Oldest Pt 1

This a tale of love. All participants in sexual activity are at least 18. Doesn't portray any person, living or dead.

I scored an interview with Gregory Coleman, the oldest man in the world. He had just turned 118, becoming the oldest documented male who had ever lived. He very seldom granted interviews so I counted myself very lucky. Maybe he agreed to see me because I also served in the Marine Corps. I'm Jerry West, a free-lance writer.

Gregory was also the last surviving World War II veteran. He fought with the 2

nd

Marine Division at Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Saipan, and Tinian. He was also the last surviving Korean War vet, having served in the 1

st

Marine Division. He was almost the last Vietnam War vet, having served again with the 1

st

Marine Division. His awards and decorations are well known and I won't repeat them here.

He opened the door for me when I knocked. He still lived alone in a small house on a quiet street. Out front, a flagpole with the American flag flying. When I walked in, we shook hands. Although, he was very thin, you could see the strength of the man. He wasn't very tall, now, although I knew that in his younger days he was about 6' with broad shoulders. He had the globe and anchor tattooed on his right forearm, now much faded. The same tattoo that I also sported. His hair was gray and thin, although he really wasn't bald. Eyebrows, and all the hair I could see were likewise gray and rather thin. His bright eyes were sunken a little into a fully-lined face. You could still see the handsome marine he had been. With so little hair, you could see a large scar starting from above his left ear and going back and up for about four inches. During our talks he indicated it came from mortar shrapnel in Korea, causing him to return to the US in 1953.

"Thank you for agreeing to talk with me today. We've talked by electronics recently about my novel concerning the Battle of Saipan but I've been anticipating this in-person interview."

"You're welcome, Mr. West."

"Mr. Coleman, may I call you Gregory?

"I'd prefer Greg."

"Greg, thanks."

Despite being so old, he still radiated life and determination. His bright blue eyes were clear. He didn't wear glasses. He did wear hearing aids.

We chatted briefly about some current events and about my time in the Marine Corps (MC). When I talked about boot camp in Paris Island, he just smiled. "I suspect that things have changed there after a hundred year."

I replied "They very likely have, although you'd probably still recognize what they do to recruits. It's still the best boot camp in the world, though."

"Won't argue with you."

In the few minutes we had been talking, I became very aware that his mind was as sharp as any I person I had ever met. Knew he didn't have any formal education beyond high school but it was very obvious that he was very well educated. The room was filled with books (the real paper kind) and it was clear he had read most, if not all, of them.

He kept up on politics and was a frequent letter writer and commenter on several forums. Many people, to their regret, tried to best him but few succeeded.

"OK. Everyone knows you were born on a farm in Iowa and lived on the farm till you joined the MC prior to WW II. Can you tell us about your family life?"

"My parents were farmers, as had been their parents before them. My parents were religious but not strictly so. We went to church every Sunday and participated in the church social events like pie-eating contests and cake baking fundraisers. The Great Depression took a toll on everyone, including the farmers. We raised enough food, so were never hungry, but there was little left for luxuries.

Education wasn't considered a luxury - you didn't skip school. Mom and Dad were in their early 30s when I was born. There were three siblings. Ruth, older than me by one year, and Joseph, who was two years behind me.

Dad was the leader of the house. He was also about 6' and built like a fullback. Spend all day at farming activities in the days before automation and you get that build or you don't make it as a farmer. Mom worked as many hours as dad, just doing different things. In those days, almost everything was homemade or jury-rigged. Nobody could afford much.

Our, meaning the siblings, education in book-learning and ethics was a combined effort from both parents. We were taught that your word was your bond, that you didn't cheat, you meant what you said and that you were honest. Well, you didn't need to be too honest when dealing with the government. Dad viewed the government as necessary but still a parasite. The Great Depression didn't change that view.

We learned about the birds and the bees early. Being a farmer, it was in your face often and early. All three of us learned the mechanics of sex from seeing the farm animals make more farm animals. Mom taught us that love and sex were different, that humans weren't animals. Mom and Dad ended up married for more than forty years and neither of them ever cheated on the other. "Till death do us part" was more than a phrase. It was a guarantee with only one expiration date.

They also taught us that you loved who you loved. In those days, marrying a person from a different race was universally shunned in the rural areas. Our parents told us that was bullshit. A person was a person and their qualities are what counted. Not that any of us contemplated marrying any other race, given the absence of any of them in the area. It was never put to the test and I wondered how far that would actually stretch. Of course, the natural extension of not treating anyone as other than a person was accepted by the three of us.

I was very close to my sister, Ruth, and a little less so with Joseph. Probably because Ruth and I were only a year apart. There was an additional difference: Ruth and I were extroverts and very outdoors-minded. Joseph was shy and a bookworm. Although he tried to keep up with Ruth and me in farm work, he never succeeded. He was only 5'7" compared to my 6' and Ruth's 5'10". Ruth's height was exceptional and she stood out. I, of course, played football and baseball. Ruth would have been a star athlete but back then in our rural school the only sports offered were boy's baseball, football, basketball and track.

Joseph, although in the right age group for service in WW II, ended up not being able to serve. He had a significant heart mummer and severe asthma. He tried every service but was rejected by every one of them. It was a devastating blow that he never recovered from. He went to college on a combination of scholarship, our parent's, Ruth's and my support long enough to acquire a teaching license (? Or whatever it's called). He taught school in Des Moines. He became even more reclusive than he had been. Never got married, and, really, Ruth and I were his only friends. Till one day, his asthma and heart problems coincided and he died in his kitchen. All of the family was overcome with grief. Our baby brother. This was about 1949 or so. Don't think our parents really recovered from it. They died while I was in Korea."

We talked some more about general things such as the current political status, the armed forces, and life in general. I'll skip all that. He had more to say about his parents but that could easily be summed up by saying they were like millions of families that lived through the Great Depression and WW II. He had a little more to say about his brother, Joseph, but it obviously somewhat painful and he appeared to feel guilty that he wasn't around him enough because of his time in the MC.

Greg was obviously an interesting person to talk to. What you read in history books, he lived. I know I can't imagine looking over the side of a boat at the looming white beach full of people who would be doing their best to kill me. He lived that more than once.

He was very thoughtful, very observant and not shy in letting you know how he felt. We talked for a couple of hours before breaking for lunch and a couple of beers.

When we got back to the interview and turned the recorder back on, I started with "You were never married, right?"

"No, never. Not even engaged."

"No kids hidden away someplace?"

"Maybe. I was a marine stationed in many places, so there might be some Coleman genes out there somewhere."

"I guess that's somewhat surprising that you never met the right one, after all you did meet a lot of women."

"I spent 40 years in the USMC, so you can guess what kind of women I usually met. By the time I finally retired, I was a little too old to start looking...Besides, what makes you think I didn't meet the right one?"

"Well, you said you were never engaged and since you're so forceful, I figured that you'd overcome any obstacle..."

"Maybe there were some that were impossible to overcome."

He didn't appear to want to continue this line, so I switched. "You haven't said much about Ruth. Can you talk about her some?"

He looked at me and his blue eyes seemed to grow a little less bright. He just sat there for several minutes before speaking.

"I'm an old man and no longer give a shit what people think. Everyone else is long dead, so they don't care, either. You asked about Ruth. OK, here's the story. Never told anyone before. Please use your judgement about what to write."

"OK"

"Ruth was the most beautiful creature on the face of the Earth. As I said before, she was tall, 5'10", slender, dirty-blonde hair, and the deepest blue eyes. If you've seen the waters off Saipan then you have an idea of their color. High cheekbones and a small nose. She had a high forehead, thin eyebrows, and her ears were well hidden under her hair that she always wore long. Her light hair was straight - absolutely no curls. Even though she only brushed her hair it hung down in a cascade to bounce off her shoulders. Her face was symmetric and no hard edges. Her teeth were good even without the dental aides we now have available. They looked natural rather than a set of molded tombstones."

"Was she married? Maybe you have some nieces and nephews? Do you have a picture of her?"

"Alas, no. I lost everything in a fire shortly after I returned from Vietnam. I think there might be a picture of her in our high school yearbook but I've been unable to find a copy...She never married." The light seemed to go out of his eyes.

"If it's OK with you, I'll try to find a picture. Have a lot of resources that nobody else has."

"Would greatly appreciate it."

At that point, I could see he was getting tired and suggested we continue tomorrow.

"Can't tomorrow but the day after? Come early."

"Fine. Thanks very much for the conversation. Will see you on Wednesday."

I rushed out and started looking for the yearbook and any other source about Ruth Coleman. As expected, there were lots of Ruth Coleman's. I found her obituary, dated 3 August 1954 in the Des Moines paper. The only relatives listed were Greg, Joseph and their deceased parents. No uncles or aunts. It did list the high school. Of course, it no longer existed. But that was a clue.

Checked the library for their town and county historical societies. Bingo! They had a copy of her yearbook. They were nice enough to do a high-quality scan of the page with Ruth's picture. It was, of course, not a very good picture. I called them back and explained that I was trying to get a good image. The librarian sounded as if she was about Greg's age. She, indeed, had gone to the same school, albeit many years later. She did recall one item. For as long as anyone could remember a single photography studio had taken all the senior pictures. She thought that Taylor Photographic was still in business. Holy shit! I thanked her profusely.

She was right! Taylor was still in business, claiming almost 100 years in photography. Now, of course, it all was digital. I called them up and found somebody still in the store (Store? Thought everyone now just had a website.) She confirmed that they had been taking yearbook photos forever.

"I don't suppose you have any of the old negatives, do you?"

"Oh, yes, we have lots of them. What are you looking for, in particular?"

"I'm looking for a good picture of Ruth Coleman. It would have been in the 1939 yearbook."

"Oh, 1939. I believe we might have that year but it's in the bank vault. I would have to get it tomorrow."

"That would be fantastic!"

"Unfortunately, the names on the photographs have long since been lost. I'll have to get the entire set. That shouldn't be too much of a problem as classes in those days were pretty small. We have a negative scanning machine so I'll just scan in all the females. Give me your email and I'll send them to you tomorrow."

"I don't know how to thank you. You've been a great help."

"No problem. It's what folks do for each other."

I gave her my email. Hard to believe that people like her still existed. Guess I need to get out of the city more often.

Sure enough, the next afternoon there was a large file in my inbox from Taylor. My hands almost shook. There were 21 pictures. One of them was Ruth. YES! I printed the highest quality print that was consistent with the scanned negative. Sent a giant bundle of flowers to the woman at Taylors and a thousand dollar gift certificate.

I saw a very pretty woman, much as Greg described. A bit self- conscious, as you'd expect from a yearbook picture. Of course, it was in black and white. Had to look up the sea colors around Saipan to get an idea of her eyes.

Got an idea. Found a site that colorized black and white photographs. Ran Ruth's picture through it. It returned a very nice color rendition. I pulled up a picture of the waters off Saipan and compared the blue of her eyes. Changed the color slightly to match. Hope this helped make it closer. Greg could tell me how to fix if it wasn't right.

Could hardly sleep that night.

Arrived bright and early at Greg's bearing a couple of cups of gourmet coffee. Greg let me in and smiled when he saw the coffee. "Maybe not up to marine standards but..."

"Bullshit! We both know marine coffee is the worst tasting coffee in the world. Thanks, anyway."

We settled in around the breakfast table with our coffees. I handed Greg a folder with Ruth's picture in it.

He froze. Took a big gasp of air. He said "Ruth, my darling Ruth!"

He just started crying. His hands shook and he lost all interest in his coffee.

"Don't know how you did it but I thank you from the bottom of my heart." He finally managed to say.

He just stared at the picture, lost in time. Lost in more than 80 years absence. "I haven't cried this much since she died. Her eyes are the exact color. I'll never be able to thank you enough."

I hoped that I hadn't opened too many wounds but it looked like it took years off his face. I could swear I saw a young marine. For a moment, I thought I was seeing a man looking across a white beach, glad to be alive when so many of his friends weren't. The vision quickly passed, making me wonder.

We returned to our coffee. He would look at the picture and then stare off into space for a few moments. During that time he looked like the Tom Lea drawing of the marine with the two thousand yard stare.

We finally finished the coffee and went over to the sofa and chair we had occupied on Monday. "OK, you wanted to know about Ruth. Please let me talk with no interruptions. Never talked about this before. Everyone concerned is long passed. I'll answer any questions later. OK?"

"Sure."

I'll note here that his memory was razor sharp. In all my conversations and answers to my questions, there wasn't a moment's hesitation or confusion. His wording and word-flow caught you up in the reality. For example, he described what he saw and how he felt wading 500 yards through the shallow water to the seawall during the invasion of Tarawa. You felt you were there, in all that horror.

So here is what I recorded (added comments from me indicated by *)

Ruth was always slender. Way too much activity to gain weight, in addition, of course, that there wasn't a lot of extra calories around. Only farm food. If we got a piece of candy once a month, it was a major treat. She had long legs. Boy, could she run! She never had much up top. As a farm-girl, she had the calluses on her hands that you'd expect. On her feet, as well, since we went barefoot as much as possible - shoes were expensive. She also had a good collection of scars. Farming is dangerous business. I had quite a few even before the Marine Corps exposed me to some hostiles.

*Greg had been wounded in action at least five times. The number of his scars well exceeded that.*

So, Ruth can be summed up as a beautiful farm-girl, growing up at the end of the Great Depression. What bullshit! That's the shell of an exceptional person. I'm not a wordsmith, so I'll never be able to adequately describe her.

When I was about 14, Ruth 15, we began to get much closer. We were already close but this was new. A lot of siblings fall away from each other when they go through puberty. We were the opposite. In addition to becoming better friends, we started to want a physical closeness. Simple things like a brief touch to the shoulder to let one know the other was passing by, more hugs and cheek-kisses. We had always done these things, just seemed to be a little more of it. It didn't extend to Joseph, however. That two year gap was too much - or maybe even unintentionally, we were excluding him.

There weren't any secrets between Ruth and me. Not then and not even to the day she died.

At that early age, there wasn't anything sexual between us. Of course, being teens, we both masturbated. Never together or to each other. We knew what the other was doing. Have to admit I was curious and would have loved to watch but that just wasn't done in our early teen years.

It got "interesting" as we got older. Dating was a big thing back then. We were much closer to Victorian standards than how such things went in the 50-60s. I remember the first time Ruth went out on a date: To a school dance. My parents didn't have anything to worry about her getting in trouble in the back seat. Nobody had a car or if they did, it wasn't used for such a purpose. Horses were still in use in the rural areas, so they went on horseback. Later, as she neared graduation, she did go on dates with guys in cars (parents) and the parents would pick her up. She had little chance to get in trouble, even if she wanted to. She didn't. I dated even less: no transport, no money and no desire to go with any other woman than Ruth.

Our closeness increased as we got older. We'd always helped each other out with the chores but now we wanted to so that we'd have some time together. It seemed natural that we would walk together holding hands. Our parents also accepted this as normal between brother and sister. I was 16 and Ruth was 17 the first time we actually kissed. Even after a hundred years, I'll never forget.

*At this point he paused the narrative. He stared at the wall for a few moments, then took a toilet break before we resumed.*

We were in the barn, sitting on a bale of hay talking about one of the girls in Ruth's class. It was rumored that she made out with boys behind the tool shed at school. She said she had only ever kissed a boy on the cheek. She asked me if I had ever kissed a girl. Was pretty sure she knew I hadn't. She smiled and asked "Wanna try it?"

There wasn't any hesitation on my part. I just reached for her and put my lips on hers. Without question, it was the most exciting thing I had ever experienced. She returned the kiss and put her arms around my neck. I can still taste it, more than a hundred years later. If I lived another hundred, it'd still be just as fresh. Of course, neither of us knew what a French kiss was, so it was tame by most standards. Not to us, it wasn't. Know the blood rushed to my heads. We only kissed for a few moments but it was monumental. There wasn't any doubt that we loved each other. The fact that we were brother and sister barely entered our minds. It was all in our hearts. Yes, we knew what incest was and what would happen to those engaged in it if it was discovered. Not that we had done anything.