I never knew my grandfather, but both of my parents valued family history, and they shared stories and memories from generations past. Growing up, those stories deeply shaped me, creating a bridge that connected me to ancestors I never had the chance to meet.
The son of Swiss and French Canadian immigrants, my grandfather, Benjamin Kaufman Schmid, was born in 1891 in Dallas, Texas. One of 11 children—he had a mix of five brothers and five sisters—his whole family lived on Swiss Avenue, now a historic landmark, where they formed a close-knit family bound by love, friendship, and fellowship.
Before the Great War, World War I, Dallas experienced economic optimism with the rise in trading cotton, grain, and cattle. With the invention of bicycles, motorcars, motorcycles, and streetcars, transportation carried businessmen to their offices, shoppers to Neiman Marcus and other department stores, and children to and from school. It was a time of industriousness; Ben and his brothers were built for it. They started a small, family-run welding and repair shop, specializing in repairs for bicycles, railroad cars, and early automobiles. They carved out a respectable living through a strong work ethic.
Though family stories were passed down to my generation orally, handwritten letters from my grandfather’s era have become sacred treasures. Though aged and creased, these notes from 1917 to 1919 capture well what the family endured, from the Spanish flu pandemic to wartime struggles. It’s this time capsule that has offered a glimpse into the family’s loyalty to each other.
And when times got tough, they persevered.
At the age of 25, Benjamin entered the Army, along with two brothers, in September 1917. Headed to Camp Mills, located on Long Island, New York, these soldiers were the ones selected to serve in the U.S. Army’s Rainbow Division (the 42nd Infantry Division). They trained there before deployment to France. History recounts that 27,000 troops, representative of the finest from across 26 states and the District of Columbia, would be the first U.S. combat division sent to France in the fight for freedom across the Atlantic.
Through letters to their sisters, Ben and his brother Lawrence shared stories from their time in the Army. And from their sisters came replies about the happenings in their neighborhood.
Ben wrote to his sister Rose in a letter dated November 22, 1918:
I was up in Alsace and Lorraine district just yesterday and that is the prettiest part of France I have ever seen. I was in Metz also, and that is some place. I don’t blame the Germans for fighting for that place. I was within fifty miles of Lawrence last Sunday so I ran down to see him but he was in town on a pass so I didn’t get to see him but will go again soon. … I could write a long letter but I think we will be home again soon and then I could tell some good stories.
He added that he had the honor of leading President Woodrow Wilson during the latter’s trip to France.
Over the course of several months and several letters, Ben’s attention turned to financial matters. Taking care of his family was important—so much so that he allotted $15 every month to their mother from military pay. Understanding the realities of war, he mentioned taking out insurance in the sum of $5,000 just in case something might happen to him in France.
I had been told that my grandfather was a driver during the war. Ben K. Schmid served in Company A, specifically with the 117th Supply Train’s Motor Truck Companies. His unit from Dallas arrived in France in December 1917 to provide logistical support and keep the Rainbow Division combat-ready. Their mission was to transport critical materials to the front lines: ammunition, food, fuel, and medical equipment.
His brother Lawrence found his niche repairing and maintaining Harley-Davidson motorcycles. The vehicles played a vital role in U.S. military operations, delivering urgent messages to the front lines and behind front lines, especially during intense fighting in Europe.
The Spanish flu hit hard from summer to Christmas 1918. The pandemic quickly claimed the lives of several family friends, and, sadly, of their brother Henry. Although he didn’t serve in the war, his service to the Schmid family was just as heroic, managing the bicycle and motor repair business.
Ben suffered his own setback, which was relayed to the family in his letters. He was driving military officers in a convoy, and as he was crossing railroad tracks, a train traveling hit the vehicle. It wasn’t clear if the train didn’t whistle or if they just didn’t hear it. Ben broke his back and was waiting to be picked up. However, a Frenchman saw him, stripped him of everything he had, and left him there. In recovery at the Evacuation Hospital in Nantes, France, he wrote to Elizabeth: “I am not crippled so everything is fine with me.”
Once Ben and Lawrence returned to Dallas after the war, Ben rebuilt the family business by taking on welding and mechanical projects. Quite the entrepreneur, Ben parlayed his expertise in welding train equipment to build a car and then a plane for wealthier patrons.
In the years following the war, the Schmid siblings counted on each other like close friends. All remained in the Dallas area, where they often spent their Sundays at family gatherings. Family photos from the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s remain as treasured snapshots of those bonding moments.
Though I never knew my grandfather, Ben’s stoicism and entrepreneurialism have inspired a deeper exploration into the fascinating chapters of my family’s past. But most importantly, Ben demonstrated that with family support, one can better appreciate triumphs and endure tribulations—together. Truly, the love and support of a family are life’s greatest blessings and a testament to future generations of what matters most.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
