A generation that fought World War II is down to its last few thousand. With each passing year, the country loses another living connection to the men who crossed oceans to fight it. On Sunday, it lost the oldest of the Marines still among them.
Roy Henry Drinkard died Aug. 23 in Cullman, Alabama, at 106. At the time of his death, he was recognized as the oldest living United States Marine, the last of a service and a generation that is fading from memory into history.
By all accounts of those who knew him, he was never a man to trade on the distinction. He had spent his century doing other things, building businesses, recruiting industry, funding schools and, above all, tending to the people around him. The Marine Corps was where it started.
Semper Fi
Drinkard was recently inducted into the Cullman Veterans Hall of Fame, one of the last honors bestowed on a man whose military service framed a life that stretched well past a century.
Nevertheless, he remained a visible representative of the Corps and of the World War II generation. A model who understood service, in the words of a longtime friend, as a responsibility rather than a slogan.
“Even at 106, Roy remained an extraordinary representative of the United States Marine Corps and of the World War II generation,” U.S. Rep. Robert Aderholt, R-Ala., said in a statement. Aderholt, who represents the district that includes Cullman, called Drinkard a friend and “a great American hero.”
Falkville to the Pacific
Drinkard was born in 1920 in Falkville, Alabama, the son of a businessman who also served two decades as the town’s mayor. He attended St. Bernard Preparatory School in Cullman before enlisting in the Marine Corps and shipping out for the Pacific theater during World War II.
He belonged to the Depression-era generation and went to war young. He would carry that identity for the rest of his life. Those who knew him said the values he learned in uniform, like discipline, service, and a sense of obligation to others, shaped everything that followed.
Like millions of his generation, Drinkard returned from the war and set about building an ordinary life that turned out to be anything but. He ran a funeral home in Guntersville for a time, then went into the automobile business, becoming a partner in Drinkard Pontiac-GMC in 1949 and opening Drinkard Chevrolet in 1955, which he ran until 1974.
From cars, his ambitions grew. As president of Drinkard Development, he built and managed shopping centers, theaters, medical complexes, and apartments across the Southeast, a business career that spread his name well beyond the Alabama county he called home.
If his fortune came from business, his legacy came from what he did with it. For nearly 30 years, Drinkard chaired the Cullman Industrial Development Board, where he helped drive the “Flying 50” initiative that recruited industry and jobs to North Alabama and reshaped the region’s economy.
His civic reach extended into classrooms and lecture halls. He donated land for county schools and helped raise money for college scholarships.
In 2000, Gov. Don Siegelman appointed him to the Troy University Board of Trustees, a seat he held for roughly 26 years across reappointments, the last by Gov. Kay Ivey in 2020. The university honored him at its Veterans Memorial Stadium.
Manners Maketh Man
Those who spoke of Drinkard after his death kept returning to his character. Aderholt said he would remember the man more than the resume. He recalled someone of deep faith who took a genuine interest in others and had a way of making people feel welcome.
Judy White, a friend of more than 60 years who worked alongside him, described the void he leaves. “We worked day and night to get started, and he was such a smart man,” she said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do without him.”
Troy University Chancellor Jack Hawkins made a similar point. “Even though he was very successful in business,” Hawkins said, “it was always about people and relationships.”
Tributes came from across Alabama as word of his death spread. State Sen. Garlan Gudger, R-Cullman, said the community had “lost a giant.” Ivey, who had marked his 105th birthday with him a year earlier, invoked the Marines’ Hymn in mourning him, saying Drinkard was now guarding the streets of Heaven.
For a man who spent more than a century in service of one kind or another, it was a fitting send-off, another light of the World War II generation gone dark, and the oldest of its Marines laid to rest at 106.
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