The Story of Alvin York: The Tennessee Farm Boy Who Went From Pacifist to One of America’s Greatest War Heroes

And we continue with Our American Stories. The story of Sergeant Alvin York is a celebrated chapter in American history. Though he tried to avoid war for religious reasons, York became one of the most notable heroes of World War I for his actions in October of 1918. Here to tell the story is Elliot Drago. He is the Jack Miller Center’s editorial officer and historian. Take it away, Elliott.

Alvin’s eyes scanned the valley. Everywhere he looked, young men fell like the long grass before the mowing machine. “Where’s the artillery?” He won? Nearby, a panicked sergeant commanded his men to outflank the machine gunners perched in the surrounding hills. They could maybe, just maybe, dislodge the Germans and take the rail station. At the very least, they needed to get out of the valley now. As if on cue, the American artillery rained hellfire down upon the valley, creating havoc among both American and German soldiers. Sergeant Alvin C. York and 16 other soldiers sprang into action. The smoke and brush obscured them as they flitted up and over the hill. But greeted them on the other side seemed absurd. 70 German soldiers eating their breakfast, a mess of beefsteaks, jellies, jams, and loaf bread all around, amidst the morning fog. Born in the hills of Fentress County, Tennessee, in 1887, Alvin C. York’s early life resembled that of other legendary American frontiersmen like Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett. He lived in a log cabin and doored. An impoverished upbringing, possessed little formal schooling, and spent countless hours exploring and hunting in the forest and hills around his family’s home. A gambling, hard-drinking pugilist as a young man, the death of his best friend in a bar fight served as a wake-up call. York gave up the life of a drunken, fist-fighting wastrel and converted to Christianity, becoming a pacifist as well as one of his local church’s elders, even leading the choir with his mellifluous voice. York’s conversion in pacifism occurred just as war broke out in Europe and a subsequent draft was stated in the United States. York received his draft card in June 1917. Next to the question, “Do you claim exemption from draft?” he wrote, “Yes, don’t want to fight.” The army ignored York’s words and instructed him to report for basic training at Camp Gordon, Georgia. There he became a walking to walking paradox to his fellow soldiers. Despite his fondness for quoting Bible verses and stubborn pacifism, he was the deadliest marksman in camp, drawing from years of experience hunting and shooting in Tennessee living. This paradox eventually brought York to a breaking point, prompting a long debate with his commanding officer over Christianity and war’s fundamental dictum: kill or be killed. Luckily for York, his commanding officer granted him a short leave to meditate on these thoughts and feelings. York retreated to Tennessee, wandering for days through his childhood forest and experience. In epiphany, God wanted him to fight for his country to help rid the world of evil. Along with the rest of the men in Company G of the 328th Infantry Regiment, Corporal York was sent to the hellish front lines of Western Europe, mired in the bloody muck of trench warfare for four years, at times advancing barely a few hundred yards with each charge across no man’s land. Forces in Europe welcomed the arrival of American troops in June 1917. The Americans had fought in Europe for roughly a year by the time York and his company arrived, and it was clear the Allies now carried the necessary momentum to launch a great offensive. The 1918 Usargone Campaign, in which the Allies planned to attack the heavily defended Germans positioned in the almost impenetrable Argonne Forest, pushed them all the way back to the Meuse River, to cut off a crucial German railroad junction and potentially collapse the entire German front. For perspective, the Allied forces sought to take territory in a matter of weeks that they could not conquer in the previous four years. Here on the front lines of the Usargone Campaign was the crack shot pacifist Alvin C. York. He and 16 other soldiers, a hodgepodge of survivors from the firefight in the valley, had stumbled upon the breakfasting Germans, all of whom were unarmed save for their lieutenant. Knowing they were outnumbered at least four-to-one and behind enemy lines, the Americans screamed, “Put them up!” at the enemy’s soldiers. The Germans obeyed, as many believed the 17 Americans in front of them were merely the tip of an Allied offensive. The two sides stared blankly at each other until a few German machine gunners from a nearby hill opened fire on the Americans, killing 6 and wounding 3. With the Americans distracted, the German lieutenant seized the opportunity and blew his whistle. All the unarmed Germans hit the ground, leaving the bewildered Americans standing alone. The lieutenant yelled to the other German machine gunners on the hill, who cut down all but 3 of the Americans. “I was right out there in the open,” York later wrote. True to form, he stood as ground and aimed his rifle at the machine gunners, as he said, “Just like we often shoot at the targets and the shooting matches in the mountains of Tennessee. And it was just about the same distance, but the targets here were bigger. I just couldn’t miss a German’s head or body at that distance, and I didn’t. Besides, it weren’t no time to miss nohow; every time I had come up it down.” York killed at least 20 of the 30 machine gunners in that fashion, and then shot and killed 6 more German soldiers who made the mistake of charging him. The German lieutenant could not believe his eyes. Speaking to York in English, he pleaded, “If you won’t shoot anymore, I will make them give up.” He blew his whistle again, prompting the remaining gunners to disarm and gather in front of York, who now found himself in charge of over 100 enemy prisoners. He did not bask in any military gusto or martial bravado. Instead, York felt a deep sense of responsibility and magnanimity toward the prisoners. They came under every German and American shelling as they approached the American lines, prompting York to order the Germans to run as fast as they could. He later explained how there is nothing to be gained by having any more of them wounded or killed. “They done surrender to me, and it was up to me to look after them.” Due to York’s efforts, he safely led 132 German prisoners to American lines. A dumbfounded lieutenant met him outside of the American command post and asked, “York, have you captured the whole German army?” “I have a tolerable few,” York replied. One might expect a war hero to revel in their newfound celebrity upon their return to the United States, to city streets festooned with patriotic decor and broad metropolitan avenues alive with ticker-tape parades. York certainly felt honored by these festivities, but even after receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor, York remained circumspect about his surging popularity. Always more comfortable surrounded by the bucolic Tennessee hills, he returned to his native state, married his childhood sweetheart, and turned down lucrative offers from vaudeville promoters, stage producers, and film directors. He refused to exploit his fame for personal gain. However, York’s experiences in the First World War did change him. He saw the violence and folly of modern industrial warfare firsthand and longed to harness the positive aspects of an increasingly mechanized world. His time at war inspired his life mission: raising money to promote educational opportunities for the children of Tennessee. In 1926, York wrote, “When I went out into that big outside world, I realized how uneducated I was, and what a terrible handicap it was. I was called to lead my people toward a sensible, modern education.” Three years later, he founded the Alvin C. York Institute, near his childhood home in Tennessee. This private school provided free education for the children of Fentress County, many of whom languished in poverty, and emphasized the teaching of agricultural and industrial arts. Unfortunately, the precaritories of the Great Depression disrupted the school’s funding, forcing York to mortgage his farm and take loans to keep the school operating. By 1937, the dire straits of the school’s finances led to its takeover by the state of Tennessee and the undeserved emotion of York as school administrator. Regardless of the state’s takeover of the school, York put his dreams into practice. He never stopped fundraising to educate the youth of his state and region. His deep sense of responsibility toward helping those close to him and those who needed the most help cemented his magnanimous legacy, from American and German soldiers to children from the Tennessee hills. Decades after the war, York was asked by a reporter, “How do you want to be remembered?” Rather than focus on his wartime heroics, he gave his characteristic, modest dancer: for improving education in Tennessee.

And a terrific job on the production, editing, and storytelling by our own Greg Hangler, and a special thanks to Elliot Drago. He’s the Jack Miller Center’s editorial officer and historian, and the Jack Miller Center is a nationwide network of scholars and teachers dedicated to educating the next generation about America’s founding principles and history. And we’re proud to call them partners here on Our American Stories. To learn more, visit JackMillerCenter.org. And what a story you heard about Sergeant Alvin York. Born in rural Tennessee: log cabin life, little schooling, but one heck of a shot. Spent all of his time outdoors, led the pugilistic and drinking life until he didn’t, converting to Christianity, and then came that moment where he had to ask himself what God required of him as he went to serve his country; and ultimately, my goodness, he became one of our great warriors. The story of Sergeant Alvin York here on Our American Stories.