Americans are commemorating Veterans Day and recalling its beginning as Armistice Day, marking the guns of World War I falling silent on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. Over a century later, smoking — of tobacco, anyway — is out of fashion. The Sun supplying Doughboys with the divine herb, as tobacco was known, is a reminder of the affection Americans have for those who wear the uniform.

A story at the top of the Sun’s front page on June 29, 1917, painted a picture of life for soldiers “over there.” It said, “They’re all ready for war, but ‘smokes’ are not provided.” With “thousands of American boys … on French soil, almost within sound of the big guns,” this was “somewhat akin to sitting a cowpuncher down to a breakfast that doesn’t include coffee.”

Out of this need, the Sun’s “Tobacco Fund for Our Soldiers in the Trenches” was born. The Sun Printing and Publishing Association primed the pump with $1,000, equal to more than $18,000 today. They invited “those wishing to help” to send donations, promising to “see to it that the tobacco is bought and forwarded to France with all possible speed.”

Even if the risks of tobacco had been known as they are today, they’d have been moot for soldiers grappling with the horrors of the Western Front’s bombs, bullets, and poison gas. Cigarettes, pipes, and cigars offered more than a taste of home. They were also currency, tools to mask the stench of rot in the trenches, and a comfort given to wounded or dying soldiers.

Reporting that many people “around town” were asking what would greet our soldiers in France, “it occurred to the Sun that no one in authority, at least so far as obtainable records show, had asked, ‘What are they going to smoke?'” The paper noted that “the personal baggage of the expeditionary soldier is restricted … therefore the supply of smokes which each man took aboard was mighty little.”

The pack or two a soldier might carry in his pocket would be burned up during “the many lazy days devoted to sailing across the sea.” As for the idea of buying more in Europe, the Sun scoffed. When General William Tecumseh Sherman said, “War is hell” during the Civil War, the paper reported, there was “no doubt” he “had German cigars in mind.”

The British Tommy, like the American Doughboy, depended on tobacco. The Sun reported that “despite a drain on their resources that is almost beyond belief,” citizens of the United Kingdom had “freely contributed $1,250,000 for the sole purpose of filling Tommies’ pipe bowl and cigarette papers.” National honor required Americans do the same.

The Sun invited “anyone who wants to keep the lads in American khaki abroad from undergoing smokeless miseries” to contribute. In a sign of the trust it had earned from readers, the paper said the fact that it had “obligated itself to manage” the fund “is sufficient guarantee that the tobacco purchased will be forwarded to our men in France with all possible speed and distributed among them free from red tape.”

By the time the foe called it quits, the Sun Tobacco Fund had raised the equivalent of $1.8 million for its mission. “The armistice was signed by the German representatives at midnight,” the Sun reported on November 11, 1918. “The World War will end this morning at 6 o’clock.” In Paris local time, it was 11 a.m.

Germany’s new chancellor, Friedrich Ebert, had proposed ending hostilities on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. Those who survived the trenches didn’t return home right away, though. “Immediately following the armistice,” the Sun reported on February 16, 1919, “the soldiers felt certain misgivings as to the continuance of” organizations shipping them the comforts of home.

The Sun was determined to keep up its good works. It quoted an Army chaplain with the 168th Infantry, Roscoe Conklin Hatch, who said the expeditionary force had “no definite knowledge of the length of our stay,” and the idleness after months of war “sometimes weighs heavy” on the men. He urged the Sun to “send us smokes,” and the paper — along with its readers — kept answering the call.

The last veterans of World War I have gone to their reward. Now it’s veterans of subsequent conflicts who walk among us. While it’s no longer in vogue to ship them tobacco, we can take inspiration from the Sun’s gesture a century ago and find ways to ensure that those who serve far from home know that we’ll do all we can to ease their burdens over there.