War Stories (pt. 2)

We were drilling one hot summer day in late August of 1949 on our drill field in front of our barracks.  We were in small columns, going through all the commands.  We were doing just fine until 3 young Caucasian ladies dressed in tight t-shirts and short shorts riding bicycles right past us.  Those giving the commands were watching the girls, forgetting their columns.  So we just kept marching; of course were looking at the girls too.  There were columns all over the field – colliding into one another, rifles dropping, helmets falling off, men banging into one another; complete chaos!  It wasn’t just a few columns, it was all of them.  It was so funny, that even our officers were bending over laughing.  It looked like the Keystone Cops in the old silent movies.  Real togetherness!

This is part of our history.  I wish it never happened, but it did.  Five of us would eat out nearly every night.  We would go about five towns in the opposite direction of Tokyo, because all the other GI’s went there.  It would be nice and quiet and gave us a chance to sit back and talk.  We always left camp around 4:30.  This particular day I didn’t go because I was on prison chaser at our camp stockade and didn’t get off duty until 6:00 that evening.  The next morning I got a terrible shock.  The four men, Frank Camper, Jessie Mereman, Clarence Peters, and Sgt. Taylor had just walked through the gate into our camp.  They were in the curve of the road and being foggy, an MP jeep plowed into them.  The jeep was going too fast for conditions and was on the wrong side of the road.  It killed Frank Camper and killed Jessie Mereman.  Sgt. Taylor and Clarence Peters both got knocked down and bruised.  The army court marshaled the MP and he was sent away.  The next 2 weeks were terrible.  No matter where our Co. marched; every time we saw an MP jeep, we broke ranks and ran to the side of the road yelling, look out it’s the MP’s.  They’ll run you down!  No matter how many we saw in a day, we did the same dumb thing.  After about 2 weeks of this Col. Clainos came to our mess hall and took off his silver leaf from his collar and said he wanted to talk man to man.  He told us he had real good MP’s, but they were putting transfers to other outfits and he didn’t want to loose them because of one man’s mistake.  We all stood up and applauded him, and never again did we do it!  It did show our Co. was willing to stick together even when we were wrong.

On maneuvers at Mount Fuji, we were called out for formation.  Our Co. CO. chewed us out for not having haircuts.  He gave us 2 hrs. to get it done and have another formation to be checked out.  Back in our 9 men tents we got busy clipping hair.  Someone came up with the idea of a mohawk, so we did, all of us.  Our Captain had us uncover at the next formation.  Boy, was he made.  We had to wear steel helmets the rest of the time we were there.

We were pre-warned that by no means can anyone leave camp while on maneuvers.  If we got caught it would be 6 months at the Big Eight Stockade.  Eight weeks was the most we could handle – we still had 2 weeks to go, so we all snuck out of camp... – 5 miles to town.  The MP’s brought us back into camp by the truckload.  The next day we got chewed out for not taking the Co. flag.  Again it was 100% participation!

There was no doubt in my mind that B troop would fulfill all the duties that would be expected of them in Korea.

to be continued...

Why do we call Good Friday good?

Palm Sunday is exciting – if even for just a moment, God’s people got it: Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords!  Easter is thrilling – because the grave could not contain Jesus, we know that we too will experience his victory over death!  Sandwiched between these days of celebration is a Friday affixed to a seemingly misappropriated adjective, good.  “Black” Friday would fit well (Matt 27:45).  But, “Black Friday” is the name reserved for the day after Thanksgiving, a day that should be good.  “Good Friday” is the title we reserve for that day in history when the only righteous man who ever lived died for crimes he never committed.  Why do we call that day “good?”

As Christians we know the answer.  We call it good because the crimes (sins) that required Jesus’ death belonged to you and me.  I say “belonged” rather than “belong” because, in Christ, they are no longer ours.  “[A]s far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:12).  In this beautiful psalm, David is believing what God would do one day in Christ, “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).  Like a scarlet letter or a spot of cancer our sin was removed, with all due fear and shame attached to it, to be remembered no longer.  On the Cross, Jesus Christ absorbed all the wrath due me (Romans 3:25), He purchased (ransomed) you from the slave market of sin (1 Corinthians 6:19-20), He nullified the just and guilty verdict against sinners (Romans 3:26), and He reconciled us into true familial community with God (Romans 8:14-17)!  This was indeed a good day!

Let us not forget that God’s motive behind all of this was his unfathomable love for us.  The geography of Psalm 103:12 would be true because of the dimensions of the previous verse, “For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him” (Psalm 103:11).  We call Good Friday “good” because we see the full outpouring of God’s love for needy sinners.  We call Good Friday “good” because on that day the Father, for a moment, turned his back on his Son, so that for eternity he could turn his face toward us.

Everything changed on Good Friday, and what happened that day continues to change everything for those who find themselves here: “But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12).  Do you believe?  Have you received what God offers?  Are you his child?  Good Friday beckons all who will hear the gracious invitation.

War Stories (pt. 1)

B Troop - 1949

by Richard Keith Dowell

There had been some talk about our troops in the Korean War were not combat ready.  I believe they were talking about strength, not ability or willingness.  At the outbreak of the war June 25, 1950, the 1st Cav. Div. could muster up only 11,000 men being 1/3 understrength.  Missing our 3rd Battalions in each of our 3 Regiments and 3rd Battalions in our 4 artillery Battalions.  Never-the-less, let me tell you the enthusiasm of B Troop, 1st Battalion, 7th Cav. Regt. Station at Camp Drake, 18 miles from Tokyo, Japan (Occupation troops).  We were what you might call advanced combat training Unit.  We had all the basics, but trained in much greater detail.  We would work out battles on a sand table, then put it into practice on the field, by squads, platoons and Co.  We would have sham battles with other Cos., night fighting and commando raids.  We fired all small arms weapons, learned som judo, and hand to hand combat practice.  We pulled guard duty throughout the camp, gate guard, prison guard and taking prisoners on work details.

Every Thursday we had a 30 mile full field pack forced march.  It was 15 miles up and 15 miles back.  We would be back to camp by 2pm for lunch.  Every morning started with calisthenics and once a week the Btn. got together and did them with our rifles.  We called it the Clainos Boogie, after Battalion Commander.

Twice in one year and a half we went to Mount Fuji on maneuvers which was the best training we could have had.

When I entered B troop we had a first Sgt. that could make a good day bad, and a bad day worse.  He was a frustrated exboxer, built like Lil Abner and wanted to whip anyone and everyone.  It would start the same way every morning.  We would fall out for formation.  Standing at attention, our 1st Sgt. would ask if anyone thought if they could whip him.  If so, step out.  Of course no one would.  That gave me confidence in our Co.  At least we didn't have any dummies in our troop.  We did have a light weight boxer, a little Mexican boy.  He hated the 1st Sgt. even more than the rest of us.

In the summer of 1949, our Battalion went to Mount Fuji.  One day while in the field, the two boxers got into an argument.  The little Mexican got real mad, put his bayonet on his rifle and went after our 1st Sgt.  The Sgt., being much bigger, stronger, and knowing combat tactics  took the rifle away from him, slapped him around a little and let it go at that.  But when he went to climb into his sack, there laid a dud mortar round, which could go off at any moment.  It was reported to the higher ranks.  The next morning both men were shipped out and in different directions.  We never saw either one again.

Our next 1st Sgt. was a real swell guy.  Everyone liked him.  He was just a little fellow and knew the reputation of our previous 1st Sgt.  Every morning at reveille, after the morning report, he would ask if anyone thought they could whip him to step forward, but before anyone had a chance to he'd give us right face, forward march, then laugh.  Of course we were all laughing too.

Coming back to camp from field work we would route step until we were outside of camp, then to attention, full step and sing Cadence   We had a man named Polippovich, who had a deep clear voice.  He would drop back to the center of the Co. and sing every army song their was.  The civilians that worked in the offices would yell out B troop was coming in and they would all run down and line up on the side walks to watch and listen to our songs.  I don't care how tired you would be, singing really picked us up and gave us a feeling of pride.

to be continued...

An Example Worth Following

This is a photo of my grandparents and my oldest son, Joel.  This would be the only time any of my boys will meet him in this life.  That's O.K.  We'll have all of eternity to catch up.  I remember my dad and grandad talking about how much fun I'll have when I meet my great-grandpa Dowell.  I get to pass those anticipations on to my kids about their great-grandpa.  They can hear his stories one day, while sitting in the shade of his fabled "prime rib tree" in heaven.

Grandpa was a colorful character.  The bobcat prominently displayed in the above photo provides as good a story as any to describe him.  On a leisurely drive through the backroads of SW Kansas Grandpa spotted a pair of eyes in the fence row.  Having a handicapped hunting permit he hobbled out of the van packing a .357 magnum.  He was so old and so sick he had to coordinate the shot with the shakiness of his hand.  The bullet went in an eye and came out the ear, leaving a flawless corpse, just begging for a taxidermist.  Seal Team 6 move over, that is how Grandpa did business.  He truly was larger than life.

This isn't Veteran's Day, Memorial Day, Grandpa's birthday, or the anniversary of his death.  I don't need a special day to remember him.  I have his medals displayed in my office next to the flag that was presented at his funeral.  Most importantly, I have a relationship with my Savior because of the legacy he passed down through my dad.

Shortly after New Year's (2013) I was poking through my parents' storage shed in Missouri and came across a briefcase full of Grandpa's notes from the Korean War.  I've heard all these stories a hundred times each, but never before have I read them sequentially.  It's been about 8 years since I've heard his voice, but I heard it again in those 31 pages of memoirs.   I want to share them with you here.  They won't appeal to everyone, but for those who read them you will meet a man worth emulating, an example worth following.  Stay tuned...

Waiting Well

Is. 30:18 Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion. For the LORD is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him!

To wait is to be human.  What is it you are waiting for?  Medical test results, academic test results, decisions made by other people, lost loved ones to respond to your many Gospel pleadings, federal tax return… waiting is what we do.  Waiting stinks.  Waiting hurts.

If we knew what the test score would be, waiting wouldn’t be so bad.  Would it?  It’s the not knowing that bothers us so much.  But, God knows.  He saw the score before the test was taken.  He knows what bills you will pay with 2012’s tax return.  Not only does he know, but His plan is intimately woven into those things we wait for, and each of them develops into our ultimate good.  He will be gracious, He will be compassionate, and He will be just.  We will wait. 

Five years ago I wanted to be an active duty Air Force Chaplain so badly I could taste it.  I knew that no other career would satisfy my hunger for purpose, duty, and ministry.  The only problem was I was wrong.  God used the messenger of military bureaucracy to communicate His plans to me.  The message was, “Wait.  Serve in another capacity until your résumé is beefy enough to get the job.”  The part of the message I didn’t get at that time was, that in waiting I would learn that I don’t really want the active duty Chaplain gig.  My passions don’t match what that job requires.  So, my path took a different turn than I expected, but it was the one God was waiting for me to grow into all along.  How blessed I am to have waited!

This verse becomes even more powerful when placed back into its context.  Isaiah 30:8-17 paints a picture of a rebellious nation, “children unwilling to hear the instruction of the Lord” (vs:9).  Sometimes the reason God waits to pour out His blessings is simply for our maturation, like in James 1:2-3.  Other times, like in this text, He waits for the purpose of our obedience.  You may be in one place or the other.  The thrilling part of this is, if you are His child, whatever the reason for His delay, what waits on the other side is God’s manifold blessing.  Not only that, but He is longing for the day when that blessing will be revealed!

Imagine that, the God with an inexhaustible storehouse of blessings gets butterflies in His stomach (not that He actually has a stomach) when He thinks of the day He opens that storehouse for you.  In your waiting, by all means, examine yourself to see if there is some sin or immaturity blocking God’s blessing.  But, don’t lose sight of God’s longing for you, his eager anticipation of what He will unfold in your life.

You will wait.  That is a guarantee.  Wait well for the God who delights to show you compassion.  Not as some distant benefactor, but as a Father who delights in his child’s embrace.  You will wait (and wait some more), He will give, you will be blessed.  This is the rhythm of life.  God invites us to dance to it well.  Blessed are all who wait for Him!