John Cribbet Memorial Service

May 30, 2009

Elie Wiesel says: “Life is not made up of years but of moments.”

Indeed, each of us has in our lives moments that we are unprepared for in terms of an emotional response. Today, the day we remember our friend John Cribbet, is such a moment.

We can each look back in our own lives and remember those moments. For me one such moment occurred in Israel, standing at the lookout point of Nebi Mari and looking out at Gaza, imagining a world without walls and checkpoints, suicide martyrs, and child coffins. Two years later, I am still trying to process that trip.

If you have not had such a moment, you will. No one escapes that work. It’s what we do with those moments that ultimately define our short lives. And, in John’s extraordinary life, is an example we should follow.

John was part of our Greatest Generation, serving courageously and valiantly in World War II. He was awarded four battle stars, the Bronze Star, and the French Croix de Guerre.  The medals only tell part of the story. As part of that generation John saw a lot that wasn’t good in humanity. He experienced the paper thin margin of life on D-Day and at the Battle of the Bulge, where 19,000 precious young lives were forever lost.  And he also witnessed the very worst in humanity when he was on Eisenhower’s staff and toured the liberated concentration camps. With his own eyes he saw pure evil, what Wiesel calls the unimaginable. He was only twenty seven years old.  What does that do to a young man?

Jose Narosky once said, that “In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.”

I will not stand before you on this solemn day and say that I know how John processed all of this brutality.  But I think we can agree that witnessing something as evil as those camps can change a person. Evil can make us withdraw from the world. It can make us tentative, wary, and even make us mirror the violence we witnessed. It can turn a warm heart into a cold stone.

In John’s case—and this I am sure of—the experience had the opposite effect. It made him more humane. He projected it.  You could not be in a room with John without instantly knowing you were there with somebody who exemplified all that was good and right in a human being.  Somebody who represented great values.  Someone who confirmed that kindness and generosity will always overcome evil and selfishness. Someone whose life was their message.  In fact I think he used that experience to bring peace to this campus during the late 1960s when he and former chancellor Mort Weir dealt with the turbulence of the Vietnam War.  His calmness was reassuring in the face of anger. He showed demonstrators that there is always another path toward justice. His experience became his balm.  After all, when you have survived the Battle of the Bulge, the rest is gravy.

That was John, the man who we remember so fondly this afternoon. The man we cannot replace but who we can honor by following his example. The man we grieve so strongly at this moment, yes, one of those moments we may not have an emotional response to. 

John’s legacy is everlasting. His stories are still instructive. His humor remains irrepressible. And his contributions and service to Illinois will never, ever be forgotten by a grateful campus community.  Let us remember all of that, but let us also remember a young soldier and liberator, who came back from witnessing war and evil to teach us through his life the true meaning of humanity.

We hear you John. And we are still listening.