Facing the final enemy

Dying doesn't bother John "Jack" Livingston -- at least that's what he says as he talks about the cancer that's slowly destroying his blood and bone marrow.

Maybe it's because this World War II vet has come close too often as he dodged the bullets fired by the enemy and by his aging frame.

However small, Livingston owns a piece of history. He's a member of the Greatest Generation that beat back the Nazis as though it was business as usual. According to the Department of Veterans Affairs, about 1,050 WWII veterans will die each day this year.

Livingston thinks he's ready. At 83, he's set up the trust fund for his three daughters and made sure "no lawyers would be milling around" when he goes.

He spends his days reading, tending his collection of African violets or enjoying the view from the fifth-floor window of his Southeast Portland retirement home. On good days, usually right after a biweekly blood transfusion, he might go down to his undeveloped 17 acres in Clackamas and pile up fallen branches for firewood.

It's a long way from the deck of a U.S. Coast Guard fireboat in Hawaii, where Livingston was shipped in 1944 as the United States was pushing into the Pacific against Japan. That's where he earned a presidential citation for bravery.

Responding to a massive accidental explosion at the U.S. Navy docks of Honolulu Harbor in May of that year, Seaman 1st Class Livingston "unhesitatingly jumped over the side into the burning oil and gasoline covered waters" to clear debris from the boat's suction pump, allowing the fire hoses to continue flowing and "saving government property," says the citation signed by Adm. Chester W. Nimitz.

Forget government property. Livingston gleefully says his action was nothing but self-preservation.

The medal on his chest was fine, but his father's proud glow meant much more to the 23-year-old, who was promoted after the attack.

Livingston used his promotion to Boatswain's Mate 3rd Class to "see the war," landing a spot aboard the USS Mintaka, a troop and equipment carrier that was ferrying men and gear throughout the South Pacific.

In May 1945, Livingston and six buddies manned a 40-caliber antiaircraft gun, firing at kamikaze planes diving out of the sky in Okinawa Harbor. One plane came within 150 yards, gliding 20 feet off the water toward the ship as Livingston fired continuously but didn't knock it down. Seconds before it hit, the plane's wing dipped and it crashed into the sea. The pilot, whom Livingston suspects crashed intentionally, bubbled to the surface and was shot by a sailor in a patrol boat. Livingston said he can still see the man's death.

"He didn't want to die, and that saved my life," Livingston said. "I always felt bad about him"

Livingston came home to Portland in 1946 and married Eunice, "a Molalla girl" and "a wonderful little gal." The next year they built a house on Southeast 86th Avenue. He became a plumber, and the couple raised their family. In 1959, they won a trip to Hawaii, deepening the connection Livingston made during the war. At Eunice's insistance, they bought property there and built a cottage.

Eunice died too early -- on her 48th birthday in 1970 -- and Livingston never remarried. His girls still live in town and help him get through his medical troubles.

An aortic aneurysm nearly killed him in 2004. It threatened to leave him brain damaged and with his feet amputated because his blood pressure was so low. Surprising his family and the doctors, he "beat that sucker."

Six months ago, doctors found erythroid leukemia. Three months later, the oncologist gave him two to six months to live. The hospice nurse comes regularly now and will until the end, he said.

The studio where he's lived the past year is clean and peaceful. There's a mahogany bed, a sofa, and a television on a antique cabinet. Family photos fill a night table, and a painting of Jesus hangs above the dresser.

Framed and on a blue background are military medals, a picture of Livingston and his buddies in dress whites, and a photocopy of the letter from Nimitz. The mementos speak of a different time, but war is war, he said.

"We were all scared," he said, recalling how he exaggerated pain from an appendix operation to delay the Army recruiter until he was accepted by the Coast Guard.

Still, he felt a duty to serve and thinks those signing up now are just as patriotic as his generation. Yet he doesn't like the current war in Iraq and doesn't think the United States needs to be there.

"How dare America to take prisoners of war and torture them to death," he said. "That's how the world sees us."

Still passionate. Still full of laughter. Still enjoying life's simple routines. He and his family recently visited the Maui cottage. His daughters plan to build a larger vacation house there.

Everything's settled. And death, while an inevitability, will not get the best of him. Besides, for the last two weeks he's been feeling better. Maybe he'll beat that sucker yet.

"I'm supposed to feel real grieved and everything," he said with a laugh. "I've got a problem, doc. I don't."

My Dad was 19 when he landed on Okinawa in an amphib tank.

He was wounded, shipped to Honolulu for surgery and recovery. Deemed well enough to return to action, he was among those Marines ready to invade the Japanese main islands, when President Truman ended the bloody war by a brilliant humanitarian decision.

The two nukes saved many lives, on both sides.

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