Bush’s life the stuff of cin­ema

Greenwich Time - - OPINION -

He might have had a school named after him. Per­haps a park. But his life, and death, would have def­i­nitely be­come a sta­ple of lo­cal lore for gen­er­a­tions.

Of the teen-aged son of wealth and priv­i­lege who saw his birthright not as en­ti­tle­ment but re­spon­si­bil­ity, who be­came the youngest naval avi­a­tor in World War II, and per­ished when his plane was shot down in the Pa­cific, leav­ing a large and griev­ing fam­ily, in­clud­ing a teen-aged girl­friend down the Post Road in Rye, New York, who hoped to be his bride and bear his chil­dren.

But the life of Ge­orge Her­bert Walker Bush did not end then, or that way.

He re­turned home, mar­ried his best girl, had six chil­dren (en­dur­ing the worst hell a par­ent can imag­ine) moved to the anti-Green­wich (the oil fields of west Texas) built a ca­reer in busi­ness, tran­si­tioned to pub­lic ser­vice, achieved the high­est of­fice in the land, then saw his son as­sume the same honor.

And, when he fi­nally left this life, it was not alone in the ocean, but sur­rounded by a lov­ing fam­ily, and a grate­ful nation.

Rest in peace, Mr. Pres­i­dent; may squadrons of an­gels lead you to your rest. You lived a life that would have made a mar­velous movie.

And you could only have been por­trayed by an­other gan­gly pi­lot from the same war. Be­cause, for Ge­orge H.W. Bush, it was in­deed, a won­der­ful life.

Jim Ve­spe

Ma­maro­neck

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