His name was Burton. John R. Burton.
He was as happy as anyone could expect to be. His wife loved him and he loved his wife. Their children were very well adjusted, as was everyone of course in the New World System.
Burton worked ten hours a week in a coal mine, though the job was merely one demanding the overseeing of machines. The rest of the week was one of leisure devoted to gardening, hobbies, play, music. There was no more hate, no violence, no feelings of insecurity. It wasn't that everyone loved everyone else particularly. It was just that no one was afraid of the future anymore.
And Burton was no longer bothered by bad dreams either, and so he was what one might consider perfectly happy, perfectly adjusted.
The perfect happiness of one who does not remember.