A pilot serving with the Royal Air Force, John M. Goad became the first soldier from Greene County to die in the war when he was shot down behind enemy lines on June 27, 1918. The son of a prominent attorney, an American Legion Post was named for him and Sergeant Homer J. Ballinger shortly after the war. Goad’s family believed his body had been lost until it was positively identified in 1922. The remains were returned to Springfield and buried in the National Cemetery on Memorial Day.
John Marion Goad was born in Springfield on November 16, 1895. He graduated from Drury College in 1916 and then studied law at the University of Chicago. Goad enlisted in the army on May 14, 1917 and was trained as an officer at Fort Riley, Kansas. He went to Champaign, Illinois for flight training and was then assigned to the 48th Squadron, Royal Air Force in England. Goad became the first Greene County soldier to die in the war when his plane was shot down behind enemy lines on June 27, 1918. His body was buried by the Germans and his family believed the remains would never be returned to Springfield. The British disinterred his body after the war, but it was identified only as an American pilot. He was buried at Crucifix Corner on the Mons River in France until the body was claimed by the American government and sent to New York in 1922. The War Department sent his father, George W. Goad, a letter saying this was likely John’s body. Wanting more positive identification, he began an investigation. The Goad-Ballinger Post 69 of the American Legion worked with their counterparts in New York and soon southwest Missouri Congressman Roscoe Patterson and Missouri Senator Selden Spencer were involved. Through their combined efforts, the body was positively identified as being John M. Goad. Plans were made for his return to Springfield and final burial in the National Cemetery.
A letter describing Goad’s death also reached his father at this time. It was written by Bryan M. Battey, another American pilot who participated in Goad’s final mission. Although Battey, believed he had little information on Goad’s fate, his letter provides a vivid description of the fatal mission:
“The information that I am able to give you regarding the passing of your son John Goad is so little comfort I have hesitated long in writing that which you ask me. At the time your son came to the squadron there were only two other “Yanks,” “Molly” Shaw and myself. “Molly” and John were buddies of long standing, having trained together in England as you probably know. We three soon became great friends---things happen quickly at the front---and together we made a solemn pact to do all that was in our power to bring glory to the country we three alone represented in what was otherwise an all British organization.
Alone any one of us would have felt quite inadequate to represent America among so many Royal Air Force pilots I suppose, but together we constituted an aerial circus that made our English fellows sit up and take notice. In very short order we were generally known as “the wild Yanks.” One of us that might be left upon the ground could always recognize the other “wild Yanks” long before they slipped down into the drome by a series of tricks that we always indulged in before landing, partly to put America “on the map” in our aerial sector and partly for the practice such stunts afford for real combat work.
I can assure you sir, that your [MS missing] of our enterprise and while he was [MS missing] so entered heartily into the spirit doing this preliminary work at the squadron before being sent across the lines he was recognized by everyone as a very able pilot.
It is some time now since we were there together and I have forgotten much that would no doubt bring you cheer to know. Sometime I will be happy to tell you the whole story as it comes to me. It is difficult to sit down and write it. I seem to recall only the tragedy of it, and it was a tragedy to “Molly” and me. It had never occurred to me that we three might be separated.
John and I were in the same flight and as the youngest members here in point of military seniority, we were assigned to the two rear places in “C” flight formation, the hottest position always in a scrap for an attack is always directed at the rear of a formation for many tactical reasons.
We had gained our altitude for crossing the lines by flying out to the channel and back. Climbing steadily, we had reached an altitude of 20,000 feet, our usual height for crossing the lines. It was a glorious day. The sky was cloudless. At our height we could see the broad sparkle of the channel as we crossed the lines and the channel was 25 miles away.
We had gone over about five miles and were reconnoitering southward when suddenly an observer in one of the forward machines sent up a red Veery light signal indicating attack of hostile aircraft.
Slowly our formation closed up until the machines were flying almost wing-tip and wing-tip. Behind us there were five German scout machines, two Pfalz’s and three Fokker’s. Both types being considerably faster than our machines, we were at a disadvantage.
All we could do was to draw them on until they were within fighting range then turn suddenly on them. The German tracer bullets were beginning to fly all around us, leaving the air full of feathery smoke trails. I recall distinctly seeing John return the signal of my gunner, who waved a friendly battle sign to our companion machine. I remember that John’s machine was holding its place in perfect formation with the flight, too perfect. I wanted to call to him to throw his machine around more---he was flying too straight---but the roar of the engines and the wind made mine a vain wish. His observer was firing and John was keeping the machine still for him. His was the first machine to open fire, and it drew the fire of the enemy.
There was a sudden burst of flame and the machine slowly rolled over on its top and started upside down. A few seconds later I caught sight of it again some thousand feet below, a blazing star falling.
Sir, I feel sure that your son did not suffer the terror of those seconds for from the behavior of the machine there is every reason to believe that he was unconscious from the moment his machine was hit. In all probability your son was killed by the same burst that fired his machine. I do not hold this thought to comfort you, if there can be any comfort for you. It is my firm conviction that no pilot with as much experience as your son had could utterly lose control of his machine and allow it to turn over unless he were unconscious. John Goad was a good pilot. And he flew straight to the last.”
That mission with Goad was not Battey’s last encounter with danger in the war. Later shot down and captured by the Germans, he escaped and rejoined his squadron. After the war he worked as a patent attorney in New York. In 1934 he was appointed assistant patent commissioner in Washington, D.C. His health began to fail soon after taking this job and he traveled to California where he hoped to regain his strength. Unfortunately, Battey died in Los Angeles on April 24, 1936. He is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.
Goad’s funeral took place in the Springfield National Cemetery on Memorial Day, May 30, 1922. Thousands observed the ceremony and the local newspaper reported it was the largest Memorial Day celebration in the history of Greene County. Goad’s casket was taken to the cemetery on an army caisson pulled by horses and accompanied by an honor guard. The solemn procession was led by veterans of three wars, the Civil War, the Spanish-American War, and World War I, (then just the World War). Wartime pilots served as pallbearers. The honor guard fired a final salute after the body had been lowered into the grave and the playing of “Taps” ended the emotional day.
The Augusta (Georgia) Chronicle, April 26, 1936
The New York Times, August 21, 1918
Springfield (Mo.) Leader, May 30, 1922
Springfield (Mo.) Republican, May 7, 1922
