The Great Generation

by Dr. KR, ©2023

(Aug. 1, 2023) — On July 26, 2023, I had a divine experience while waiting for an appointment at the Apple store. With Mari, my dear companion, and her sister, I sat on a bench near the store. In front of us, we noticed a distinguished elderly couple sitting on another bench. Both appeared to be in their late eighties, or even more. The man, however, was bent over gagging while holding several paper towels in front of his nose and mouth to stop fluid from coming out. 

She was beautiful, tall, and slender with long gray hair and wrinkles all over her face and neck. She wore simple eyeglasses, with one eye not well visible to us. What was striking was the absence of any of the so-called cosmetic works. She was just beautiful, radiating an angelic glow while comforting this man. The man was in obvious distress, too proud to show his suffering.

As soon as I had bent my painful knees and sat down on the bench, I felt a sense of kinship toward them. I asked whether I could help. Quietly, he said, “No, thank you.” With a reassuring smile, she said, “He took Nitro-Glycerin for his heart, and we called for the wheelchair.”

Now I was alarmed. I wondered what I would do if he keeled over on the floor. Then I told myself, “KR, even though you are an old retired physician, you learned how to do cardiac resuscitation in the 1960s when you were enslaved as a resident in several hospital emergency rooms.” Right away, I reassured myself that I would do a good job, if necessary, and I didn’t need to search Google on my cell phone to figure out how to resuscitate him.

Leaving thoughts about what I had endured in the ’60s, I decided to talk to him more. I said, “My friend, we belong to the Great Generation. I almost was sent to Vietnam. You’ll be fine.” Behind the paper towels, I could see his smile. With a strong voice, he asked, “Vietnam? I’m from WWII.” 

That did it. Our bond was strongly formed. I asked in which theater he served. “Iwo Jima, Pacific Theater.” I felt my heart beating faster. I said, “I admire all of you from the Battle of Iwo Jima.” The man looked stronger while enjoying the soft touch of his wife or companion’s hand on his shoulder. It was giving him a powerful message that she was there for him.

I followed up by offering my true and admiring opinion about Admiral Nimitz. To that, he nodded his head in agreement and said, “You are spot-on. He was the one who saved our butts in the Pacific.”

Then I noticed that his companion was looking for something. “Is there something I can get for you?” I asked. “Can you please get us some paper towels?” she answered. For a moment, I forgot my age and my painful knees. I stood up and started something between a limp and a trot toward the Starbucks nearby. The pain was unbearable. Even so, I was in my glory. I was relevant. I was going to help my newfound friends. 

Ignoring the pain, I reached the napkin section at Starbucks. After grabbing more than half the pile, I made my way back, limping all the way. Just picture me in that spacious hallway, an old man holding a fistful of napkins limping as fast as he could toward the benches. 

While breathing faster and feeling my heart racing I softly murmured, “KR, you belong to the Great Generation. You can do it.”

Soon I reached the benches and handed the bounty to her. She gave me a sweet smile with a soft “Thank you.” (You can say this if you wish. Men go crazy when a beautiful woman smiles at them. We lose control.) She changed the wet paper towels with new dry ones. He also said, “Thank you.”

Soon enough, a short chubby girl arrived carrying a wheelchair. She was not part of the Great Generation. She placed the chair in front of him. She was like a robot. She did not even try to help him move from the bench to the wheelchair. I decided to help. With my help, we got him into the wheelchair. Like an expert, I secured his feet on the footing of the wheelchair. And I put my hand on his back whispering, “We are from the Great Generation. We are strong and we can do it. Good luck to both of you, my friends.” 

They both thanked me, of course. She looked at me with the same mesmerizing smile. I followed them until they turned into the next hallway. Then I could no longer see them. I had a hard time controlling my tears. While I was holding back my tears, I thought, “I wish I had served in Vietnam in the mid-’60s. That would have been an honorable service, elevating my character regardless of the severe hardship my family and I had to endure. Further, I would have a stronger bond with him.” Then I took a deep breath and said, “KR, you cannot turn the clock back. Please enjoy the great moment you just experienced.” 

Later, my companion Mari explained what she had learned while I was getting additional napkins. They were not married. He had lost his wife of fifty years. She had lost her husband several years ago. In many ways, they were like us. 

The rest of the afternoon I kept repeating, “Yes, we are the Great Generation and we can.  I shall never forget this moment.”

“Dr. KR” graduated from Tehran University Medical School in 1962. Shortly thereafter, he came to the United States for specialty training in Obstetrics and Gynecology. In 1968, he started a private practice in Wayne County, Michigan. “At age 86,” he says, “my hobbies are only playing bridge, reading history, and complaining.”