Bob Dole’s Last Mission
In 2014, I was lucky enough to spend the day with Bob Dole at the WWII Memorial. This was my reflection on the experience at the time.
Almost every weekend, Bob Dole, the former Kansas Senator, Majority Leader, and two-time Republican presidential candidate, heads to the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C. to greet his fellow WWII veterans, the last of the greatest generation. He sits in his wheelchair at the entrance to the memorial, catching visitors a bit by surprise. “Aren’t you Bob Dole?”…“Hey, you’re Bob Dole!”…“Senator Dole, what are you doing here?!” Dole sits there for hours, chatting with anyone who approaches him.
It’s an amazing act of physical and mental endurance for a man well into his 90’s. But in some sense these are the very interactions that seem to keep him alive. When you talk to him, it’s clear that his service in WWII (and the lifelong injuries he sustained) is the defining chapter of his life; more so than his presidential runs or his time in the Senate or his work on the American with Disabilities Act.
In addition to being impressive, though, it’s also one of the most humble acts I’ve ever been privileged to witness. It defies everything you would expect from one of the most well-known and well-respected Americans of the last half century. Throughout his decades in public service (and likely until the end of his life), Dole’s time has been rigorously scheduled. And the expectation, of course, is that people request meetings with him, that he is the one being sought after for an endorsement, a speech or a corporate board.
And yet when it comes to the WWII Memorial, Bob Dole literally sits in the center of everyone’s path and tries his best to catch every veteran or family member who walks by. He is the one seeking them out, not in a vainglorious “look-at-me-I’m-Bob-Dole” kind of way, but because he feels indebted to these other men and women who fought for their country and still carry those memories with them. He flags them down from his wheelchair. He wants to thank each and every one of them. In an amazing role reversal, Bob Dole is the one requesting pictures with them, telling them what an honor it is to meet. “Get a picture of me with this old sailor and his grandson,” he might bark at his security detail. “I really wish I could have met your father” he’d say to the daughter of an airman who’d been KIA. And so it goes on, with jokes and hugs and photos and stories being exchanged for hours.
Eventually, people start to leave. As the morning bleeds into the afternoon and the trickle of visitors begins to slow, Dole’s security detail suggests that it’s time for him to head back to the office, or home. But Bob Dole doesn’t want it to end. He’s not ready yet. This is his last mission, his last great calling, to thank every last WWII veteran for their service, before it’s too late. He wants to touch them and share some stories and just know that he’s not the only one left. “Hold on,” he insists to his handlers, waving them off, “I think I see a few more coming this way.”
