The handyman who saved the world

We salute the rank, not the man.
- from Band of Brothers

As the last surviving veterans of World War II face their final years, many writers, filmmakers, and historians have given this generation a new torrent of attention. This attention often is in excess to what these surviving heroes would want. It was quite telling when I read that Richard Winters, the valiant Army major depicted in the 1992 book and 2001 miniseries Band of Brothers, will no longer be handling fan mail. A note posted on his web page early last year says:

It is with deep regret that we have to inform you that Dick is no longer signing pictures, books, or posters. Any mail from persons unknown will be disposed of and not answered. Any packages containing books will be refused at the post office. We feel it is time to retire and get some much needed peace and quiet in our golden years.

Regards,
The Winters Family

Richard Winters, now nearly 90 years of age, certainly has every right to take time out from serving the public. We raised in peacetime often are not aware of how traumatic the experiences of war were. No one wants to relive days of terror, pain, and distress, even when the results were victory and admiration.

I recently watched the DVD set for Band of Brothers, and included with the excellent dramatic productions were recent interviews with several of the actual persons depicted in the show. From these recountings, I not only heard of their pain, but also of their true humility. In one, Richard Winters tearfully declared he did not consider himself a hero, but instead considered himself as having merely served with them. Even more pointedly, another veteran, Bill Guarnere, claimed the heroes of World War II were the ones who had "crosses over their heads, the ones that are buried in the cemeteries. Those are the true heroes, not us." It was that same Bill Guarnere who lost a leg in the Battle of the Bulge.

Of great interest to me was how unostentatiously most of these men conducted their peacetime careers. The men shown in Band of Brothers served in "E" company, 2nd Batallion, of the 506h Parachute Regiment in the Army's 101st Airborne Division during World War II. They were among the first to perform in the highly dangerous, experimental role as paratroopers, but they succeeded, having accomplished all sorts of heroism from D-Day through the fall of Berlin. Highly regarded, they came back from war still young men, with a maturity that was well beyond their years, and a potential that was outstanding. In a now free world, as citizens of a grateful nation, with industrious souls in a booming economy, they could have taken any grandiose path, riding these waves into careers as astronauts, politicians, or authors. Yet, that is not what they did. They instead were mailmen, accountants, and crop fertilizer salesmen, quietly laboring on behalf of their families and local communities, right into their old age.

Why is this? Could we say that these men became too tired or overwhelmed by their experiences, and didn't want to bother? Certainly not, or their personalities would not show today as they do. Can we say that they had had all the adventure they needed, and didn't need life to challenge them any further? Again, certainly not, since the way they value bravery and risk-taking is still in evidence as they cry in appreciation for their fallen colleagues, six decades later. I believe their small-scale career profiles directly resulted from the noble lessons of war. Their sacrifices on the battlefield, experienced together in a bond of boundless mutual support and trust, showed them the meaning of courage, responsibility, and humility - and that such values must be held at all costs, even of life and limb. A loud, flashy career, where personal accomplishment is the top priority, isn't likely to be the means by which these ideals are reached.

George Luz was one of the men who apparently learned all this well. A fun-loving NCO in "E" company who fought hard, he returned to his home in West Warwick, Rhode Island to live out the rest of his life as an industrial engineer. After he died - on his job - in 1998, 1600 people came to his funeral. His career, as those 1600 people might have attested, was saving the world, both in the wild ravages of wartime Europe and in the peace-loving New England town where he made his home. George Luz was not a man of rank - but, like his humble colleagues who we now salute with adoration - he truly was a man of greatness.