August 24, 2025 by Amy

The Legacy of Matthew Foley

Over the Fourth of July holiday, we hosted our cousins from Cincinnati. Casting about for things to do, I offered to take them to an exhibit at the Soldier’s Memorial Military Museum in downtown St. Louis. Even though I am a proud St. Louisan, born and raised, I had never been to the memorial before. The closest I came was driving past it on the way to the St. Louis Public Library. Teachers at work had taken students to a Ghost Army exhibit there, we wrote about the field trip for a newsletter, and I was intrigued. Honestly, I was also a little surprised: I had thought the memorial was just a memorial; I had no clue there was a museum inside.

Off we went on a hot, bright Saturday. We drove downtown, M parked the car, and then had to repark it after struggling to get the meter to work. Even though it felt like a blast furnace outside, we ambled around the exterior of the museum while we waited for him. It was the polite thing to do, and only because of that instinct, I discovered a deeper understanding of my family and the history of our city.

I found a series of large marble tablets, a court of honor, engraved with the names of the St. Louis soldiers killed in World War II. I thought about my grandfather, who fought in the Pacific and whose scratchy wool Navy blanket I still throw over my bed on frigid winter nights. You can barely make out his last name, “Howle,” stenciled on one corner. I thought about my husband’s paternal grandfather, who lost his leg at the Battle of the Bulge, and his maternal grandfather, who joined the war with a head of dark hair and returned with an all-white buzz cut. All three men came home, broken in many ways, but at least they came home. As I stood gazing at the names, I realized that I could probably find the name of my great uncle Matt.

My grandmother often spoke of the older brother she lost in what her generation calls The War. Even as a small child, I understood that she loved Matt very much and missed him terribly, all those years later. My father bears Matthew as a middle name, a tribute and a sign of her enduring grief. She told me about the day they received the news, and even though it happened long before I was born, I could feel her anguish like she and her parents had just learned the news the day before.

I focused again on the names and realized they were in alphabetical order. I strode down a few panels of the memorial and found where Matthew Foley should have been listed but wasn’t. Then M appeared, having found a parking meter that worked, and we went inside, out of the stifling heat.

Three older men staffed the welcome desk in the cool, marble lobby, and, after getting information about the museum—alas, the Ghost Army exhibit was gone, but we were fortunate to see a phenomenal display about the Tuskegee Airmen—I asked one of them about my great uncle. He motioned to a touch screen panel by the desk and offered to help me look up Matthew Foley. He was a bit hard of hearing and I found myself shouting, “FOLEY. F as in FRANK.” My voice echoed off all the marble around us. It took a few tries but he finally got Uncle Matt’s name entered correctly. We discovered he wasn’t there, either. 

I said, “I don’t understand. I grew up hearing how he was killed in the war. Why isn’t he listed?” “Are you sure he was from St. Louis?” “Yes, I know he grew up in Ferguson with my grandmother and their parents, and another brother.” The docent shrugged apologetically and handed me the business card of a woman named Molly. “She works for the Missouri Historical Society. You can send her the information and see what she says.” I thanked him and rejoined my small group waiting for the next guided tour. While we waited, I texted my dad to confirm what I had told the docent. Yes, Uncle Matt was born in St. Louis and yes, he was killed in battle during World War II. He promised to get me more.

Several days later, he sent a treasure trove of information.

Matthew Thomas Foley was born February 8, 1914 in St. Louis, Missouri. He enlisted in the United States Army on June 6, 1941. He was a Staff Sergeant with the 6th Infantry Division, 20th Infantry Regiment, Company K. The Battle of Lone Tree Hill in Dutch New Guinea raged from May 17 until September 2, 1944. Matt was killed in action there on June 23, 1944. His body was repatriated to the United States four years later, in 1948. He is buried in Calvary Cemetery.

Dad even sent me the address of their house in Ferguson, built in 1922, which looks largely the same on the outside and has gone through some fantastic updates on the inside (thank you, realtor.com). I spent some time learning about the Battle of Lone Tree Hill, which helped me feel a little closer to the great uncle I never got to meet.

I emailed Molly at the Missouri Historical Society all of this information, and she kindly replied. She explained that the WWII memorial in the Court of Honor was created in the late 40s, and unfortunately, the creators left very little information behind on their selection process. The historians today have no idea how their predecessors picked who would go on the wall. They now know of several people, including Matt, who should have been included. They’ve even discovered that there are people on the wall with little connection to St. Louis.

Because the memorial is an historical artifact, they cannot alter it. Thankfully, they are looking at ways to add a new memorial to the existing one to honor those left off the first time, as has been done with the Vietnam, Gulf, and post-Gulf conflicts courts of honor. It would be a large and costly endeavor that might take several years, and she can’t guarantee that it’ll even happen.

I’m okay with waiting, in part because Molly promised to add Uncle Matt’s information and portrait to the three interactive kiosks in the building. His service and his sacrifice are being honored that way. She’s also noting the information so that Matthew Foley’s name makes it onto the list of any future engraved memorial. 

After reflecting, I’m not angry that Uncle Matt was left off the original memorial. His parents, John and Johanna Foley, were Irish immigrants who weren’t connected in St. Louis beyond John’s job as a streetcar driver. We have his union certificate, his union card, and even a tiny streetcar token. Johanna was a homemaker. It’s not hard to imagine they simply didn’t know to ensure he was included, nor could they be expected to in their grief.

My grandma has been gone for over two decades now, but I’m proud that I am helping to ensure her beloved brother is honored. I am helping his legacy live on, the legacy that Abraham Lincoln called “the last full measure of devotion.” And I am thankful that I know more about Uncle Matt now, and more about my own city.

I encourage you to make sure your family members who sacrificed their lives in the fight against fascism are recognized at Soldier’s Memorial, and if they aren’t, please reach out to the Missouri Historical Society and let the good people there know. Perhaps if there are enough of us asking, a new memorial can be created sooner.

#family