Last weekend, John Druce drew a line through one of the big items on his “bucket list.”

Like with a lot of super seniors, memories of his younger days seem to elbow into his dreams.

Friends and neighbors think of him as the smiling hotelier, civic leader and faithful caregiver of his wife of 70 years. Few know he served his country during World War II as a U.S. Marine in the South Pacific.

When old Marines gather, he would spin a few “sea stories” about the island campaigns. When others suggested he sign up for an “honor flight” down to Washington, D.C. to visit the World War II monument, he would always say: “Nah, I’m too old for that stuff.”

Now his Marine pals are old, but even old Marines like to surmount obstacles. So, after they did a little prodding, he agreed to go, and his friends made arrangements.

The short version of a long story is that trip took place last weekend. Here are a few of the highlights.

Thursday afternoon he visited with Sen. Angus King where, in addition to chatting with Maine’s junior senator, he met Boothbay’s Marge Kilkelly, who serves as King’s senior policy advisor.

“I am 96 years old,” Druce told King. “I wouldn't have guessed you were over 95,” said King with a wry grin as he mentioned he had just donated his beloved 1967 Volvo to the Boothbay Railway Village. "The motor still runs like a sewing machine," he claimed.

The next morning, Druce and company visited the World War II monument watching as a group of teenage girls cooled their toes in the fountain. When they saw him, they rushed over, shook his hand and thanked him for his service. “Wow,” he said with a wide grin.

A few moments later, the light moment turned somber as one of his pals, Southport’s Jim Singer, once a Marine infantry lieutenant, found the names of four of his men etched into the black marble of the Vietnam Memorial Wall along with the 58,318 others who gave their lives in that conflict. “My kids. Sept. 4, 1967,” he said.

For Marines, Friday in Washington means the evening parade at USMC Headquarters. With help from a friendly colonel, the Boothbay bunch found themselves in a private reception hosted by the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps. The Marines were decked out in their dress uniforms. The old Marines settled for “Boothbay Tuxedos” - blue blazers and tan slacks.

One asked a smiling officer what the Marine call a gathering of sergeants major. “Trouble. Nasty trouble” was the reply.

At the evening parade, where Druce was assigned a front row seat, the Marine Band and the Drum and Bugle Corps didn’t miss a beat. The exacting “Silent Drill Team” showed off their well-known marching skills highlighted by a display of flying, twirling rifles. As the blood moon rose over the barracks, spotlights aimed at a lone bugler stood on the tower’s roof. As the haunting melody we know as “Taps“ reached the audience, the spotlight dimmed into darkness. “It was marvelous,” Druce said.

When the lights returned, Druce learned he had been seated in front of a retired general. I guess that is what happens when the Marines find out you served on Guadalcanal. The Corps remembers its own.

The next two days were spent touring the Quantico base where he was trained, and visiting the grand Marine Corps museum.

Under a display of fighter vintage planes hanging overhead, Druce headed for the museum’s exhibition highlighting the bitter battles of the Pacific island campaign.

Memories seemed to fly as he talked of this guy and that, of how the Navy failed to provide enough gunfire to drive the enemy out of their caves, of the carnage on the beach, and how some Marines magically turned canned apricots into booze.

“Heck, I was just a knucklehead from Philly. Forty of my (Marine officer training) classmates were killed. I came home. I am so lucky,”  he said.

As he turned a corner, a photo caught his eye. He reached out to it and his eyes reddened. “That’s John Basilone. I met him four times.”

Gunnery Sgt. Basilone was awarded the Medal of Honor for bravery on Guadalcanal and died on the sands of Iwo Jima.

“I was at Iwo, too. That was where I met (famed war correspondent) Ernie Pyle on the day before he died. He didn’t want to talk to me. I was an officer. He liked to chat with the enlisted men.”

Then, it was time to go home. As the flight neared Portland, Druce was tired. But he had enough energy to flash a wide grin and a quick quip for a friendly flight attendant.

“I just love older men,” she smiled.