By the end of the First World War in November of 1918, two million American soldiers had trod upon the battlefields of France. On March 8, 2008, the very last survivor of these men was honored by the President of the United States, the Secretary of Defense, and a legion of military generals and personnel. At 107 years old, Mr. Frank Buckles sat proudly in his wheelchair throughout the accolades, dapper in his blue blazer and with two victory medals gleaming on his breast. Defense Secretary Robert Gates recounted his role as an ambulance driver during the war, and described the many other incredible historical events experienced by Mr. Buckles, including being imprisoned for 39 months by the Japanese while serving as a civilian worker in the Philippines during the Second World War. And yet, Mr. Buckles himself was humble and unimpressed by his own historical role. As he told NBC correspondent Bob Faw in a 2007 interview, "I didn't ask for all of it, it just happened that way."

On the day of his special honoring, Mr. Buckles was brought to the World War I Memorial in Washington, DC. Bystanders on the sidewalk - young and middle-aged tourists, jean-clad students, children with parents - stood along both sides of the stone pathway and applauded as he was wheeled past. These clapping crowds who had come to the National Mall that sunny Spring day, with only the expectation to walk along its green and blossoming pathways, were suddenly witness to something extraordinary. They stood in wonder as the last of the last World War I veterans came to honor the memory of his compatriots. Now a generation has passed before us, as Mr. Buckles died on February 27, 2011 at the age of 110.

I marvel at the nonagenarians and centenarians in our communities, men and woman who, like Mr. Buckles, are the last of their generation. When they pass they take with them the sights, sounds and impressions of events that we can only hear or read about. For the historian, of course, this material is critical to the accurate portrayal of our history. Moreover, it fires the imaginations of writers, poets, and producers, and teaches about the vagaries of war and peace to generals, diplomats and politicians. But what lessons does it hold for us? Why should we honor the presence of our elders just by virtue of their histories?

First of all, the act of listening to an older person telling a story from his or her life holds immense value. We learn not only about the events or relationships that shaped a particular moment, but the larger lessons of how one can cope with change or loss. We learn about how we age. After all, many of the most memorable stories hold special messages to younger generations - accounting for why they are remembered! A friend of mine related to me an epic story of how her grandmother, at the age of only ten years old (around the time of World War I), took her four year-old sister to the hospital to have her adenoids removed while their mother remained home with two other young children. The day's journey from the West End of Boston to Massachusetts General Hospital required a long streetcar ride and an even longer wait in the hospital's recovery room. On the way home later that day, both young girls fell asleep on the streetcar, likely due to the older sister cradling her younger sister and inhaling the residual ether from her lungs! At the end of the line, the conductor discovered the sleeping girls and helped them find their way home late that night. It's a story that still resonates with my friend and her family, speaking not only of the incredible confidence and fortitude of a beloved grandmother, but of the importance of caring for a sibling, the kindness of strangers, and the meaning of responsibility.

At the same time we are absorbing memories and learning critical life lessons from our elders, we are providing companionship and caring. We are also completing a circle for them, designating ourselves as the next generation of witnesses, the new storytellers and keepers of the culture. This is how history is transmitted. Mr. Buckles did not ask to be the very last of his generation, and yet he bore the responsibility with dignity and humility. He only asked that we honor his fellow soldiers by creating a more fitting memorial to their sacrifices. It is a worthy task, but one that requires we do more than build a stone tribute. We owe Mr. Buckles and his generation the honoring and retelling of their words and memories as well.