The First of the Greatest

Dad (left) and Bill after the war

I don't  remember how often I have posted this picture of my father and his older brother on this site, but I'm quite sure you've seen it at least three times, maybe more. It is my favorite picture of the two of them: They are the shoulder-to-shoulder epitome of the Greatest Generation, and I've written of the anguish my grandmother must have felt as she sent her 17- and 18-year-old sons off to World War II.

Like me, my grandmother had four sons. Three of the four have lived most of their lives within 30 miles of each other, and the fourth was close enough to visit frequently. And nearly every time they got together, they took a picture.

The four brothers often lined up in order of age as someone snapped a shot, so we can watch them age through the decades. Floppy-haired teenagers morph into husbands, fathers, grandfathers, retirees. They are witness to wars, job changes, health scares, successes and failures. Their parents, their wives, their children flow in and out of the pictures, and the brothers look older but still recognizably products of the same gene pool.

Last week, after a few years of failing health and a couple of months of precarious survival, the oldest brother became the first to move out of the frame. Uncle Bill was 93; his surviving brothers are 92, 89, and 87.

My father was one of the speakers at the funeral, and his remarks were some of the most honest I've ever heard in a eulogy. He talked frankly about how and he and his brother, only 19 months apart in age, had personalities that were worlds apart. Even as children they were always competitive and often combative.

"When Dad would say 'Jump!' I would say 'How high?','' Dad told the mourners. "Bill would say 'How come?'"

He told of the memorable day when he could take no more of what he considered Bill's picking on him, and the two ended up in a fight loud enough that it brought both parents running to break them up. Somewhere along the line, though, their relationship changed and grew up and when it was time to choose a branch of the service for enlistment, Dad knew he wanted to be in the Navy--because that was what Bill had chosen.

I thought about those two scrapping boys and their brothers, and once again I channeled Grandma. I don't have to imagine how tired she got of her sons' squabbles; I lived that life. But I've also lived long enough to see our Boys become best friends who have created a brothers-only Facebook page where they share plans and dreams and discuss their aging parents' foibles. I have watched the look on one of my son's face when he sees one of his brothers come into view. Grandma lived to be 97, and she must have felt the same delight when her boys enjoyed each other.

All of those pictures of my father and his brothers. Dozens of them, and now the next picture will have a brother missing.

Last week, though, as we gathered we were grateful for the nine decades during which being together had been important to these men and we knew that their true relationship will continue to exist. They're still brothers, and Bill's still leading the way.