I once heard it said of man that the ideais to die young, as late as possible. At age 85, a favorite pastime of George H.W.Bush was firing up his boat, the Fidelity, and opening up the three 300-horsepower engines to fly — joyfully fly — across the Atlantic with the Secret Service boats straining to keep up. At age 90, George H.W. Bush parachuted out of an aircraft and landed on the grounds of St. Ann’s by the Sea in Kennebunkport, Maine,the church where his mom was married and where he worshiped often.
Mother liked to say he chose the locationjust in case the chute didn’t open. After high school, he put college on holdand became a Navy fighter pilot as World War II broke out. Like many of his generation, he never talkedabout his service until his time as a public figure forced his hand.
We learned of the attack on Chichi Jima, themission completed, the shoot-down. We learned of the death of his crew mates,whom he thought about throughout his entire life. And we learned of the rescue. And then another audacious decision: He movedhis young family from the comforts of the East Coast to Odessa, Texas. He and Mom adjusted to their arid surroundingsquickly.
He was a tolerant man. After all, he was kind and neighborly to thewomen with whom he, Mom and I shared a bathroom in our small duplex, even after he learnedtheir profession: ladies of the night. Dad could relate to people from all walksof life. He was an empathetic man.
He valued character over pedigree. And he was no cynic. He looked for the good in each person, andhe usually found it. Dad taught us that public service is nobleand necessary, that one can serve with integrity and hold true to the important values likefaith and family. He strongly believed that it was importantto give back to the community and country in which one lived.
