So many ways to be a hero

So often, after seeing family members up close for so long, we think we know everything there is to know about them. Such was the case with my cousin, Pat, and her husband, Nick.

I knew that Nick was a career Marine who had seen a lot of action. But I wouldn't have known he was awarded two Purple Hearts in Korea and a Bronze Star in Vietnam if their daughter, Rosanna, hadn't mentioned it during his last days.

After the family returned from their final watch over him at the VA hospice, I was to learn even more. Calling Pat, in Florida, to offer comfort at Nick's passing, I still thought of her as the cousin with whom I'd shared carefree summers at our family's Slippery Rock cottages -- swimming in the creek, dancing on the patios, and picking blackberries by the road.

Instead, I encountered a strong and savvy woman who ended up comforting me, instead of the other way around. After discussing the many valued moments we had shared as married couples, and the personal milestones that are woven into family history, I told her I hadn't known about Nick's military decorations until this week.

She said, casually, "Oh yes, he had lots of medals, but I wanted to tell you about something else."

The smile came back into her voice, as she recalled, "Did you know that when we were first married, Nick played Uncle Wigby in a TV show for the kids at the base in Guantanamo Bay? He had the greatest clown suit. The children loved it -- and he loved doing it.

"It was all written up in National Geographic," she added, offhandedly.

This explained so much about why Nick was a family hero. His 27 years of Marine Corps service won him a battlefield commission in Vietnam, so he eventually retired from the military with the rank of major.

But the Nick we knew was the unassuming guy who had clowned around as Uncle Wigby for the children at the base. To us, he had been the essence of family and friend, who respected everyone, adored his wife, daughter and granddaughters and always had time to listen to your problem, or to make you laugh.

At his passing, a neighbor remembered how he had spoken to the crowd at daughter Rosanna's wedding: "Thank you for coming. You honor me with your presence."

When I'd call Patsy, over the years, he welcomed me with similar enthusiasm, "Hi Carole, how you doin', buddy...." Then, he'd turn his full attention to mundane events in my life, as if they were of earth-shaking importance.

Once, when we held a latter-day reunion of the clan at Slippery Rock, my husband Jim and I toted along a balloon bouquet to celebrate the occasion. In the group photo of that day, Nick, smilingly, holds the balloons over us all.

At another Slippery Rock gathering as adults, I suggested that we not sit stiffly on our chairs for the photo memento, but, hold our arms high, as if we were on a ride at Kennywood. I treasure that photo as showing what a good ride those years represented for all of us.

What makes a hero in the end? Certainly, selfless service, like his, helped keep our country more secure.

But his kindness and respect for everyone he met comprised a series of heroic gestures, creating a truly unforgettable life.

Not the least of these were the smiles he brought to children's faces at Guantanamo, and the way their memory helped his family through the toughest of days, some 50 years later. No one else could have made us smile on that sad occasion, Nick.

And that's the truth from an old buddy.