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The Great War was at best a romantic notion for Rogue Valley residents in 1917. At worst, it was a visitation of horrors unknown on the Western world. Yet from the moment President Woodrow Wilson asked Congress for a declaration of war on Germany 100 years ago this week, Jackson County residents backed their government en masse. Mail Tribune Editor George Putnam praised the president's call to action in an editorial. "For the many splendid paragraphs in President Wilson's noble message calling the nation to arms, we quote the following expressing what seems to us is our complete justification for war, and should continue to be the soul and heart of our national purpose," Putnam wrote. "We're now about to accept a natural foe to liberty and spend the whole force of our nation to check its pretensions and power." Present-day Americans may remember reading about the British ocean liner Lusitania in school, or hearing Veterans Day inferences to the "11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month" when the Armistice occurred in 1918. They might hazily recall Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, and his wife, Sophie, getting shot in Sarajevo by some crazy nationalist, Gavrilo Princip. The assassination took place in June 1914, and the European powers went to war that August, with German military commanders thinking victory would be achieved in six weeks. For more than two years, headlines and reports about the war filtered into the Rogue Valley, which otherwise was protected from the horrors of unimaginable carnage by an ocean and continent only recently linked by rail. Like most of their countrymen, Southern Oregonians slowly shifted from the war that was no concern to them to one that indeed meant something. In the months following the Lusitania's sinking in May 1915 (date corrected), Germany moved from a posture of attacking only military targets to unrestricted warfare on the seas. The U.S. broke diplomatic relations with Germany after the Feb. 3 sinking of the Housatonic, carrying grain from Texas to Liverpool. After Germany sank four more U.S. merchant ships, President Wilson asked Congress on April 2 for a declaration of war, which was granted four days later. Putnam noted Americans were glad to see the facts with no veil of false pretense as the nation fought for peace and "the liberation of its peoples, the German peoples included." Putnam sized up Wilson's words and the nation's sense in that moment. "It seems to us that the president said not a word too much or a word too little; that to have said it sooner may have been an evidence of our over-eagerness for war; that to have delayed longer certainly would have been a weakness. If there be a citizen of this country so lacking in patriotism, so blind and deaf to the duties which this solemn hour imposes upon him, that he hesitates to make whatever sacrifice may be called for, he is unworthy to enjoy the liberty so dearly purchased by the revolutionary fathers." Along with the sinking of the ships, an intercepted telegram helped sway American opinion. British agents intercepted a telegram sent by German Foreign Minister Arthur Zimmermann to his country's ambassador in Mexico. Germany's desire was to get Mexico to become an ally and go to war against the U.S. Germany offered both heavy financial support — along with Arizona, New Mexico and Texas if the Central Powers won the war. The local National Guard began signing up recruits in March. Through the spring and into the summer, as raw recruits gathered then shipped out by railroad from Medford, support for the American response ran high. Members of the 7th Company, Oregon Coast Artillery, and the Ashland Company of the Artillery Corps were feted before rolling out of town the following summer. Mayor C.E. Gates called on "every man, woman, boy and girl in Medford" to send off the 109 men headed to war. Two mothers reportedly fainted during their goodbyes, and a band of Medford musicians played "Onward Christian Soldiers," with cheers, handkerchiefs and tears sending off the troops. In an open letter printed in the Mail Tribune to the 7th Company soldiers from Ashland and Medford leaving July 29 for Fort Clatsop and Fort Stevens outside Astoria by train, Eagle Point farmer J.C. Barnes summed up the community's mood: “Today as I watched you fall in line, I thought of the great duty you are called on to perform; the trenches of France suddenly seemed infinitely closer. In that flash, it seemed that I saw you in those trenches, already hardened veterans, ready, fit to do your ‘bit’ to ‘make democracy safe.’ And I felt that I would like to take each of you by the hand and pledge you that I, too, would do whatever I could to ‘make democracy safe.’ " In his letter, Barnes pledged the folks back home would do their share: "We must produce as much or more without you who have been called from our fields as we did when you were on the job. This means long hours and hard work, and we cannot depend on help from other places. Everywhere the ‘best’ have been called to the colors. The last loaf of bread and the last barrel of dried fruit will be the deciding factor in this world war. To make Jackson County produce more efficiently is our job. This is the thing we will be busy with to ‘make democracy safe,’ while you are in France." Local historian Bill Miller, who is writing a book based on letters during the period, said the Rogue Valley's thinking mirrored most of the nation. "In a way we were kind of a naive nation at the time, especially here where there were maybe 25,000 in the entire valley," Miller said. "The general feeling was that we were going to go over and whip those suckers after having ignored what was going on for two-and-half-years, and not wanting any part of it." In his research, Miller found few conscientious objectors of the Sergeant York vein or other varieties. "There were a few guys who didn't want to go, but most of them felt it was their duty," Miller said. "There was a little bit of peer pressure, but it really didn't come into it that much. There was a different mindset at the time. I don't think the average educated person in the general public really had a concept of what was going on. The Spanish-American War had taken place 20 years prior." Many soldiers were youngsters, straight out of high school. But there were veterans willing to take up arms once more, as well. Orchardist Gordon Voorhies, an 1891 West Point graduate, who had volunteered for the Spanish-American War, once more volunteered to serve his country, at the age of 48. Voorhies was commissioned a field artillery major and led troops at Argonne and Chateaux Thierry. He retired in 1919 as a lieutenant colonel and was awarded the Croix de Guerre with Palm by the Belgian government. Southern Oregon University historian Stephen DeCoste wrote that Voorhies' desire was deep enough that when rebuffed for service locally, he made his way to the Presidio in San Francisco, to volunteer as a private. The commanding general recognized his old classmate and restored his captain's rank. — Reach reporter Greg Stiles at 541-776-4463 or [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/GregMTBusiness, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/greg.stiles.31.