Nestled in the heart of Red Bank, not far from Dayton Boulevard, lives an American hero.
It's easy to forget about our past. It's easy, especially now, to try to tag someone as a hero, because, like true leadership, in the absence of true heroism we look to put that tag on anything that's remotely close.
On Sunday, there were a couple of easy reasons to pause and think about heroes.
It was 35 years ago Sunday when a collection of heroic American kids delivered a reason for everyone to believe in miracles, when the U.S. Olympic hockey team beat the Russians in the 1980 Winter Olympics. Sunday night at the Oscars, discussions of heroic snipers and an "Unbroken" soldier made us think about sacrifice.
Jay GreesonAround the corner in Red Bank, though, Don Cooper gave it little attention.
Don Cooper, you see, does not look for heroes. Don Cooper, you see, is a hero.
Cooper, who will turn 91 in August, served in the Pacific with the United States Army Air Corps in World War II.
Sitting in his wheelchair, his hands weathered and thin and his ankles swollen, Cooper remembers every base that got him prepared to work on B-17s, B-24s and B-29s after being drafted and becoming a man while fighting for our freedom. He struggles to hear the questions -- "Too many airplanes, too many guns," he says with a truthfulness that demands your attention -- but he does not struggle with the recollection of the journey.
He rattles off the stops -- from Biloxi to outside Beijing and an avalanche of area codes in between -- in his preparation. He smiles at the memories that linger 70 years later.
"It was tropical," he said with a chuckle, referring to the island locale of his air station during his finale stint of WWII before the Americans flexed their nuclear strength.
Or, "If you get the chance, don't ever go to India. Hottest place in the world," he said, his tone almost making a listener sweat.
We all go too fast and complain too much in this life. It's not a red or a blue problem, it's a fact of modern life. That's not a complaint or a compliment. It's a statement that comes with the here and now.
Cooper, though, is a living reason why we have the chance to be worried about the speed of our Internet connection or bemoan the fact that the fast food was not fast enough.
He worked on Tinian Island and knows the history that was made there. He did not know it at the time -- that the U.S. was preparing the nuclear bomb that sealed our victory over Japan -- but he remembers the whispers and talk of the secret project some four miles away.
His only scar from his service covers the top of his left hand and was left by a mishandled wrench, but his mind is filled with the details that defined America. And those memories, Cooper's memories, that helped craft the state of our society and secure the safety of our nation, should be honored, treasured and celebrated.
He remembers sleeping with the airplanes he was charged to maintain and the air raids that tried unsuccessfully to quash the American surge. He remembers feeling "lucky" that one raid in particular started at the other side of the base before being turned away. His voice goes quiet retelling the details, but his distant gaze suggests the terror in a dark night in 1944 filled with falling bombs.
"I guess I was just lucky," he said of that night, "but it was a learning process. We did alright I guess."
He did better than all right of course. In fact, he did it again.
After coming home and marrying Kathleen in December 1945, he joined the Navy Reserve and spent a chunk of the Korean War on an aircraft carrier back in the Pacific, in another life-or-death defense of our country.
His voice softens while speaking of the pilots and friends he lost. His eyes sparkle, though, when talking about returning home for good to Kathleen, who celebrated her 90th birthday on Feb. 2.
"She's my little groundhog," Cooper said with a quick wit that leads you to believe that it's not the first time he's used that joke.
They built a life together here; he working for American Lava and then Holmes Manufacturing, she working for EPB. Their home is filled with pictures of their family -- son Bruce and his family, who have given Don and Kathleen two grandkids and five great-grandkids -- and of airplanes.
It's a scene that quickly shows a casual visitor what Don did to defend his country and why he did it.
It's a scene that Don and Kathleen are understandably proud of, as they should be.
It's a scene out of a movie.
Nope, strike that. It's a scene befitting a real-life hero.
Contact Jay Greeson at jgreeson@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6343. Follow him on Twitter at jgreeson tfp@timesfreepress.com. His "Right to the Point" column appears on A2 Monday, Thursday and Saturday, and his sports columns run Tuesday and Friday. Read his online column "The 5-at-10" Monday through Friday starting at 10 a.m. at times freepress.com.