The Last Doughboy

There it is, on a tiny corner of the front page of the
Tacoma News Tribune this morning. Frank Buckles died
last Sunday on his farm in Charles Town, West Virginia.
He joined the Army at 16, lying about his age. He passed
away less than a month after his 110th birthday. When we
witness the passing, the death, the loss of anything,
the zebras, certain birds, plants, we have to mourn.
Buckles by outliving every other American serviceman
who served in World War I became "the humble patriot".

When I began working with blinded veterans in 1985,
for several years, we were still getting some vets
from WWI. By 1990 they stopped coming. As a kid in
the early 1950's I remember being amazed that there
still were some veterans alive who had served during
the Civil War. A simple man has passed on to join
his old battalion, the last piece of flesh that had
survived the "Great War", the invention of tanks,
the new machine guns, no man's land, mustard gas,
French prostitutes, and sleeping with rats in the
muddy trenches.

Say hello to your comrades, Frank. Some of them
have been waiting to clap you on the back for a
very long time. By 2025, when I am in my 80's,
one morning we will read on our ipod, iphone,
or palm reader that the last veteran from WWII
,the last American veteran, has died.