When I was a young man in the 1970s two friends and I went on a student tour of Europe.  We landed in Luxemburg on New Year’s Eve and checked into a pension that catered to students.  It was run by, what to me at the time, was an elderly woman (today I am probably 20 years older than she was at the time).  My friends and I went out on the town to celebrate the New Year, and got back to the pension at about 1 am.  

 The owner was up and waiting for us, and I thought we were going to get chewed out for staying up so late and forcing her to keep the doors open.  Instead, she smiled at us and waved us into her dinning room, where she opened a very nice bottle of white wine and then poured all of us a glass.  This was certainly not the level of service I was expecting. I think we were paying $5 a night to stay there.  

 She asked us to hold up our glasses for a toast, and she said, “Thank you for saving me.”

 We were stunned.  I said, “Saving you?”

 “Yes,” she answered, “I was in a Nazi labor camp and American GIs liberated me, fed me, gave me medical attention, and saved my life.  I will always be grateful.”

 “But,” I objected, “we didn’t save you. That was our fathers.”

 “Yes,” she said, “but you are your fathers’ sons.  I will not forget, as long as I live.”

 Later, as we toured Germany, we went to a bar one evening where a group of elderly German war veterans bought us beers.  We thanked them and asked the reason for the generosity.  “Because,” one answered, “after the war we expected harsh treatment at the hands of you Americans.  Instead, a GI started a business with me.  I owe my success to that man.  I shall never forget it.”

This absolutely was the greatest generation.