The Last of the Greatest Generation
Time is Running Out for Them, and for Us
Tuesday is Veterans Day. A day we're supposed to pause and thank those who served. Most of us will do it with a social media post or maybe buy a vet a beer. Then we'll move on with our lives. That's fine. Gratitude is gratitude, even when it's performative.
But while we're scrolling and scheduling and optimizing: the Greatest Generation is disappearing.
Every day, we lose about 131 World War II veterans. Do the math. In a decade, maybe less, they'll all be gone. The last person who stormed a beach, flew a mission over Europe, or rebuilt a shattered world will take their final breath, and an entire way of seeing the world will go with them.
What We're Really Losing
I'm not getting sentimental here. This isn't about nostalgia or some "back in the day" romanticizing of the past. This is about what shaped those people, and what we're losing when they go.
The Greatest Generation wasn't born great. They were forged by circumstances most of us can't fathom. They grew up in the Great Depression, where want wasn't an inconvenience, it was existence. Then they went straight into a global war that demanded everything from them.
It's easy and somewhat natural for us to look at past generations and minimize them, to consider them dated and out of touch ("You don't know what it's like these days", "OK, Boomer", etc.). If we do that much longer we'll miss our chance to extract wisdom from people who lived through things we can't imagine today.
We are all a product of our environment. Our values are shaped by our upbringing, our circumstances, and our generation. If you want to understand why that generation has the value system that they do--why they believe in something so much bigger than themselves--it's because they didn't have a choice. Survival required community. Victory required sacrifice. There was no "I've got mine" – because nobody had anything unless everybody pulled together. They learned, in the most visceral way possible, that individualism has limits. That you can't eat your ego. That sometimes the only way through is together.
The Crucible Effect
We think we can teach resilience with a workshop. That we can build character with a two-day offsite. That grit comes from a TED Talk.
The Greatest Generation learned resilience by having no other option. They developed character because circumstance demanded it. They got grit because quitting meant death – yours or someone else's.
I'm not saying we need another Great Depression or World War to build better leaders. I pray we never see anything like that again.
But I am saying we need to understand what those experiences created: a generation of people who fundamentally believed that their comfort was less important than their contribution. That their individual desires were secondary to collective survival. That service wasn't a line on a resume – it was an obligation.
You can't manufacture that. You can't simulate it. You either live through something that shapes you at that level, or you don't.
What They Took For Granted
The Greatest Generation had this almost casual relationship with duty. They didn't make a big deal about it. They just did what needed to be done.
My grandfather – and I'm guessing many of yours – never talked about the war. Not because it wasn't significant. Because to him, he was just doing what everyone else was doing. What you were supposed to do. Trying to pry details out of him was like squeezing blood from a stone. He was entirely disinterested in sharing his heroics.
That's what we've lost. Not the heroism; we still have that. Not the sacrifice; people still make it. What we've lost is the assumption that of course you'd sacrifice. Of course you'd serve. Of course you'd put something bigger first.
Now? We celebrate it. We thank people for their service. And we should. But the fact that we have to points to how unusual it's become.
The Greatest Generation would be confused by the praise. They'd probably deflect it. "We were just doing our job."
That's the point. It was just their job. It was expected. It was what you did.
The Values They Carried Forward
After they came home, they built. They created the strongest economy the world had ever seen. They raised families. They formed communities. They showed up for each other. Maybe most remarkably, they didn't do it with some grand manifesto about values. They just lived them.
Hard work wasn't a hustle culture meme. It was what you did because the work needed doing.
Integrity wasn't a corporate buzzword. It was how you lived because your word was all you had.
Community wasn't a Slack channel. It was your neighbors who'd help you raise a barn or watch your kids or show up when things got hard. They didn't need to talk about these things constantly because they were so deeply embedded they were almost invisible. Like oxygen. You don't discuss breathing – you just breathe.
What This Means For Leaders Today
Every veteran deserves our gratitude. From World War II to Iraq and Afghanistan, from Korea to Vietnam, from peacetime service to active combat. They all wrote a check to this country for an amount up to and including their life. That deserves more than a Facebook post.
But the Greatest Generation leaves us with something specific to learn:
Your circumstances shape you, but they don't have to break you. Hardship can forge character, not just trauma. And believing in something bigger than yourself isn't naive – it's what makes achievement possible.
Most of us will never face what they faced. Thank God for that. But we can ask ourselves: what are we being shaped by? What are we choosing to endure? What are we building that will outlast us?
Their sacrifice created comfort and abundance for us. Comfort creates complacency. Abundance creates entitlement. And when everything comes easy, nothing feels meaningful. The Greatest Generation didn't have those problems. Not because they were morally superior, but because life didn't give them the option.
The Clock is Ticking
In a few years, they'll all be gone. The last person who can tell you what it was like to live through the Depression. The last person who remembers what it felt like when the war ended. The last living link to a time when sacrifice wasn't remarkable – it was required.
We can't preserve them. But we can preserve what they represented.
Not by trying to recreate their era – that's impossible and probably undesirable. But by asking ourselves the questions they never had to ask because the answers were so obvious:
What am I willing to sacrifice for?
What's bigger than my comfort?
Who am I responsible to, beyond myself?
They had those answers handed to them by circumstance. We have to choose ours. That's harder, in some ways. But it's also an incredible privilege.
A Different Kind of Salute
So on Tuesday, when you see a veteran, say thank you. Mean it. Buy them a drink. Shake their hand.
But especially if you see someone old enough to have served in World War II – and there aren't many left – take an extra moment. Because you're not just thanking them for their service. You're in the presence of someone who lived through something that fundamentally shaped the modern world. Someone who carried values forged in the hardest possible circumstances. Someone who represents a way of seeing the world that's about to disappear entirely.
And when they're gone, we'll realize too late what we lost.
Not just their stories (though those matter), but their example. Their assumptions. Their bone-deep understanding that some things are worth more than your individual happiness. We can't become them. But we can learn from them.
While we still have the chance.