The Stephens County Mafia

Duncan Oklahoma is a quaint little town in the southwestern region of the state, where life is quieter and slower than the Big City.  That’s not to say the town has never had its heyday.    It was in Duncan that Earl P. Halliburton first set up shop, founding that megalith of a corporation that bears his name.  You remember Halliburton; made famous by Dick Chaney and allegations of massive war-time profit taking.

But if you are assuming Earl P. to be the only man of fame to have roots in this forgotten hamlet, allow me to set you straight.  Remember Hoyt Axton?  No?  Well, he was that county singer-composer who penned the lyrics to the infamous tune ‘Joy to the World’.  No, not the Christmas tune; the Three Dog Night tune about a bullfrog named Jeremiah!

Also hailing from Duncan would be Ron Howard (who may or may not be my brother), and former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations, Jean Kirkpatrick.  Beyond that, the balance of those finding their genus in Duncan Oklahoma would only be famous to their own people.  Such is the case with my family.   My father’s clan as well as my mother’s put down roots there, making it a significant place in my heritage.

But nowadays, it seems only one thing takes me back to Duncan – a funeral!  Grandparents and parents; uncles and aunts; headstones pock the Duncan landscape like pepperonis on a Sicilian pizza.  So it was with pleasure I was able to make the trek back to the old hometown for a joyous occasion; the celebration of the 80th birthdays of my Uncle Cliff and his lovely wife Kay!

If Stephens County has a mafia, my Uncle Cliff is assuredly the Godfather in residence!  He wheels and deals, moves and shakes, and God forbid your business should conflict with his business.  More than once I’ve felt compelled to warn him to be careful of dallying around fruit stands, especially if his driver called in sick that day!  If this reference is lost on you, rent the flick ‘The Godfather’.  It’s high time you watched it anyway.  And I’m just kidding around.  Uncle Cliff has never had anybody rubbed out (to my knowledge).

As I continue to put years behind me, the ones ahead seem fewer.  And those I love continue to pass away.  So it was a joy to be able to reunite with uncles, aunts and cousins once again, this side of the great beyond.  I especially enjoyed visiting with my old high school classmate and fishing buddy, Cousin Greg Wallraven.  If memory serves me, I always caught more and bigger fish than him at Aunt Jessie’s pond.  (His recollection may be different.)  And I got to again greet two of his sweet daughters, who I found out are fans of my writings.  It was good to see that Greg finally caught some keepers!

Here’s to fewer funerals and more time with those we love!

Photo: Cousins as pallbearers at Grandmother (Nannie) Wallraven's Funeral, March 1998, Duncan, OK

Back row: Dan Oden, Greg Wallraven, Middle row: Reece Kepler, Joe Kepler, Front row: Mark Wallraven (RIP), Hank Wallraven

About Stephanie - a note to the recipients of her gifts of life!

I met Stephanie when she was 25 and I was 45.  See, I had always run with a bit younger crowd, and she enjoyed hanging with an older crowd.  I was just amazed such a beautiful and vivacious lady would show an interest in me.  That was Memorial Day weekend, 2002.  We fell in love dancing to Country music, and drove to Vegas in my convertible Camaro to get married over Labor Day.

From the beginning Stephanie told me her health wasn’t great, and that I would outlive her.  I passed that off as the babblings of a somewhat immature girl, but she persisted with this notion all the thirteen years I knew her.  And by the way, I soon realized she was anything but immature.  Stephie had a congenital deformity of her heart from birth, and I think she expected to die from that.  In truth, she just had a very weak body hidden behind a hardened steel constitution!

Stephie started having severe migraine headaches, and they found a cyst in her brain.  We were scheduled to go to a neurosurgeon in July, but she died in June.  A few weeks before she died, Stephie sat down and wrote out her wishes.  In that letter to me, she wrote that she wanted her body to be used in any and every way possible to benefit others!  See, Stephie was a recipient of donor bone for a spinal fusion, and wanted to give back.  But she would have wanted to anyway.   Stephie was just a giver and a lover of everyone and everything!

As Stephie collapsed in my arms on that last day we had together, she whispered her last words to me, “You know I love you!”  Stephanie would want you to know, and her son and I want you to know, that you must not feel guilty for benefiting from her death.  She didn’t die to donate her organs.  She died because she was mortal, as we all are.  She was just excited that, should she die, she could continue to show her love after her death by giving of herself to the benefit of others.

Stephanie loved to crochet and made afghans as gifts.  She scrapbooked, and had “scrapping parties” with friends at our home.  She loved to adopt rescue dogs, and we had a houseful!  She liked to say she had a love affair with books, and she owned hundreds of them.  She loved slot machines and the Atlanta Braves – and she loved to dance.  In fact, in the middle of Wal-Mart, at a restaurant or in our own living room, if a waltz came on, we would drop what we were doing and dance right there where we stood!

So her son and I ask that you rejoice with us.  Rejoice that Stephie is no longer in pain, but dancing with her Lord.  Rejoice that hers was a special life, and that even though she died young, while she lived she truly LIVED!  And finally, let us rejoice with you that her final gift gave you a new chance to LIVE your life.

And if you don’t know how to dance, please learn!  Stephie would want it that way.

Sincerely Yours!


(Photo from the dinner show "The Soprano's Last Supper" in Las Vegas, 2006)

The Token Agnostic

Sadness Man In The Shadow by George Hodan
in the public domain

A few days ago a friend told me of her 'token agnostic' friend.  She said he declared himself an agnostic when his wife died.  "I can't believe in a God that would let my wife die so young and before her time," I believe is how he put it.  Then my friend offered her observation that the untimely death of a spouse seems to either drive someone far away from God or draw them much closer to God.  Truer words were never spoken.

While many would offer this man sympathy for the loss of his wife, fewer can offer true empathy.  Surely one would have to suffer a similar tragedy to truly understand what a man goes through when he experiences such great loss.  But I now find myself in the place where I am uniquely qualified to sit down with this self-declared agnostic, and with a heart of compassion and understanding, explain to him why his wife passed from this Earth.

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Such a great and tragic loss could have driven me far from God...

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If you do not know me or have not seen me for a while, you may not know that I buried my dear wife, Stephanie in June 2015.  She was only 38 years of age and her death was unexpected.  And I would venture to say that few couples loved as intensely or cared as deeply for each other as Stephie and me.  Besides being spouses and lovers, we were truly best of friends!  And such a great and tragic loss could have driven me far from a God who would let a wonderful person die at such a young age.  Or, I could find myself running into the arms of a loving and compassionate God to find grace and peace at the most desperate time of my life.

It is true that I grew up attending church and have served in the ministry.  But it was not my ‘religious’ background that drove me toward God in my time of need.  Rather, it was the very need itself; a crushing and devastating loss from which I knew not how to recover.  Had it not been for a loving Heavenly Father, I would not have been able to face that horrible day, or the days, weeks and months to follow.  And it is God and God alone who has given me the peace to move forward with life.  And not only move forward, but continue on with hope and expectation of a wonderful life.  See, while I do not know what tomorrow holds, I do know who holds tomorrow.  And I know He loves me and has a plan for my life… STILL!

And so, having presented my unique qualifications, I now offer an answer to this self-proclaimed agnostic’s question of why his wife died.   Sir, your wife died because she was mortal.  Likewise, you and I are mortal, and will follow our dear wives in death.  In the Bible a very wise man known as the Apostle Paul said, “This mortal shall put on immortality.”  He went on to say that when this happens, then DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP IN VICTORY!  You can read this for yourself in 1 Corinthians 15:54.

The truth I wish to share with you, Sir, is that your wife and my Stephie are not really dead.  Not really.  Oh, they are no longer mortal, and walking with us on this Earth.  But their death – the death we witnessed and mourned – was swallowed up in victory!  At least if they knew Jesus Christ as their Savior it was.  I know Stephie knew Jesus.  I pray your wife did also.    And I pray you also would come to know Jesus, so you too can one day see your mortality swallowed up in victory!

Come on, my friend.  Let’s run to God together!

Of War and Fishing Buddies

If the battle of Gettysburg was the turning point in the war, General William Tecumseh Sherman’s Atlanta Campaign could be considered the home stretch.  It was late in the year of 1863 and General U.S. Grant had taken Chattanooga.  Grant was promoted to general-in-chief of all Union armies, and his old fishing buddy, General Sherman took his place commanding the army of the west.  Sherman’s plan was to march through Atlanta and then onward to the sea, cutting the south in half.  But the Confederate Army had a different plan.

William McCallister Wallraven was a typical Georgia teenager working as a laborer along-side his father when the war broke out.  While others rushed off to enlist and “whoop the Yankees”, young William stayed behind with his folks, Berry and Martha Wallraven, his two brothers and four sisters.   The 1860 U.S. Government census shows the Wallravens living in the Buckhead District of Fulton County, Georgia – now a high rent suburb of Atlanta.  But they were from Gordon County, about midway up the road to Chattanooga.  And with the outbreak of the war they moved back to Gordon County.

The movie Cold Mountain, starring Nicole Kidman and Jude Law, introduced us to a handful of very unsavory characters referring to themselves as the ‘home guard’.  These men (a father and sons in the movie) stayed behind to protect the home front from lawlessness, and any Union soldiers that may have snuck through.  In fact, the Confederate Home Guard did exist.  It was a loosely organized militia under the direction of the Confederate Army, designed to be the last line of defense against the enemy.  But the home guard (or state guard) was also tasked with tracking down and capturing any Confederate deserters.  And, just as portrayed in the movie, there are many accounts of mistreatment, torture and even the murder of deserters by these home guardsmen.

In August 1863 the 1st Regiment Georgia Infantry, State Guards was formed.  This regiment was to serve as local defense for six months.  Company G of the regiment was known as the Gordon Guards, as their job was to defend Gordon County, should their services be needed.  Berry Wallraven and his son William McCallister Wallraven are listed as Privates on the Company G roster (as are President Wallraven, a cousin, and Johathan Wallraven, who may be William’s older brother).

They were probably aware that Chattanooga had fallen, but there is no way Berry and William Wallraven could have known the grand battle plan devised by the Union Army’s western General, William Tecumseh Sherman.    And it could only be described as fateful that Gordon County, Georgia, the land they called home, stood directly between General Sherman and Atlanta.

110,000 Union soldiers marched down upon Privates Berry and William Wallraven (and 55,000 other Confederate soldiers) over the course of two days in May, 1864.  The Battle of Resaca was the first major battle of Sherman’s Atlanta campaign, resulting in the deaths of over 5,500 men and a major victory for General Sherman.   And while we do not know what happened with Berry Wallraven, we do know he lived to at least 1880, and died at the age of at least 66.  William McCallister Wallraven wasn’t so fortunate.  While he was not killed in action, he was taken prisoner of war by Union forces, along with his cousin President Wallraven.

Prisoner exchanges were a common occurrence in the Civil War, and In Sherman’s journal he noted his policy of prisoners being, “…captured, sent to the rear, and exchanged.”  As so it is that the journal Civil War Prisoner of War Records 1861-1865, on file at the National Archives in Washington D. C. records the release of one William Walraven, a Private of the Home Guards, Gordon Co. Company, State of Georgia.  Private Walraven was listed as a man of dark complexion, dark hair, hazel eyes and standing 5’10”.  His release, among many others, was ordered by Union Major General Thomas, and was effected at Chattanooga on 24 MAY 1864, a mere nine days after the bloody Battle of Resaca.

William McCallister Wallraven went on to marry in 1866.  He and his wife, Mary Jane, saw many children and grandchildren.  Berry Wallraven was my 3rd great grandfather.  William McCallister Wallraven was my 2nd great grandfather.  And the 1920 U.S. Government Census records him as a 77 year old head of household.  Among those residing in William’s home was one Dennis Wallraven, age 40.  Dennis was my great grandfather.

And by the way, that same census also records in residence a 12 year old boy named Olen.  That 12 year old boy grew up to be my fishing buddy when I was a 12 year old boy!

On the Field of Battle - The Story of a Father and Three Sons

Helena Arkansas was a town on the Mississippi River, about 50 miles south of Memphis and 100 miles southeast of Little Rock (as the crow flies). Helena was a town of wealth, and a major port on the river. In 1862 the Union Army marched in Helena without opposition, and fortified the town for occupation.

On July 4, 1863 the Confederate army executed an attack on Helena. Under the impression that most of the Union forces in Helena had been relocated to join General Grant in the Vicksburg campaign, they thought the recapture of Helena would be successful. They split forces into three, attacking at dawn from three different directions.

But two things thwarted their plan. First, the Union army had not reduced troops in Helena as they had thought – at least not to the point of weakening it. And second, the Union soldiers had felled trees along all the passages into town. This prevented the Confederates from moving their wagons or artillery up the ridge.

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A father first loves his son, then tries to understand him. But war provides no answers...

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The siege on Helena was a dismal failure. Of the 7,646 Confederate soldiers who marched into the July 4th battle, 173 were killed, 687 wounded and 776 missing; a total of 1,636 men. The Union side fared much better. Of the 4,129 Union soldiers engaged, 57 were killed, 127 wounded and 36 missing; total casualties of 220.

Amos Pitts was the first born son of Levi and Elizabeth Pitts of Clarksville, Arkansas. Amos was born and raised in the USA – specifically in the state of Arkansas. But when Amos was 18 years old the State of Arkansas declared its succession from the Union and became a part of the Confederate States of America – which was at war with the United States of America.

So Amos Pitts enlisted in the Confederate army; specifically Company I, Arkansas 35th Infantry Regiment. The 35th was among those who marched on Helena, and Amos F. Pitts was among those brave Confederate soldiers who fought on that hot July day. And on that day, July 4th, 1863, Private Amos F. Pitts was counted among the 173 Confederate souls who perished on the field of battle.

While Arkansas was a southern state and a part of the Confederacy, being of the “upper south” many of its populace were not keen on the succession, and clung to their unionist sympathies. Arkansas was truly a state where brother was pitted against brother.

With Helena as its base of operations, the Little Rock Campaign was launched. The fall of Vicksburg had freed up thousands of Union troops, and 6,000 infantry were dispatched for the purpose of capturing Little Rock. In September 1863 Maj. Gen. Fredrick Steele’s Union army marched into Little Rock and accepted the surrender of the city. Along the way he lost only 137 men. And having a strong Union presence in Arkansas, and with many of the locals sympathetic to the North, the Union army established several regiments in the state.

Perhaps Levi Pitts of Clarksville, Arkansas pitied his firstborn son Amos for having given his life for the wrong cause. A father first loves his son, then tries to understand him. But war provides no answers – much less, logic, and now this son was lost forever. But Levi had other sons, and his influence over those boys was strong. And so it was that, on the 13th day of January, 1864, Levi Pitts, at the age of 45 left his wife Elizabeth behind to watch over the five youngest kids, and enlisted as a private in the UNION army - 2nd Arkansas Infantry Regiment, Company H. And he was joined by his sons, Hiram K. Pitts, age 21, and Elijah D. Pitts, age 19, who both enlisted in that same Regiment on that same day.

The military operations during the initial days of July 1864 consisted primarily of scouting parties for the Union. On July 9, 1864, Colonel James Stuart dispatched one lieutenant and twenty men from the Tenth Illinois Cavalry Volunteers to scout the area from Huntersville - present-day North Little Rock  - to Little Rock. The Union forces came across a small Confederate party twenty miles north of the city, taking one prisoner and wounding/killing four (the total is unclear in the official records). 

Skirmishes like this one broke out around the periphery of Little Rock following its fall to Union forces in September 1863. At times, the commanding officers of Confederate and Union forces fighting in these skirmishes knew little about their opponent, as evidenced by the official reports.
 - www.encyclopediaofarkansas.net 

On September 20, 1864 at Huntersville, AR (now North Little Rock) Levi Pitts fell, apparently killed by skirmishers loyal to the Confederacy. Then, on December 8, 1864, again at Huntersville, young Elijah Pitts followed his father in death, in like manner.

Of this father and three brothers, only one survived that awful war; Hiram K. Pitts. Hiram went on to marry, and had a daughter they named Lura Lea. Lura Lea Pitts became Lura Lea Kepler when she married my grandfather, John Franklin Kepler.

I lost my 2nd great grandfather Levi Pitts, and two great grand uncles, Amos and Elijah Pitts to the Civil War. In fact, most of us have ancestors whose lives were forever changed by that war. And while my family tree holds others who served, this father and two sons paid what Lincoln called “the last full measure of devotion.”



Sources: 
http://deltabridgeproject.com/assets/Civil-War-Helena-Part-2-History.pdf 
http://couchgenweb.com/civilwar/2arcoh.htm 
http://www.civilwararchive.com/Unreghst/unartr.htm 
http://www.encyclopediaofarkansas.net/encyclopedia 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arkansas_in_the_American_Civil_War 
http://www.ancestry.com 

Illustration: Sherman at Atlanta, by George N. Barnard (in the public domain)

The Kepler Mission

Have you heard of the Kepler Mission?  In March of 2009 NASA launched KEPLER; a space observatory (cool rocket ship).  The mission of the Kepler observatory is to survey the Milky Way galaxy and discover Earth-like planets in or near the habitable zone.

As of now Kepler had found over 2,700 candidates, and 132 of those have been confirmed exoplanets.

Now I’m not real sure the definition of such terms as habitable zone and exoplanet.  But it sounds like we might all want to pack some bags in case we will be moving to a new planet soon.  This one seems to be getting pretty threadbare anyway.

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...Ole’ Kepler has his work cut out for him!

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That Kepler rocket ship has a tough task though.  See, planets revolve around stars, and there are over 375 billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy alone.  Furthermore, there are over 100 billion other galaxies like the Milky Way.  So I would say ole’ Kepler has his work cut out for him!

All this new planets talk got me to thinking about something I read once.  In his book God’s Plan for Man, Finis Jennings Dake said that God lives in a mansion on a material planet called Heaven.  Oh, I realize Dake’s writings are controversial.  Many consider him to be a heretic.  But the Charismatic - Pentecostal world has embraced most of his work as inspired.   Wouldn’t it be cool if the Kepler Mission discovered Heaven!

I’m not sure what all is involved in NASA’s Kepler Mission, or if that's even possible.  But this Kepler has a mission of his own, and a quite similar mission at that.  This Kepler's mission is to actually travel to Heaven – and to take as many with me as my cool rocket ship will hold. 

Come on board and let’s blast off.  But I have to warn you - it's a one way trip!


Illustration courtesy NASA (public domain)

White House Windows

A little over a year ago I posted a piece called A Tale of Two Chiefs. In that story I talked about my desire to take a trip to Washington, tour the White House, and possibly have my picture taken with the President. Recently Stephanie and I were able to take my dream vacation to D.C., and I got to see and do all the things of which I have desired for years.

Of course, I didn’t get the chance to pose with the Pres. In fact, I didn’t even get the chance to tour the White House. Such tours have to be arranged by your U. S. Representative. And while I did apply for the tour, I don’t know if it is because my Rep is a rookie, or if the White House looked up my party affiliation, or (more likely) if my request was just submitted too late.

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...then we turned to go back to the bus. And that’s when I saw him!

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The truth is I did almost have the chance to shake hands with the President. See, we were there early in April, the week the government was threatening to shut down for lack of a budget. Of course, the government did not shut down, but continues to this day to show us the stellar quality of their work. And the day after the budget agreement was ironed out the President made a surprise visit to the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall, where he shook hands with the surprised tourists. Unfortunately I had visited the Lincoln Memorial just a few hours earlier.

But even though I didn’t get tickets to the White House, it was at the White House that I experienced what may have been my most memorable moment of the trip. Not inside of course – I didn’t make it inside; but just outside the fence to the North, in Lafayette Park. Having spent the entire day on a tour bus seeing monuments, memorials, museums and statutes – universities, embassies, cathedrals and more, we topped the night off with yet another tour bus trip that had as its final destination a quick stop over at the White House.

We walked through Lafayette Park in awe at the site of that icon of freedom, that heart and soul of our nation that is the White House. We pointed at the lighted windows wondering who was in there and what they were doing, and thanked God Bill Clinton isn’t in there anymore. And we offered our opinions on the guy that is. We snapped pictures of the others and posed for our own. And then we turned to go back to the bus. And that’s when I saw him!

There is in Lafayette Park, directly in front of and in plain sight of the White House, a shabby tent flanked by large, amateurish looking yellow signs. The signs have words and pictures – words to explain the cause, and to explain that this vigil had been continuously maintained since 1981; and pictures depicting the horrors of nuclear war. Such a sight did not really surprise me. In fact my trip wouldn’t have been complete without seeing a White House protester (and possibly being one).

Standing there on the sidewalk I observed a tired looking old man, unshaven and unkempt – sitting on the ground - arms folded, body hunched over, eyes shut – resembling a drug addict or at least a street dweller. And like everyone else I adjusted my gait and my path to avoid him. But then an unusual thing happened. Something inside me compelled me to draw closer, to read his signs and afford myself the opportunity to at least attempt to understand what compels this man to stand vigil.

Understand that it was not his cause that tugged at my heart so hard as to pull me to his very threshold. It was the man himself. I can’t really say how affected I was by what I read, but I was profoundly affected by what I saw – this man’s commitment to his cause. After standing there reverently and reading all his signs, I spoke up. “God bless you, sir.” I said.

At the sound of my voice he immediately came to life. His head raised, his eyes opened wide and a smile broke across his face. And it was at that moment I experienced what may be the most lasting memory of my dream trip to D.C. It’s been said, “The eyes are the window to the soul.” That man had the kindest, the deepest, the most committed and caring eyes I have ever had the honor of staring into. He responded, “Thank you very much, my friend!” And then he bowed his head again.

I didn’t offer this man money – he wasn’t asking for money. I didn’t offer him food or drink. What I did offer him was the only thing I had to give that would be of any consequence to him. I offered him God’s Blessings – probably the only chance his cause really has.

I returned to the bus and the excitement and exhaustion that is a week in the Capitol City. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that if we could elect a President to these United States that has the eyes of the protester in the park, we would surely stand a chance of curing the ails of modern man.

Picture "George" from a mural at Mount Vernon- Copyright 2010 by Reece Kepler

Uncle Dick and His Ship

When a man grows old and dies, his legacy – or at least the memory of his life – passes to his sons, and then to his son’s sons. Of course, if he doesn’t have sons it passes to his daughters. But if a man has no sons or daughters, will he be forgotten?

I remember meeting Uncle Dick only once in my life, or maybe twice. He was born on 11/11/11 and died in February 1980. And, while my father and I drove to San Diego for his funeral, we pulled into town just as it was taking place, and so we missed it. Uncle Dick is buried in a beautiful cemetery out on Point Loma.

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This truly remarkable feat of seamanship was the only time in recorded naval history that such an event occurred...

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But it is Uncle Dick’s death that really defines his legacy, or – not really his death, but more so how he died. In 1955 Navy Captain Richard Purdy, a WWII combat veteran, was the skipper of the USS Marion County (LST-975) when he and his ship were ordered to participate in an experiment code-named “Operation Wigwam”, a nuclear weapon test so secret that even its codename was classified and could not be mentioned without the highest clearances, and under penalty of imprisonment.

In Operation Wigwam, conducted by The Department of Defense and The Scripps Institution of Oceanography, three submarines were placed underwater, 500 miles off the coast of San Diego, and then a 30 kiloton nuclear bomb was detonated in a 12,000 foot ocean, at a depth of 2,000 feet. The objective was to see if a surface vessel could use nuclear weapons to destroy submerged enemy submarines without causing harm to itself.

At 1:00 pm Pacific Time on May 14, 1955 the bomb was detonated… and three submarines were obliterated. But that detonation also sent a fireball-bubble 12,000 feet into the air, covering a one and a half mile area of the ocean and sending highly radioactive seawater in all directions.

The Marion County was an LST-542-class tank landing ship, a ship with a set of large doors on the bow (front) that opened to off-load tanks, cargo and troops onto an unimproved shore. The Marion County’s role in the experiment placed it in close proximity to Surface Zero. And so, when the bomb exploded, the crewmen were overwhelmed with fear as they witnessed the 1,200 foot tidal wave surging their way. Using the ship’s loudspeaker system Commander Purdy was able to calm the crew, who braced themselves for impact.

Damages to the Marion County were extensive. At first Commander Purdy thought the ship would surely sink as a result of the blast. But after the shock passed and the water settled, the Marion County was still afloat. However, those huge bow doors mentioned earlier were damaged to the extent that the ship could not move forward. And so, Uncle Dick had to navigate his damaged ship back to Long Beach Harbor, a trip of over 500 miles, in reverse! To sail a ship in reverse for more than a few hundred yards had never before been attempted, nor has it since. This truly remarkable feat of seamanship was the only time in recorded naval history that such an event occurred.

When the Marion County finally reached dock, Captain Purdy’s wife, my Aunt Ruth, was there to meet him. But Uncle Dick was not allowed to leave the ship. A technician from the Scripps Institute checked him for radiation and found his shoes were too “hot” to allow him to leave the vessel. In fact, the deck was so hot with radiation that all who had walked on it had to change clothes and shoes before departing.

If you looked up “Operation Wigwam” on Wikipedia.com you would read the government’s official version of the event. You would read that, “…The test was carried out without incident, and radiation effects were negligible.” The brief, three paragraph account closes with the statement that “… only three personnel received doses (of radiation) of over 0.5 rems.” What you would not read about are the dozens of sailors, contractors and civilians who participated in Operation Wigwam, and have since died of various types of cancer.

On his deathbed, suffering the ravages of leukemia and lung cancer, Commander Purdy, my Uncle Dick, called in a young neighbor, Ron Josephson, and spoke haltingly into a tape recorder, detailing and setting down the record on Wigwam. "It's too late for me, son, but I feel that we're all left holding the bag, all those crews, not just on my ship, but all those crews."

A crack investigative reporting team broke the story of Operation Wigwam, and the December 2, 1980 issue of New West Magazine published the full account. A short time later the story was scheduled to run on the television news magazine show “20/20”, but as I remember it, the segment was pulled at the last minute.

Incidentally, according to Wikipedia.com, the USS Marion County was transferred to the Republic of Vietnam, where she served South Vietnam as RVNS Cam Ranh (HQ-500). Following the Fall of Saigon on 29 April 1975, Cam Ranh escaped to the Philippines, was renamed BRP Zamboanga Del Sur (LT-86), and serves the Philippine Navy to this day.

Captain Richard Purdy (USN), current status – deceased.

RIP Uncle Dick - you are not forgotten.




Read more about Uncle Dick and his ship:

The Marion County (History Central)

The Marion County (Wikipedia)

Operation Wigwam (Wikipedia)
Operation Wigwam - Washington Nuclear Museum and Educational Center

Operation Wigwam - National Association of Atomic Veterans Newsletter

The Distinguished Gentleman

Personally I blame the affordability of air conditioning for herding people off their front porches and into their living rooms… well, that and television. Before those two “modern miracles” folks used to stroll the avenues, waiving and ‘howdy-do’ing’, and everybody knew everybody. Now we can live in the same place for years and never learn the first names of our neighbors, or where they work, or what they do to unwind.

A couple of years ago Stephanie and I moved into a new home in a new subdivision, and frankly, coming from an area of more humble incomes, I wondered what kind of folks we’d be living among, and how well received we would find ourselves. I didn’t have to wonder for long. On the afternoon of our first day, two… count ‘em, two sets of our new neighbors introduced themselves. Kim and Mary Beth even presented us with a home-baked apple pie!

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I started addressing Patrick as sir and referring to him as The Distinguished Gentleman. Then it dawned on me where that term comes from...

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Having similar interests with our new neighbors Patrick and Angela, we became fast friends, and even met up on vacation in Vegas. They flew, we drove. Oh, we had our separate agendas. We didn’t do everything together. Stephanie and I had a dress-up evening where just the two of us went to dinner in our Sunday best. And we marveled at how we were treated - the respect shown us because of our attire. People actually scurried to clear a path for us.

It’s amazing the respect shown a well dressed person in Vegas... as you will soon see!

Patrick had a business conference one day, and so he dressed up… way up – suit and tie. Patrick is a handsome man anyway; a black man with the popular shaved head look, a little on the tall side and with an athletic build, and a personality that could sell… well pretty much anything to anybody. After his meeting he gave me a call and I swung by and picked him up.

Now, if you fly into Vegas you probably never get off the strip, except maybe for that one memorable night downtown. But because we drive out, I know many of those out-of-the-way places where the locals go to play. The girls had scheduled a day of shopping, so Patrick and I drove out to a casino I knew that had dollar craps (on the strip you can’t shoot craps for less that 5 bucks a play). We carved out our positions at the craps table.

I’m not sure where the thought originated - I would think it’s because of how sharp he looked - I started addressing Patrick as sir and referring to him as The Distinguished Gentleman. Then it dawned on me where that term comes from. That’s how U.S. Senators address one another.

About that time Patrick tossed a chip down and declared, “This is for the boys”, a term that indicates he is placing a bet for the dealers – that is, if it wins, the bet and its winnings go to them as a tip. Of course, if it loses, it loses. The stickman didn’t see where the bet came from, so he asked. I immediately pointed to Patrick and said, “The Senator placed that bet for the team”.

Thenceforth, and for the remainder of the session not only I, but everyone at the table referred to Patrick as “The Senator”. I tried to work into the conversation how I was a bodyguard or a driver, but I had my tourist costume on, you know – shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, so I’m sure they concluded that I was the Senator’s brother-in-law or some other social appendage whose company he was forced to endure.

Stephanie and I had a great time that year. And I’m sure Patrick and Angela had a wonderful time too. But just think of all those locals at that craps table… the old geezer with the oxygen tank, the off duty cocktail waitress, the construction worker from Phoenix that had chased the building boom to Sin City. They ALL have the story of their life – I shot craps with a U.S. Senator! And they have us to thank for it.

How much you wanna bet they’re all at home right now watching C-SPAN to catch a glimpse of Patrick? I know a place that will give you great odds!

The Swiss Army Knife

I saw this cool Swiss Army Knife you can buy for your dad next Father’s Day – or if your father has passed on as mine has, you can buy it for me. This knife costs 180 bucks, and I counted no less than 20 functions for which it has a unique tool. What’s more, it comes with band-aids, a pressure pencil (whatever that is), writing paper, safety pens, matches and sewing thread. Of course these accessories aren’t built in, so you’ll lose them pretty quickly. But it’s still cool that they come with the knife.

This got me wondering – if GOD had a Swiss Army Knife, what would it look like?

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He’s not just that church’s Swiss Army Knife… He’s GOD’S Swiss Army Knife...

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There’s this guy I know that works at a church. Now, in respect to him I shouldn’t use his real name so I’ll use an alias. Let’s just call him Randy. That’s a good, strong yet generic name, don’t you think? Randy is the “go-to” guy for whatever’s going on in this church he works at. If the rainy season finds cracks in the roof, call Randy. If the snowstorm of the century leaves the parking lot impassable, call Randy. Air conditioner broke? Water line busted? Toilet paper too coarse? Call Randy!

In all fairness, I’m sure most churches have their Swiss Army Knife. But this guy I’m calling Randy for purposes of this story… he’s not just that church’s Swiss Army Knife … He’s GOD’S Swiss Army Knife. See, his usefulness is not just limited to the mechanical, electrical or structural functions of the facility. If they need somebody to make the announcements on Sunday morning, or be a prayer partner or head up the men’s ministries or teach in the bible school, they call Randy.

And that’s all in addition to him being a husband, a father, a grandfather and a son (and probably a cousin and a nephew and an uncle), as well as being a pretty cool guy in his own right. He even finds the time to play a round of golf occasionally, should the sun cooperate.

This guy goes overseas to minister to the needs of others, both spiritual and physical. And he even shares his wit, wisdom and humor in a blog on the internet. I’d give you a link to it, but I’ve decided to keep this guy’s real identity a secret.

Oh, I’m sure if this guy I’m calling Randy chose to leave this church he’s serving, someone would step in to take his place… or more realistically, about 11 someones! Hey, that would make Randy God’s one-man football team!

So if your church has one of these Swiss Army Knives, even if his name isn’t Randy, make sure he knows how much he is loved – how much he is appreciated – how incredibly special he is to God and to everyone in the church… and to you! And you might even think about rolling up your sleeves and helping him out with the church’s next catastrophe.

And by the way, I was just kidding about giving me that Swiss Army Knife for Father’s Day. Give it to Randy! He’d actually use it!

Pillars of the Community

She’s my wife, she’s my lover, she’s my best friend. But on top of all that – she’s my hero! If you know me well, you know I’m a man of strong beliefs and opinions. But this beautiful woman, who was once a fragile little girl did as much to change my thinking as any philosopher, teacher or preacher who ever crossed my path.

See, I grew up in a nuclear family, a thing that wasn’t as rare in those days as now. When I was in grade school the kid whose parents were divorced was the exception – today, the rule. But our family was not only intact, it was strong. And we came from sturdy stock. Our German heritage went back several generations, with hard working, God revering men who fought in wars and served as deacons of their church - real pillars of the community.

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Suffice it to say that if ever there was one who could point to society and say, “It’s your fault!” that right would belong to Stephanie.

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But a word often used to describe those staunch German pillar types is PROUD! And the problem with pride is that it can manifest in more than one way. It may present as a profound virtue, tempered with great humility and engendering excellence. Aristotle considered it the crown of all virtues. But on the other side of that coin can be found self-importance, smugness, arrogance and conceit. Heads or Tails? As a young man I tended more to the latter.

So how did Stephanie change my thinking? Oh, every married man or woman will testify to how their spouse changed their thinking. But I’m not talking about the normal, kissy smoochy stuff; or even that change in lifestyle we married folk grow to embrace. I’m talking about a change in the way I understand humanity itself.

See, I had always subscribed to the theory that people are a product of their heredity. Nature-versus-Nurture… I was a nature-boy! If you came from “good blood” you became a “good person”, but if you were born of “bad blood”… well, you get the picture. Even my friend Dave who 28 years ago served on staff with me at the church in Oklahoma City recognized it in me. I remember him saying, “You don’t believe people can change, do you?” I had to admit he was right.

But then I met Stephanie. Now it’s not my intention to lay out the qualities of her pedigree, or lack thereof. The truth is I don’t know that much about her heritage. But I do know that Stephanie came from the quintessential dysfunctional family. It's not needful to list the influences, circumstances or events of her life here. Suffice it to say that if ever there was one who could point to society and say, “It’s your fault!” that right would belong to Stephanie.

And yet, rather than blaming her environment she chose to change her environment. Rather than falling back on the excuse of heredity she drew a line in the sand and said, “This stops now!” And she provided a new heritage for her son, and her son’s sons. A Godly heritage. And the generations to follow will be able to say, we come from sturdy stock… pillars of the community!

So never again will I look at a man and say, “He can’t help it – look where he came from.” Never again will I think, “People can't change.” I have Stephanie to thank for that epiphany.

If you don’t know Stephanie, get to know her. You’ll be better because of it. And if you can figure out why God would grace me with such a precious gift, clue me in. And by the way, she’s not my hero because she changed my thinking. She’s my hero because she changed my World!

Nature or Nurture? I say Neither - But God, and Him glorified. That's the measure of a man... or in this case, a woman! Selah.

The Thrill of the Hunt

Usually when someone goes by an alias it’s because they’re hiding from the law, or maybe from their fans, real or imaginary. Texans often find it wise to use an alias while north of the river – especially during football season. I know of a whole species from Texas that goes by an alias when in Oklahoma…the Texas Horned Lizard.

Known in Oklahoma as the horny toad, the Texas Horned Lizard is one scary looking creature. But as they say, ugly is only skin deep. These guys are really nice little fellers. They don’t bark or bite, but when frightened they do shoot blood out of their eyes. So try not to frighten one.

Let me tell you about my favorite horny toad of all time. He wasn’t around long enough for me to catch his name… just long enough for him to steal my heart! So I’ll just call him Hellboy (because of the horns).

It was Easter Sunday and my niece Beverly and little sister Brenda, only 4 days apart in age and both just cute as a button, were itching for an Easter egg hunt. So the whole family loaded up in cars and headed to the local park. As it happened we chose the park that Hellboy called home. We weren’t there long before we discovered Hellboy, and pointed him out to the girls. They were fascinated and frightened, but there were eggs to be found. So the hunt began. And that’s when it happened.

Beverly’s Grandpa Kepler saw that she was about to step on an Easter egg, so he yelled out a warning, “Watch out Beverly!” Now if you read this blog regularly you know our family has German heritage. But you would have known it anyway if you’d been there to see little Beverly as she goose stepped across the park. Everyone laughed…except Beverly. She just screamed. As it turned out she thought Hellboy was out to get her. But I’m guessing she scared him more than he scared her.

Horny toads aren’t as common as they once were. In fact, they are protected now by the State. But occasionally I do see one. And when I do, it conjures up this image in my mind of Beverly and Hellboy goose stepping across the park together, hand in paw.

I’m not sure what ever happened to Hellboy. Beverly moved on to bigger lizards!

Famous People Born Today

All things being equal, today is a special day for 18,611,111 people, more or less. See, the United States Census Bureau estimates the world population as of today to be 6,800,500,000. An easier way to say that would be a little over 6.8 billion people. And they’re all coming to your house for dinner! Ok…not really. Just me!

Anyway, if you take that 6.8 billion and divide by 365.4 (the approximate number of days in a year) you come up with 18.6 million people – having a birthday today. OK…I know more people are born in certain months, and nine months after a cold snap or a power outage, and blah blah blah. That’s why I said, “All things being equal…”

Some of the more famous people having birthdays today: Charles Lindbergh, who crossed an ocean to get away from a crowd of people. And then there’s Oscar De La Hoya, the boxer who’s famous for his baby face, or at least he was before Floyd Mayweather gave him a 12 round facelift.

I see that Alice Cooper and Dan Quayle are having birthdays today. I get those two mixed up. One of them sang about school being out and the other was out of school on the day they taught spelling.

And a couple more famous people with birthdays today are Brandon “Bug” Hall and Rebekah Flanagan. You remember “Bug” Hall. He played Buster, the kid in the movie “The Stupids”. If you haven’t seen “The Stupids”… don’t! It's just too stupid. And Rebekah Flanagan played the role of Reece’s firstborn child in the movie….wait a minute! That‘s not a movie. It’s REAL LIFE!

Rebekah is famous in my eyes for so many things I couldn’t start to name them all. Her entire childhood is one fond memory after another - mostly of her beautiful smile, or when she gave me “the look”! And I’ll never forget when she came to me and said, “Dad, I need to tell you something…” She didn’t even have the words out of her mouth yet and my grin was ear to ear. A few months later she gave me my granddaughter, Kiley! If you didn't get to see Rebekah's smile as a kid, just look at Kiley's!

If Rebekah had never accomplished anything of note in her life I would still be proud of her. But listen to this – she put herself through college…and graduated! I would have loved to have been able to pay for my kids to get their degree, but it just wasn’t happening. Undeterred, she arranged the grants and loans, juggled her schedule, attended night classes and got her sheepskin – all the while working full time and having a kid! This one's gonna go far in life.

So join me in wishing my beautiful daughter Rebekah a happy birthday today.

♫ “Happy birthday to you ♫ Happy Birthday to you ♫ Happy Birthday, Dear Rebekah ♫ Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu!” ♫

I love you, sweetheart!

Our Kind of Folks

Every now and then God is feeling especially benevolent and he decides to give someone a gift too precious for words. For some reason He has chosen to bestow such an unfathomable gift upon Stephanie and me…and more than once. Let me tell you about one of those gifts.

When Stephanie and I visited Lakeside Church (since rebranded Highpointe Church) we met Pastors Darren and Michelle Pilcher. We quickly made the decision to join this church, and so we invited the Pastor’s family to our home for a meal and fellowship.

Of course, at that time we didn’t know the Pilchers very well, and they weren’t familiar with us either. That was one reason for the dinner – to get to know each other. If you’ve ever been invited by or invited folks you don’t know well, you know how uncomfortable such an evening can be. This one wasn’t.

From the moment Pastors Darren and Michelle, and their kids walked through our front door we could tell these were “our kind of folks”. I was out on the patio grilling the chicken, and Pastor Darren came out to chat with me. And while Stephanie was putting the finishing touches on her famous salad she and Michelle talked and laughed in the kitchen.

As the meal progressed so did the conversation. We talked about the fact that we grew up in the same denomination, the Assemblies of God. And we talked about our similar backgrounds, with Godly parents and ministerial work. We talked religion, we talked politics, we talked about kids and houses and cars. We could have talked all night. I didn’t want it to end.

There are certain things - subtle things - that let you know someone is comfortable with you. When Pastor Darren casually reached with his fork and stabbed a second chicken breast it told me two things. First, he approves of my grilling. Grilling is a source of pride for the American male…and I’m no exception. So for that I was proud. But it also showed me that this wasn’t just a pastor doing the obligatory dinner with the new members. These folks are REAL!

After dinner Pastor Darren, his son Ethan and I retired to the “man cave” to shoot pool, with a movie playing in the background. I think it was “Braveheart”. Pastor shot a pretty good stick! And Ethan even made a few good shots. All the while, Stephanie and Michelle were downstairs talking…and talking…and talking. Emma had discovered the dolls we have for our granddaughter, so everybody was in their element.

I remember telling Pastor Darren that if he ever needed to “get away” from having to be the straight-laced Pastor guy, just come on over and we’ll let our hair down. What I didn’t realize at that time was that Pastor Darren doesn’t do the straight-laced Pastor Guy. His hair is always down!

I could write about the churches Pastors Darren and Michelle have built, or the mission trips they have taken – ministering to thousands. I could write about the people they have prayed for and the words from the Lord they have delivered. Those stories would be many and they would be exciting. But what I wanted to write about tonight is simply how REAL these precious people are.

Pastors Darren and Michelle are moving into a new chapter in their lives and ministries, and so they are resigning as pastors. In fact, today was their final day of service to Highpointe, at least in the pastoral capacity. And while I am excited to see what new thing God has in store for the church, and how I will fit in with that new thing, I am saddened to see them go.

Pastors Darren and Michelle; thank you for your service. But especially, thank you for your friendship. It’s been… … … REAL!

Is Idaho on Route 66?

I’ve never been to Idaho. Or have I? In 1963, when I was 6 years old, our family took the now infamous Route 66 vacation. We drove west from Oklahoma City (it’s mighty pretty). We saw Amarillo and Gallop, New Mexico – Flagstaff, Arizona…well, you know the rest.

It was an awesome trip. We saw the Grand Canyon, drove across the Hoover Dam and down the Vegas strip. And we drove on some highway where there wasn’t a speed limit. The suitcases were strapped to the top of the station wagon, and they flew off onto the highway. We made it down to the San Diego Zoo and Marine Land of the Pacific. We spent a day at Disneyland, where we rode the Matterhorn and joined the Mickey Mouse club. Mom left her purse on the teacup ride. Way to go, mom!

We visited the Hollywood Wax Museum and Muscle Beach. Then we drove north, and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. I have no memories of San Francisco. We probably ate Rice-a-Roni. If not, we should have. One of my clearest memories is this cool coke machine that was outside our motel room. Kids have weird memories.

But what does all this have to do with Idaho? Well, we drove north out of California to visit dad’s brother, Uncle Ken in Eugene, Oregon, and then passed through Salt Lake City on the way back, and saw the Tabernacle. Looking at a map I’m guessing we drove through a part of Idaho.

So why am I writing about Idaho? Because I have friends in Idaho that are some of the most precious people I have ever known, and they read my blog. Don and Lois, I love you guys!

They say you know you’re from Idaho when you know why people would pay money to watch pig wrestling. I’m definitely not from Idaho.

A New Caboose

When I was 15 mom and dad called us kids together with some major news. We were turning the spare bedroom into a nursery. I was the youngest of three and dad always introduced me as “the caboose”. But suddenly, at 15 I found myself promoted (or was it demoted) to just another boxcar. The “oops” baby was born and she brought joy to all our hearts.

Sometimes it’s hard to know what to laugh at, and sometimes it’s hard to know when to laugh. Something that is funny today may be just downright cruel hearted tomorrow, and vice versa. I remember when I was going through a painful divorce. I would turn on the TV hoping to lose my emotions in a funny plot. But invariably the show would be poking fun at…divorce! This isn’t funny at all, I would think. How can they be so cruel hearted? Same thing when there's been a death in your family, and this week's episode of your favorite comedy mirrors your tragedy. Ha Ha. How funny!

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In the midst of a tragedy laughter becomes the indicator that grief is temporary and life will go on...

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But what has that got to do with my little sister? Well, when she was just a few weeks old her little baby carrier slipped and she sustained a head injury. She was hospitalized for a time, and as always, my family turned to God in prayer. (If your family doesn’t do this, you might give it some serious thought.) Of course, God touched her and healed her and she grew up to be normal. OK... the jury is still out on that “normal” thing. Suffice it to say her healing was complete. And so now, when my little sister says something or does something silly, I ask her, “Were you dropped on your head as a child?” She has the wittiest answer for me… “Yes." Then she usually adds, "What’s your excuse?” This little inside joke is a special connection I have with her.

She and I like to laugh about it now. But at the time she was in the hospital, and for years afterwards, there was no humor to be found in the situation. Even now, some 35 years later, I broach the subject gingerly… except when she does something silly.

At a funeral we cry, but then somebody recalls a funny incident they shared with the departed, and we find ourselves laughing through our tears. What we’ve learned is that laughter is therapeutic, even healing! In the midst of a tragedy laughter becomes the indicator that grief is temporary and life will go on.

So, whatever you’re going through right now, don’t hold back the laughter. In fact, find the strength to let out one of those deep down, grief busting, belly laughs.

People will think your train has jumped its track.


Red Caboose by Shari Weinsheimer

I’m Not Really Sicilian

You’d think I was in the Mafia or something…the number of cousins I have. But these are really cousins. You know, family - not “family”. On my mom’s side I have four; on dad’s side, 10. Some I was closer to than others – closer in age, in proximity, in relationship.

If you’re not on Facebook you might check it out. It’s really cool. Oh, I know there are a lot of silly distractions built in. You can farm imaginary crops, shoot imaginary mobsters or find out what your imaginary leprechaun name is. But it’s not all imaginary. The people are real. And they are people you know, or used to know, and maybe would like to know better.

For instance, I might have gone the rest of my life without really knowing my cousin Gina. Oh, I knew her when we were kids, but when you’re a kid another kid has to be pretty close to your age to pal around, and she was a few years younger. I remember one Christmas Eve when the family got together at her house. Gina’s dad, Uncle Vito… uhummmmm, I mean Uncle Cliff… waited until she went off to the bedroom to play. Then he retrieved her present from its hiding place. I seem to remember a life size ballerina doll, or was that what my brother got that year? Anyway, we called Gina and then all ran outside and pointed at the sky. “You just missed him”, we chuckled. And she said, “Oh shoot man (or whatever 5 year old girls used to say)”.

Her memory of that night might be totally different – and they may both be wrong – who knows. The point is, we grew up, moved off and lost touch. And that’s the way it would have been if not for Facebook. Now I know where she lives, what kind of music she enjoys, and what her beautiful family looks like. And I know she truly loves God, just as I do.

I’ve “friended” more long lost cousins, and look forward to getting to know them better. Do it. Join up, and reconnect with those friends and relatives you used to be close to. Maybe you will be again.

Thank me later. Right now me and Cousin Rocco from Jersey have some collections to go make.

The Rolex Watch – Part 2 (read part 1 first)

Forgive me. I know the title of this entry is deceptive. You are hoping a certain preacher read my last entry and returned to me not only my twist-o-flex band, but the gold Rolex watch with the Halliburton logo that was attached to it. That hasn’t happened - not yet at least!

But perchance somebody might actually be influenced by something I share in this venue, I want you to realize I DO believe in giving. And I believe in being blessed in and for that giving. Part 2 of the watch story isn’t really about the watch – it’s about a car.

It was the early 80s and I was serving on staff at a mid-sized church in south OKC. One of my co-workers, another minister on staff, was dealing with the challenge of being one car short. His wife would have to shuttle him to work before going to her job, and he would have to wait for her to get off work to pick him up. He was a precious man and not a complainer, and they made do. Did I mention that he lived on the other side of town from the church?

I on the other hand lived just a few blocks from the church – what would have at one time been considered walking distance (although not in this modern age). And I had two cars and a motorcycle. It doesn’t take a genius to see where this story is going. I sensed God moving on my heart to give my work car to him. The thought excited me! I shared this with the church secretary and she got excited too…and she got involved. She paid to have the seats recovered, which was about all the car needed to make it presentable. And present it we did, along with the title and the keys.

He was blessed by the car. She was blessed to see him get the car. I was blessed to be a part of it all. And, while every time I think of my Rolex watch it saddens me, every time I think of that little gray Chevy my heart floods with joy. People, this is how it’s supposed to work.

The reason I call this “The Rolex Watch – Part 2” is because the car story happened at the same time the watch story happened. And the car was worth about the same amount as the watch. I have always contrasted those two gifts given as the one that was “of God” and the one that wasn’t. And remember when I said that for years I was “watch-cursed”? Well, since that time I have always been “car-blessed”.

So what’s the lesson here? Listen to God, be a blessing, and be blessed...and oh yeah, don't be stupid! Amen.