The Rolling W Monument in Pueblo, Colorado

My Grandfather, George A. Carlson, was born in Denver, Colorado, in 1894 and was a soldier in the U.S. Army during World War I. On March 30, 1918, he boarded a train at Denver’s Union Station for basic training at Camp Funston, within the Fort Riley military reservation in the heart of Kansas. He was assigned to the 89^th Division, of which he was reverently proud.

Jeff Lowdermilk (right) with his Grandparents George and Dorothy Carlson, taken just after Jeff’s graduation from high school in June 1970.

The symbol of the Division is the Rolling W, which has a capital W inside a circle or wheel. The Division comprised men from the “Middle West,” specifically the states of Arizona, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, New Mexico, and South Dakota. Therefore, as the symbol rotates, it changes from M to W (Middle West.)  The 89^th Division fought in France at the Saint Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne Offensives and participated in the German occupation.

After the war, every time Granddad wore a coat and tie, he proudly placed his Rolling W Division pin on his lapel. He faithfully attended their annual reunions in Hutchinson, Kansas, until there were too few veterans to hold a meeting. The Division was his fraternity, and he was devoted to his brothers in arms throughout his life. They had all helped one another through one of the worst experiences in human history and remained loyal to each other, the Division, and the American flag.

The 89th Division’s WWI “Rolling W” monument in Pueblo, Colorado.

I grew up in Denver; however, in 1976, at the age of twenty-five, I was living and working in southern New Mexico. As Thanksgiving neared, Granddad came up with a great idea, which was for him to ride on a Trailways bus from Denver to New Mexico. Then, we could drive back to Denver together for our family’s Thanksgiving dinner. At the time, Granddad was eighty-two years old.

This plan was typical of his thoughtfulness, as he would do anything to spend time with his grandchildren. Also, Granddad loved to travel and ride the bus as the bus lines would customarily stay off the Interstates and drive the old, original highways. In addition, he loved to share stories with his fellow passengers.

The bus arrived on time, I picked him up, and we began the two-day drive north to Denver. It was always a joy to be with him and listen to the stories of his life. Toward the end of the second day, we approached Pueblo, Colorado, one hundred fourteen miles south of Denver. He said he had a surprise for me and asked me to turn left on 29^th Street, which I did. We drove west for a few blocks, where he told me to turn left onto Elizabeth Street and then park on the roadside.

I could see the surprise when we got out of the pick-up. Across the Street was a beautiful parkway with a fifteen-foot-tall monument topped with a large Rolling W. I was thrilled and knew the symbol well as ever since I was a little boy, Granddad told me his stories of the First World War and the 89^th Division.

We walked across the Street to the magnificent sculpture of a World War I soldier. With tears in his eyes, he said, “This is a special place for me, and I wanted you to know it was here.” Indeed, bringing me to this shrine was always part of his plan to drive home with me.

Today, at seventy-three years old, I look back on my life; driving home with Granddad is one of my most precious memories.

Writer and Photographer Jeffrey A. Lowdermilk is the author of Honoring the Doughboys, Following My Grandfather’s World War I Diary.  His website is jefflowdermilk.com.

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