Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The Old Goats Club

As I walked down the hall today, I saw him sitting in the customer lounge. He was patiently waiting for an opportunity to visit with me about a small ad in the local American Legion newsletter that is put out every month. As I approached, he reached out his hand and we shook in the customary way that men in our society do. Then I sat down by his side and we began to visit.

He recently celebrated his 87th birthday but you would never know it by the way that he acts and carries himself. Yes, his gate is slower than when I met him over 20 years ago and he walks with a cane, but his handshake is still firm and mind is very sharp.  He had been a successful businessman in our community for more years than I even know, but now he is semi-retired and he still stays very active in the community.

As we sat and visited about the typical odds and ends that we would visit about, such as how my family was doing and how business is and those such things, the conversation somehow turned to the morning meeting of the "Old Goats Club". You have to be from our community for this name to mean anything to you. You probably have a club like this in your own town, but you probably know them by another name. The "Old Goats Club" is simply a group of elderly retired men that gather on a daily basis at the local coffee shop.

As the conversation turned to the subject of their meeting, he slowly grew quiet and spoke more as a man removed than the man sitting before me. He said "you know, there are only three of us left in the club that served in the war". They had spent the majority of their coffee time today talking about where they were and what they were doing on this day 69 years ago. I had been so busy with the day that it had eluded me that it was "Pearl Harbor Day". I almost felt ashamed when I realized what he was speaking about. He relived with great clarity where he was and what he was doing as the news began to break about Pearl Harbor. As he stirred himself from his trip down memory lane, he stood up and apologized for taking up my time because he knew how busy I was. I, on the other hand was compelled to hear more, so I told him that I loved to hear those stories and I told him that my uncles used to share their stories with me about the war. Upon seeing my interest he slowly sat back down and the fog of the past again enveloped us as he continued to speak of that day. Finally, he had spoken all that he had time for and again he apologized for taking my time and he went on his way.

I did not mention to him that the Uncles that I had made reference to were both gone now and their stories and their memories that they shared with me are about all that I have left of them. As he walked away I wondered how much longer we would have men like him who were a walking history in our midst.

I spent the rest of today reflecting on his stories and I thought about the men around our nation that are just like him. I thought about my uncles and the stories that they told. I thought about all the different men that I have known and met through the years who served in that war. I heard a startling statistic the other day that every ninety seconds we lose another veteran of World War II. I hope and pray that if you have a chance to visit with one of these precious veterans, you will slow down for a few minutes in your busy schedule and soak up the history that will soon no longer speak from their lips but simply be written in books for people to see but never understand.

Mr. Thompson, my day was richer for you having taken the time to share the past with me. It was men like you that have made our future what it is.

Thank you.

GW

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