a national treasure

We recently recognized the anniversary of a major turning point in World War II: Pearl Harbor Day. In June we recognized D-day. Last month we honored Veteran's Day.  These days bring our thoughts to one special man.

Some years ago, Mr. J and I were pleased  to make the acquaintance of Zora. He was 80 at the time, give or take a couple of years, though he looked hardly more than 60. Spry, witty, charming, filled with conviction and wisdom. He was quickly endeared to us; he flirted with me and humored my history-loving Mr. J with his stories of World War II. Zora had been there. Still practically a kid, he was among those that stormed the beach at Normandy. His personal accounts were lucid and matter-of-fact, but utterly lacking venom or bitterness. Together, Mr. J and Zora compared movies and novels with actual history. His humility is inspiring, his memory sharp, and he speaks of his experiences with reverence. He has seemed always at peace with the history he lived and the history he made.

Zora lives on the opposite side of the country, yet he has a warm place in our hearts always, and has a tender friendship with Mr. J. We received news today that our agile, spunky friend has had a stroke. It seems he will recover, but it has reminded us that Zora, a real life hero, is mortal. There are few men left in our country who can personally recount the stories of World War II. Their wisdom, their pain, their knowledge, their service must not be overlooked. One day soon, they will be gone. National Treasures are they, Zora and his unknown compatriots. Always will we consider it an honor to call him "friend." A treasure indeed.