It was said of Bob Dole, in somewhat almost bewildered and reverential tones, that he liked to make up his own mind about political matters. This was startling to the Washington-watchers of the day because it was such a refreshing change from both the poll-obsessed whose views are consistent only in being tailored to the popular whims of the moment, and the dogmatic ideologues whose every position could be referenced by the applicable page number and line in the relevant playbook.

Senator Dole died last Sunday, at 98 America’s elder statesman, and one wonders what all died with him.

Anytime a figure of Dole’s stature passes it evokes remarks about an end of an era. In Dole’s case it is quite literally true.

Bob Dole represents the end of many things, some tangible, others more abstract. He is probably the last senior public figure to belong to the Greatest Generation, and the last to have seen combat in World War II. He may also be the last to fully embrace the ideals and traits which characterized that generation: honor, duty, decency. In other words, one wonders if he were the last real American gentleman.

If you are over 40 years of age, you probably remember Dole, as a Senate leader and certainly as a Presidential candidate. If you are under 40 those chances diminish, and that is a shame.

The highlights of Dole’s biography are quite well known. He grew up in the middle of America, in Russell, Kansas, joined the Army during World War II, received his commission as a Second Lieutenant, and served in Italy with the 10th Mountain Division, where he nearly lost his life.

During Operation Grapeshot in 1945, the Allies offensive to drive the Germans out of Italy and back over the Alps, Lt. Dole emerged from the relative safety of his foxhole to destroy the German machine gun that had his men pinned down. He saw one of his men go down, and as he went to pull him to safety a Nazi shell exploded nearby, shredding his right arm and leaving him unable to move.

After nine long hours of pain and bleeding on the battlefield, Dole was finally evacuated to a field hospital, unable to move his arms or legs, a quadriplegic. The young man who had been a promising high school athlete was shipped back to the United States in a full-body cast. The story of his recovery is a remarkable and inspiring one, one that has been too seldom told, partly because we all know how it turned out. The young man, his body ruined by a German gun, not expected to live let alone have a fruitful and successful life, eventually rose to the highest levels of American government and public life.

His character could be summed up in the succinct (and accurate) campaign slogan he adopted briefly during his presidential run in 1996: “A better man for a better America.” The juxtaposition between Dole and his opponent could hardly be more striking. About 57% of Americans in 1996 believed that Bill Clinton was involved in shady dealings, which he was hiding from the public, and possessed a disturbing lack of moral self-control. And 57% of Americans voted for him anyway. Dole was entirely correct in asking, as he did, “where’s the outrage?” Good Question.

One of the most poignant moments in recent American history came a few years back, as Dole paid his respects at the funeral of President George H.W. Bush. Few could forget the moment, the aging Dole pushed up to the casket in a wheelchair, rising (because that’s what you do), almost contemptuously waving off an aide who tried to help him up, and saluting the flag-draped casket with his left arm, his right having never regained the function it lost in Italy.

It was more than just a magnanimous gesture from a senior public official to an old political rival – the blue-collar, Kansan-bred Dole had always felt a twinge of disdain for the wealthy and more patrician Bush – and everyone who watched it felt it. It was a moment of final camaraderie among the last remnants of the Greatest Generation, two men who had fought and suffered for their country and had gone on to serve it just as honorably in public life. Their differences no longer mattered. They shared a deeper, far more important bond.

William F. Buckley one wrote of Dole, “He is a handsome man, his countenance is both that of the American who enjoys impieties at the Mark Twain level, and the American one goes to war with, knowing that, at your side, is noble man and true companion.” Dole’s passing symbolizes the passing of his generation. Have we lost the character that defined it? Is it lost along with the outrage that should accompany the deficit of honor that Dole himself queried about? Was Dole the last American Gentleman?

We hope not, and yet somehow our mourning is a little deeper.

Kelly Sloan is a political and public affairs consultant and a recovering journalist based in Denver.