Soldiers of peace

Soldiers of peace

The “Greatest Generation,” a term originated by newsman Tom Brokaw, may soon diminish in its effectiveness from overexposure and the passage into history of the cohort to which it refers. For future generations, its meaning will gradually become remote if not extinct. But for now, those of us of an age to have known members of that famous group when they were in their prime should consider ourselves especially fortunate.

Shaped by the Great Depression and then tempered in the fire of World War II, the Greatest Generation is credited, and rightly so, with defeating forces so overwhelmingly and determinedly evil as to be inconceivable to most of today’s population. Less dramatic but equally noteworthy is how so many of them then put aside war and proceeded to live productive and often inspiring lives. I was fortunate to know many of them at the peak of their productive years, and am proud to claim close blood relationship with 10. And an even closer non-blood relationship with one.

Charles Eugene Freeman was my sister’s high school classmate, no more than that. It was a small school and a small class, so I heard the name and remembered the face. Like so many others, he graduated and then went away to war, soon to be making his way across the face of Europe. In 1945, he came home. Not long afterward, he came to see my sister. A lengthy courtship began. Everybody in my family liked him, so when they finally decided to get married, we were pleased. Not because he was wealthy or had especially great prospects. He had a small farm, a quiet strength, and determination. That was all. But he was honest, hard-working, caring. A good man.

He never developed a fantastic invention, discovered a cure for a deadly disease, achieved high political office, or got rich. The only thing he did was work hard, live frugally, treat everybody with kindness and, with the help of his wife, raise five kids in a warm and supportive family atmosphere. I saw the process up close, because he often hired me to help him with everything from cultivating to harvesting, from poisoning boll weevils to cutting pulpwood. There were times when we took a break from work and went fishing. And when I was not needed for either work or for fishing, I was likely to be there anyway, just visiting. We talked a lot, especially about the Army and about the war. He was quietly proud of having served under General Patton, although he never bragged about it. Bragging was not his style.

Hard work, kindness, and decency are valuable traits, but they don’t provide immunity to loss and pain. Eugene suffered severe and life-threatening health issues, but survived them and kept moving forward. When his children had to face dismal problems, he suffered as parents do, but he persevered. His eldest son died far too young, suddenly and unexpectedly, of an unsuspected health problem. His young grandson, with whom he was especially close, was killed by a horrific accidental explosion. These near-unbearable losses, far outweighing any of his unhappy experiences in World War II, he bore with stoicism and quiet dignity.

My sister died last Christmas Day, not quite seven months ago. My brother-in-law lives alone now in the silence of the house that he added to over the years, expanding it to meet the needs of a growing, lively family. He will be ninety-four years old on Monday. He is there, still enduring. Following the news. Cooking a meal. Grieving, surely, but quietly.

I’m biased, of course. I know that the Greatest Generation was made up of millions, and vast numbers of them did essentially what my brother-in-law did: fought a war, then came home and did the things that actually make a country what it is. They took hold, most of them, and lived productive lives. And in so doing, honored those whose lives had been snatched away.

I, personally, am honored to have known so well one of the best of that famous generation.

This story was originally published July 15, 2016 at 6:08 PM with the headline "Soldiers of peace."