LITTLETON, Mass. (AP) – When Bob Hyatt gets to the anatomy lab at the University of Massachusetts Medical School, the students who cut into his lifeless body won’t know about the peace work he did in Iran or his experience as a World War II prisoner of war.

They won’t know he had two children, or that his first wife was dissected by their predecessors a decade ago. They won’t know he outlived a second wife and spent his last years living alone in this quiet town about 30 miles west of Boston.

They won’t even know his name.

All they’ll learn about Bob Hyatt is what they see before them – a 5-foot, 8-inch, 125-pound man with a fractured hip, a botched hernia operation and a touch of arthritis.

And that’s just the way Hyatt, now 81, wants it.

“I want them to spend their time focusing on my body,” he said. “I don’t want them thinking about my life.”

Hyatt is one of 4,500 people signed up as donors to the medical school’s anatomical gift program. When they die, their bodies will be embalmed and readied for dissection in an anatomy class.

When it’s over – after the young students examine their bodies, measure their bones and weigh their organs – they will be cremated. The ashes will either be given to loved ones or buried at a Tewksbury cemetery, at no cost to their families.

There’s a personal story behind each decision to donate. But most offer the same fundamental reason: Once they die, their bodies are useless to them. Better something be learned from their flesh and bone.

“Look at what a gift I’m going to be to these kids,” Hyatt said. “If what they learn from my body helps save a life or makes someone else’s life better by making them good doctors, then what more can I ask for? Plus, they’ll see how not to do a hernia operation.”

Hyatt says he didn’t spend too much time thinking about donating his body to UMass. It’s something he and his first wife, Mona, heard about and just decided to do.

“We had no philosophical or religious hang-ups,” he said. “Neither of us believed there is a hereafter, but even if there is, your body isn’t part of it. So what the heck, let them have the whole cadaver.”

But atheists aren’t the only ones who decide to donate.

Rae Banigan, a psychologist from Palmer who has been a devoted Episcopalian her entire 55 years, says her faith makes it easy to donate.

“My family always felt strongly that death means your soul goes to heaven,” she said. “Your body doesn’t mean anything. It’s just an encasing. When I’m done with it, why shouldn’t it be recycled?”

Although Hyatt is reluctant to talk about his children’s thoughts on the matter, he says it shouldn’t be any of their concern. Once he dies, he’ll be gone. What happens to his body, he says, is irrelevant.

Despite some physical limitations and what he says is a diagnosis of early dementia, aging has so far spared Hyatt any major setbacks. He starts every day with two pain relievers and a few antacid tablets, and keeps a detailed chart of his prescription medicines and any new aches and pains.

He’s at ease in his modest apartment. He’s an avowed atheist and sworn pacifist with a sharp sense of humor who talks about “being suckered” into joining the Army Air Corps – something that wound up costing him 21 months in Nazi prison camps.

He’s proud of the work he did for the Near East Foundation in the 1950s, helping to make sanitation and agricultural improvements in Iran. He talks about the ups and downs of his 30-plus years in the real estate business.

He married Mona – a second cousin 10 years older – when he was 23. She died 48 years later, a decade after a debilitating stroke. He soon sparked a romance with Juline, an old friend of his and Mona’s, and remarried. The newlyweds – he was 71 and she 85 – traveled the country. In 2002, Juline died of pneumonia at the end of a long struggle against Alzheimer’s.

Hyatt figures his own death can’t be too far away, and he anticipates it rationally and without fear.

“I know I’m going to die,” he said. “We’re all going to die.” He just hopes it’s quick and painless.

Bob Hyatt’s life has been full, and he mentions no regrets.

“When you get older, you begin to start thinking about how you want to be remembered,” Hyatt said. “I just want to know that I’m making some sort of contribution when I die.”