Harold and Me

They’re nearly all gone now, the generation we call The Greatest.” This woman’s mission was to honor one of them

- PATTI JO CATERSON

I scanned the line of older gentlemen boarding the charter bus, looking for the veteran I'd be accompanying on a two-day tour of the war memorials in Washington, D.C. That Saturday morning in September 2019 was my first time volunteering for Honor Flight, and I wanted everything to go smoothly. Planning is something I'm big on.

I checked name tags. None said Harold Gary. Harold was 98, a World War II veteran. One of the last of the Greatest Generation.

I admire the men and women who serve our country. My late parents were Air Force veterans. I thought of following in their footsteps, but my dad wouldn't hear of it. I went into accounting, then IT, eventually working for Lockheed Martin, a defense contractor.

Maybe the seed had been planted in my teens when I watched my proud father step off the plane from Vietnam in civilian clothes so protestors wouldn't spit on him, but I'd long felt a pull to do something more for veterans. I'd asked for God's guidance about it as I got closer to retirement age. Several weeks earlier, my company had held a fundraiser for Honor Flight. "Is there a way to volunteer?" I asked.

So here I was, hoping to give back in some small way.

At last, I spotted Harold. He'd been standing to the side, letting everyone else board the bus ahead of him.

I introduced myself. "Were you waiting for me?"

"No, no," Harold said. "These other veterans deserve the best seats." How could a World War II veteran feel unworthy of respect? Right then and there, I made it my mission to show Harold that he too was a hero.

On the ride to D.C., I asked about his service. Bit by bit, his story came out.

"I grew up on a dairy farm during the Depression," he said. "Seven of us kids, but I was closest to my brother Dana. We called him Dan. He was two years younger. We were inseparable."