Veteran, 96, Salutes Comrades : Last Man Club of WWI Is Down to Its Last Man

One by one, they all faded away, until this year only one old soldier remained--the last of 32 World War I veterans who more than half a century ago entered a solemn covenant to meet on every Armistice Day until death had reduced their ranks to one.

They called it the Last Man Club. It was agreed that the last survivor would be entitled to whatever was left in the dues kitty, along with a 1921 bottle of French champagne signed by the members and kept in a glass and mahogany case bearing the inscription: “Dedicated to the Last Man. Long May He Live.”

The last man turned out to be Albert Furrer, and on Friday, on what is now called Veterans Day, the 96-year-old retired stationer formed the quorum of one needed to execute the final agenda.

The ceremony was held at the convalescent hospital where Furrer now lives in this suburban community northeast of San Francisco. He sat alone at the front of a small meeting room, watched by an audience of reporters, relatives of deceased club members and representatives of the Contra Costa County Historical Society.

Hands more steady than Furrer’s uncorked a bottle of champagne and the aged veteran, his health frail and his disposition flinty, raised a glass to toast his departed comrades. He made special mention of Victor Parachini, the next-to-last member, who died last February.

“Thank you for this,” the silver-haired man said from his wheelchair. “I’m only sorry that Victor, my treasurer, had to pass away. . . . We talked about who would be the last man, and I said I hoped it was him.”

Furrer took a sip and paused.

“It tastes good,” was all he said.

Next he cut with both hands a cake adorned with yellow frosting and decorated with an American flag. And that was about all there was to the ceremony. Meetings of one are compact affairs.

There was no money to distribute. The kitty, which once had swollen to as much as $30,000, was exhausted long ago on the club’s annual banquets and the bills of ailing members.

The original bottle of champagne, soured by the years, was left unopened. It is to be displayed by the historical society, along with other club memorabilia.

Among the mementos spread out before Furrer on a table covered with lace was the club’s constitution, typed on onion skin paper and dated Nov. 10, 1932. A membership list included 32 signatures; 31 of them had ink lines drawn through them.

Formation of last man clubs was popular after World War I. In recent years, as time does its work on the rolls, meetings such as the one Furrer conducted Friday have occurred across the land, and often receive press coverage. In most cases, however, the celebrations have been bittersweet, and Furrer’s was no exception.

He solemnly recalled his former mates as “honest fellows. We made friends, got together, did a lot of golfing, went to the same resorts. We lived here. This went on for 50 years.”

They also attended the funeral of each newly fallen member, as required in the club’s bylaws. Each time a member died, Furrer recalled, “it was like taking my right arm off. I knew them all intimately.”

An unwritten club rule was that the membership never discussed their one common experience. “Nobody ever talked about the war,” Furrer said. He suspended that rule Friday to accommodate the assembled curious.

A native of San Francisco, Furrer served two years in France hauling ammunition to the front. He said there had been 100 men with him in the 4th Ammunition Train, and half did not return alive.

‘No Hero,’ He Says

Furrer described himself as “no hero.” Married only two weeks before he was to be shipped out, he tried numerous unsuccessful ploys to avoid duty at the front.

“I tried my darndest to get out,” he said.

The years have not blunted the experience of war, and in Furrer’s view the sacrifice he and his World War I comrades made has been mocked by all the wars that followed.

“We’ve had all these other wars and we have won nothing,” he said.

“We were forced into something miserable. We all came out of good homes with good food and good beds and a good suit on Sunday. We lost all that.”

After his duty was completed, Furrer moved to the East Bay, opened an office supply store and became active in civic affairs. He retired in 1959, and his wife died four years ago after 67 years of marriage. They had no children.

Last Veterans Day, Furrer and the other surviving club member, Parachini, then 89, met as required for lunch. It would be the 55th and last banquet.

“There are only two of us left,” Parachini said then.

“I’m the kid, you know,” he joked.

Three months later, he was gone, too, and Furrer was alone.

Most of the small crowd had left Friday afternoon when Furrer decided that one more toast was in order.

“To my old friend, Victor,” he said, holding a glass aloft shakily. “By God, I wish he could have stayed here to do it now.”

After that, the last man asked to be wheeled down the hall to his room.

A 99-year-old World War I Navy man led Veterans Day rites in Los Angeles. Metro, Page 1.