Yearbook Voices: Clyde Anderson and WWI in Vancouver

Clyde C. Anderson

I had so much fun digging into Clara Cole’s story and the “Class Prophecies” in Vancouver High School’s 1916 yearbook that I decided to explore another student from the same graduating class. The 1916 Vancouver High School graduating class must have been full of ambition. In the same yearbook that featured Clara Cole’s dream of becoming a Chautauqua lecturer, I came across a young man named Clyde C. Anderson. Clyde had a simple, straightforward dream. Clyde wanted to become a sergeant in the U.S. Army.

At the time, it made sense. World War I was ravaging Europe, and though the U.S. had not yet entered the conflict, the pressure was mounting. For many young men, including Clyde, military service probably felt less like a question and more like an eventual reality. But history had other plans. Clyde did not end up a sergeant. According to traces of him found in The Columbian, Clyde stayed close to home, working on a local dairy farm.

At first glance, that shift might seem unrelated to the war. But Clyde’s story challenges our assumptions about service. His story reminds us that not all contributions to the war effort happened on the battlefield and that, sometimes, the most crucial work happened close to home.

A Nation on the Brink

Clyde graduated at a moment when the U.S. stood on the doorstep of a global conflict. By 1916, the country had already been supplying weapons, food, and supplies to European allies, but it officially remained neutral. But that neutrality was coming under pressure. German submarines had already sunk several American vessels, including the Lusitania in 1915, killing over 100 U.S. citizens. And in 1917, news broke of a secret German telegram encouraging Mexico to declare war on the U.S. As public opinion shifted and conversations about neutrality gave way to talk of military preparedness, many young men, including Clyde, saw military service as not only honorable but perhaps as the only way to serve their country. Just months later, President Woodrow Wilson asked Congress for a declaration of war against Germany, officially bringing the U.S. into World War I.

“Food Will Win the War”

When the U.S. entered WWI, millions of young men were drafted, but not everyone ended up on the front lines. The war demanded more than soldiers. It needed food, labor, and infrastructure to keep the country and military going. Farming became a vital part of national defense. In 1917, the U.S. Food Administration, led by future president Herbert Hoover, declared, “Food will win the war.” Feeding soldiers and sustaining a rapidly growing civilian workforce became a national priority. With millions of men drafted, labor shortages on farms became a real threat to the war effort.

The U.S. Food Administration launched nationwide campaigns to boost production and reduce waste. “Meatless Mondays” and “Wheatless Wednesdays” became a part of daily life, and Victory Gardens sprouted in backyards across the country. The 1917 Selective Service Act even granted exemptions to men working in essential food industries, putting farmers, dairymen, and ranchers on equal footing with soldiers, at least in terms of their value to the war effort. The act declared that agricultural work was “necessary to the maintenance of the Military Establishment.”

Posters of the U.S. Food Administration, https://www.nyhistory.org/blogs/meatless-wheatless-patriotic

Dairy farming, in particular, was vital. Milk, cheese, and butter were classified as nutritional staples for troops overseas as well as families at home. So, while some Americans wore uniforms, others put on work boots and got to milking. In the eyes of the government, both were serving their country in important ways. Farmers weren’t fighting in the trenches, and the risks weren’t exactly the same, but they were making sure that the people who were had enough to eat. Recognizing food production as a form of patriotic service helped broaden the definition of what it meant to contribute to the war effort.

Vancouver at War: Industry, Growth, and More Mouths to Feed

During WWI, Vancouver transformed almost overnight. In just a few short years, it shifted from a small town in the Pacific Northwest to a bustling wartime hub. Between 1910 and 1920, Vancouver’s population jumped by more than 36%, growing from around 9,300 to over 12,600. Much of this growth was fueled by wartime industry.

One of the most visible symbols of Vancouver’s role in the war effort was the Standifer shipyards. Built in 1917 on the banks of the Columbia River, these shipyards turned out dozens of wooden and steel cargo ships to supply the Allies. They brought thousands of laborers to town and reshaped the local economy. Just up the river, Fort Vancouver became home to the largest spruce cut-up mill in the world. Built by the U.S. Army’s Spruce Production Division, it processed millions of board feet of lumber needed for airplane production. These efforts made Vancouver a critical piece of the national supply chain.  

But this industrial boom created an equally urgent need: food. Feeding thousands of workers and soldiers required coordination and output on a massive scale. That’s where Clark County’s farmers came in. Local dairies and farms, like the one Clyde may have worked on, became essential to the city’s war effort. While the Fort and the shipbuilding industry brought the headlines, it was Vancouver’s agriculture that fed the workers and soldiers who made it possible. As thousands of new workers and soldiers flooded into the city, the demand for food soared, and it was local producers, like Clyde, who stepped up to meet it. While Clyde may not have served in the military, his work helped feed the very people building ships at the Standifer yards, cutting spruce at Fort Vancouver, and preparing for deployment at the Barracks. In a city where food was fuel for the war effort, Clyde’s contribution was part of what kept Vancouver moving.

And his commitment to service didn’t end with the war. By 1950, he was chairing the Clark County Production and Marketing Administration Committee, helping farmers navigate federal programs and adapt to postwar realities. That same spirit of service hinted at in Clyde’s yearbook sketch seemed to carry through in his later life. While the shipyards, spruce mills, and Fort Vancouver drew much of the attention during WWI, it was people like Clyde, quietly keeping the shelves stocked and the milk flowing, who made the city’s transformation possible. His story reminds us that Vancouver’s wartime contributions weren’t just limited to big industries. The local fields mattered too.

Final Thoughts

Not every young man who dreamed of serving on the front lines in 1916 ended up in uniform. Some, like Clyde, found their contributions were needed elsewhere. Whether by choice or by necessity, he took a different path, but one that was no less critical to the war effort. His story broadens how we think about patriotism and service. In a war often remembered for its trenches and troops, it’s easy to overlook the people who kept the home front going. Clyde’s story reminds us that service came in many forms, and that feeding a community in wartime was one of them.

But most of all, Clyde’s story is a local one. By tracing Clyde’s life, we don’t just learn about one student. We get a glimpse into how Vancouver responded to a global crisis. Stories like his put a human face on history and remind us that big national moments ripple through everyday lives. Clyde’s yearbook sketch may seem small, but it opens a big window into Vancouver’s past and invites us to think about how ordinary people in our own community responded to extraordinary times.

Thanks for reading!

-Frank