At the center of Murray Cemetery, where Vine Street meanders by and the city gives way to rows of headstones, a century-old artillery piece rests in place. Its steel is weathered, its wooden wheels fixed. It has not moved in decades.

The gun—a Driggs-Seabury rapid-fire field piece manufactured in 1900—was never fired in World War I. By the time American forces entered the conflict in 1917, it was already outdated, surpassed by newer artillery that would define the war’s industrial scale.

But in Murray, the cannon serves a different purpose.

Mounted on chassis is a bronze plaque bearing 12 names—men from the community who left for war and did not return: Melvin B. McMillan, Wilford R. Wanberg, Carl J. Ostlund, David E. Johnson, Clarence L. Johnson, Elmo A. Gillen, Horace L. Tanner, William A. Boggess, Emil W. Butler, Curley R. Carlsen, Arthur R. Green and Louis O. Nelson.

The plaque bears the inscription “Who Gave Their Lives in the World War,” wording that reflected the language of the time but now reads as an artifact of the era before a second global conflict reshaped history.

The monument was dedicated on May 30, 1923, as part of a Memorial Day ceremony that reflected both national patterns and local effort. Residents gathered at City Hall on State Street and moved in procession along Vine Street to the cemetery. Veterans, civic leaders and families walked together, linking the center of public life with the place of burial.

At the cemetery, the ceremony centered on the cannon and the unveiling of the plaque. The Women’s Club of Murray, a civic organization that had helped secure the artillery piece, presented the memorial honoring the city’s fallen soldiers. Across the United States in the early 1920s, similar groups played a leading role in organizing and funding war memorials. In Murray, that effort resulted in a permanent marker of loss.

Among the 12 names, three are documented as having been killed in action in the trenches of France: Sgt. Melvin Boyce McMillan, Cpl. Arthur Riley Green and Pvt. Wilford Richard Wanberg.

McMillan, born April 24, 1894, served in the 362nd Infantry Regiment of the 91st Division, a unit composed largely of soldiers from the American West. He was killed on Sept. 27, 1918, during the opening days of the Meuse-Argonne Offensive, the largest American campaign of the war. The fighting took place in dense forest against fortified German positions, where visibility was limited and resistance was strong. McMillan was 24. He is buried at the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery in Romagne, France.

Green, born March 3, 1893, served in the same regiment and division. As a corporal, he would have been responsible for leading a small group of soldiers under fire. He was killed two days later, on Sept. 29, 1918, in the Argonne sector. Green was 25. Unlike McMillan, his remains were returned to Utah, and he is buried in Murray City Cemetery.

Wanberg, born Oct. 3, 1891, in Provo, moved to Murray as a child and later worked as a printer and salesman for The Salt Lake Tribune. He entered the Army as a private. In that role, he would have been among those advancing into direct fire, carrying supplies and maintaining the front line. He was killed in action in France in 1918.

Together, the three represent different ranks within the same system—a sergeant, a corporal and a private—but their outcomes were the same. All were killed in combat during the final months of the war.

The remaining names on the plaque reflect a broader reality of World War I service. While combat deaths defined the war’s public memory, many American soldiers died from other causes. Disease, including the influenza pandemic of 1918, spread rapidly through crowded camps and troop ships. Accidents during training, transport and early mobilization also contributed to casualties.

For communities like Murray, these losses were no less significant. The names of Ostlund, the Johnsons, Gillen, Tanner, Boggess, Butler, Carlsen and Nelson represent men whose service ended far from home, under circumstances that were not always visible or widely recorded. Some may have died of wounds, others of illness or complications tied to military service.

Taken together, the 12 names reflect the full spectrum of wartime loss—combat, disease and accident—during a conflict that reached beyond the battlefield.

The Driggs-Seabury Model 1898 field gun represented an early step toward modern artillery, but by the time the United States entered World War I in 1917, it had been overtaken by faster, more advanced designs. The war on the Western Front demanded artillery that could fire rapidly, accurately and repeatedly without needing to be repositioned after each shot—capabilities perfected in newer systems like the French 75mm gun. Compared to these, the Model 1898 had a less efficient recoil system, slower rate of fire, and more limited range and targeting precision. As a result, the U.S. military chose to equip its forces with modern artillery, often adopting allied designs already proven in combat, while older guns like this one were relegated to training, storage, or, eventually, memorial use.

The cannon itself arrived in Murray as part of a national program in the early 1920s. Following the war, the U.S. War Department distributed surplus and decommissioned artillery to cities and towns across the country for memorial use. Larger cities often received captured German guns. Smaller communities, including Murray, were typically allocated older American-made pieces.

The Driggs-Seabury gun installed in Murray was one of those. Though it had never been used in World War I, it became a focal point for remembrance—a visible, physical object tied to the names it accompanied.

More than a century later, the monument remains in place. The details of the 1923 ceremony have faded from common memory, and the procession route is no longer observed. But the cannon and the plaque continue to mark the site. Twelve names. One community.