103-year-old WWI vet recalls how he lied in order to enlist

ORTING, Pierce County — If today's wars are about laser-guided bombs and long-distance killing, Abe Caylor's skirmishes were on the ground and personal — in a jungle, on horseback and with a bayonet.

It was supposed to be "the war to end all wars," and Caylor lied about his age to enlist in the Army.

"I was itching for action," said Caylor, now 103 and the only surviving World War I veteran living at the Washington Soldiers Home and Colony here in Orting. "It was one of those kid things. And if it involved horses, even better."

Tomorrow on Veterans Day, when the Soldiers Home celebrates with patriotic music, speeches and a display of the colors, Caylor will remember June 25, 1917, the day he left his home in Clarksville, Ind., and enlisted in the Army.

Sitting in a wheelchair the other day as golden leaves swirled outside his window like pages of world history, the outgoing Caylor burst into song, "Back Home Again in Indiana," at the mention of his home state. He talked about the recruiting headquarters in Anderson, Ind., and a sergeant who eyed him suspiciously.

Although the legal age for enlisting was 18 and Caylor was just 17, Caylor was insistent, telling the sergeant, "What would the enemy think of the United States if all our men were turned down? We can't quit fighting."

By 5 p.m. that day he was on a train for St. Louis, about to begin the military phase of a life that would have many chapters: the Great Depression, a career at Boeing, a 50-year marriage to his childhood sweetheart, and the birth of three daughters and four sons. Each son also would serve in the military.

"I entered the war as a kid but came out a man," said Caylor, one of about 1,400 surviving World War I veterans nationwide. "Being a soldier does that to you."

The assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand by a Serbian in 1914 was the pretext for war. The system of alliances in Europe made the conflict regionwide. The United States entered the war in 1917.

Eventually, the Allies included 26 countries.

Panama was a U.S. protectorate, and American forces were sent there to safeguard the Panama Canal.

Although he was eager for real action, Caylor ended up in the steaming jungles of Panama, in Troop D of the 12th Cavalry, matched with a horse that to this day he calls "caballo muy malo," Spanish for very bad horse. "We had an argument every morning."

Dusty — all horses in D troop had to be named with a D — wanted to stay in the corral, but Caylor, a novice rider, needed to join the ranks patrolling the banks of the Canal.

Only after the daily equine argument was done did Caylor leave on the mission, passing through jungles so thick they closed like a curtain of green behind him, leaving no sign of his passing as exotic birds called from trees and the fragrance of tropical flowers filled the air.

For two years, Caylor patrolled the Canal — occasionally putting down skirmishes by striking a threatening pose with his bayonet. Then, on Nov. 11, 1918, Germany and the Allies signed an armistice and the fighting ended.

After the war, Caylor returned to civilian life in Indiana, working on a farm, going to business school and later working in a machine shop.

In 1924 he married his longtime sweetheart, Garnet, and they began a family. Later, the Depression forced them to move into his mother's tiny house, where their littlest children lined up crossways on a bed at night and another child slept in the kitchen. The family survived on a daily diet of beans and fried potatoes.

In 1945, Caylor left his family behind and moved to Seattle to work as a machinist for Boeing at the tail end of World War II. Later, Garnet and the kids joined him in a Queen Anne Hill house. One by one, the children grew up and moved away.

By the time Caylor retired from Boeing in 1965, Garnet was tired of big-city ways. They moved to Index, Snohomish County, and lived in a simple house behind what is now the historic Bush House Country Inn. They took trips, traveling Highway 99 to San Diego to see their son, Russell, who had become a police officer. The Caylors stopped along the way for burgers and malts and nights in mom-and-pop motels.

Garnet died in 1974. For years thereafter, Caylor kept up his ritual of delivering newspapers along his route in Index, then going home to sit in his old brown recliner, where he read the paper cover to cover.

He later moved to Kirkland to be near his oldest son, Dick, and was living independently until his 100th birthday.

That's when he decided to enter the Orting home, where the walls of his room are loaded with family photos — he has 40 to 50 grandchildren and great-grandchildren, so many he's lost track of the exact number.

His Veterans of Foreign Wars cap rests near a newspaper, whose headlines tell of potential war with Iraq.

"Dad has always been patriotic," said son Dick. "He was proud when my brother Russell was in the Korean War, and bothered by protesters during the Vietnam War — although he didn't necessarily agree with the war."

With age and experience, the patriotic Caylor has come to ponder war and its consequences.

The question is, "Is it going to be worth it? War is something that maybe is a necessity. Sometimes things have to be cleaned up one way or another," he said.

"The war to end all wars" didn't live up to its name, he said. Would war with Iraq prevent something worse? He frowned. "Some wars get started that never should have gotten started."

Nancy Bartley: 206-464-8522 or nbartley@seattletimes.com.