nebraska National Guard Museum in Seward; image by Tyler Kersting, NET)


Pvt. William Dermann (family photo courtesy Nebraska National Guard Museum)


Part of a letter from Dermann to his parents. "Can hear the big guns shake the ground," Dermann writes. (Courtesy Nebraska National Guard Museum)


Dermann's heavy wool uniform on display at the Nebraska National Guard Museum. (Image by Tyler Kersting, NET)


Lt. Luther Swanson (Family photo courtesy Nebraska National Guard Museum)


Part of a letter from Swanson to his parents. "It's beginning to get on my nerves," Swanson writes. (Courtesy Nebraska National Guard Museum)


Replica of a World War I trench at the Nebraska National Guard Museum (Image by Tyler Kersting, NET)


Capt. Cody Cade (Image by Tyler Kersting, NET)

Posters, parades and patriotic songs ushered more than 4 million Americans into the “war to end all wars.” A fourth of all men between 18 and 31. About 48,000 came from Nebraska.

One was Lt. Luther Swanson. A tall blue-eyed National Guard soldier from tiny Oakdale in northeast Nebraska. He came to Lincoln to study military science before the U.S. entered the war and he went to France as an officer in an engineering unit.

Another was William Dermann. At 32 a little older than most draftees. The Otoe County farmer was a private in an infantry unit comprised mostly of Nebraskans, nicknamed “The Fighting Farmers.”

There’s another Nebraska soldier. Present-day Army National Guard Capt. Cody Cade. He never met Swanson and Dermann. But he knows a lot about them.

Cade spent a morning showing me around the Nebraska National Guard Museum in Seward. War letters and a few other items from Dermann and Swanson live here. Cade’s former historian job at the museum curated the collection. His soldier job connects with it. From a weathered suitcase he pulls a stack of letters Dermann wrote home and received from his parents in Talmage and future wife.

“I’m writing this in a dugout. Have a fine place. The rats are our friends, they play around all night long. We have lots of fun watching them. Ha ha,” Dermann wrote in one letter.

The faded cursive is sometimes hard to read. What’s clear is many of the letters were written by Dermann from the front. In trenches.

“Went over the top September 12th.” Dermann wrote. “We are close up in front. Can hear the big guns shake the ground. I am writing of this on my gun stock and in a hurry. Ain't got much time.”

Cade shows me Dermann’s uniform, on display at the museum. A shoulder patch shows he was in the 89th infantry. Two chevrons further down the sleeve tell us he was twice wounded. The olive-colored uniform is in good shape, meaning Dermann likely wore it during occupation duty after the fighting was over. I asked Cade about the functionality of the lightweight, camouflage combat uniform he’s wearing, versus Dermann’s heavy wool garment.

“It's a night and day difference,” Cade said. “I mean it's still hot and miserable in the summertime, especially in Kansas, the Fort Riley-area where it's 90 degrees and 80 percent humidity. Still, I would have much rather wear this than that.”

We move on to letters from Luther Swanson, the officer leading an engineering unit. In one he details a day’s mission, transporting prisoners and using them to help build front-line trenches.

“Being the furthest forward, we have the regimental prisoners and have orders to work them in the worst places and under fire whenever work is to be done,” Swanson wrote. “We got near the crossroads and thought we might get back before periodic shelling started but just then a flock of shells, both three inch and six inch, hit on both sides of the road at the head of the column and everybody dropped their tools and dived into the ditch along the road.

“I hate to be responsible for a whole bunch of men out there in the dark,” Swanson wrote later. “I'm afraid I may have guessed wrong sometime and a mistake couldn't be undone again. I'll sure be glad when we get back for a rest again. It's beginning to get on my nerves.”

I asked Cade, who has also been a commander, about the pressure Swanson felt.

“In a company or a troop, there's 120 guys that are under your command,” Cade said. “You make a mistake in combat, you get 20 of them killed, it's your fault. I mean yeah, it's a lot of pressure. A lot of responsibility.”

War has changed since World War I. Today’s infantry fight on urban streets instead of in trenches. But some things about being a soldier never change, and Cody Cade has the letters to prove it.

“There's still the same complaints and gripes about, ‘Food's not good,’ ‘Chow's not hot,’ ‘It rained all last night,’ ‘Man, it's really wet.’ Or there's a lot of rats and it's hot, stuff like that,” Cade said. “It's comical that really it's all the same complaints. Nothing's really changed a whole heck of a lot in a hundred plus years.”


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