Chapter 22 The Big Surprise

Having been brought up in the Christian faith which was considered the most important part of life, my obligation to live for God--whatever that meant--was frequently impressed on me.  Rev. Plesscher in catechism classes had often made this point.   
My parents, my mother especially, while rarely saying it in so many words, surely made it clear that this is what our lives were all about.  While I had been receiving these signals throughout my earlier life, I had not been very conscious of them.  I had ways of tuning them out, not listening, postponing serious consideration until later, or, simply, rejecting them.  The public schools I attended, while not hostile to my family's faith, did nothing to focus my attention in that direction either.  Somehow, while I would never have labeled it bad advice or irrelevant, the message, "Give your life to God," was, nevertheless, something I had not taken with great urgency.  It was religious talk for religious people; and while I didn't consider myself exactly irreligious, it just did not seem to be especially for me--not yet, at least.
            
But things were changing.  The message was gradually beginning to come through as I moved into the post high school years.  During the winter of '46-47 I began to listen more carefully to Rev. Plesscher's admonitions in catechism class.  I began to have a few disturbing questions, for example, about whether I should be shooting pool after catechism in the Kanawha Pool Hall.  I began to think about the ten commandments and consider ways I could and should try to keep them.  A radio preacher, it may have been Theodore Epp, was on the air every morning during the time I did the morning milking.  Some of his impassioned pleas to surrender one's life to Christ were beginning to get my ear.
            
Don't get me wrong.  I was not ready to make any surrender to anyone just yet.  I had been going through those adolescent years in which I had achieved a certain degree of independence.  I was 18 years old and the whole world and life was stretching before me.  Life looked, if a bit fearsome, like an exciting challenge.  I was learning to find my way through it without the direction of my parents and others, and I was, generally, not displeased with the simple course I was taking at this early stage of being on my own.
            
Now, I had nothing particular against God at this point in my life, nothing, at least, that I would dare to challenge him on.  I had been taught a lot of good about him all my life long, and a lot too which caused me to respect him greatly.  I had no doubt that he was in charge of the universe and that he held the destiny of nations and individuals, including my own, within his hands.  And I knew that he was demanding, that I couldn't pull the wool over his eyes, and that if I were to reject him, he would most assuredly consign me to everlasting condemnation.  If that is what fearing God is all about--and I do believe it includes a very healthy respect for the demands and power of God--then, it is reasonable to conclude, I had the beginning of wisdom.  In some sense, I believe I had always had that kind of respect for God from my earliest childhood days.
            
While fearing or respecting God in accord with that passage in Proverbs, may be the beginning of wisdom, it is not the fulfillment of it.  I was 18 years old, but not ready yet to take the step that would enable me to discover what true wisdom was.  As mentioned, however, I was being confronted more and more with the necessity of turning my life over to Jesus Christ; but I was resisting.  I didn't want to make such a commitment.  To do so, I would have to give up the very freedom I was learning to enjoy.  No more could I be in charge of my life.  And I would, I thought, have to become really religious, a prospect that held no appeal for me.  It would affect my associations, cramp my life-style, and cast life into a somber mood.  And yet--and this is what unsettled me the most at this stage--I knew that if I did not surrender my life to Christ, I could ultimately expect only an endless, dark eternity, completely and hopelessly forsaken by God with an excruciating torment of conscience.  Not that I expected to die soon, but with such a certain destiny looming before me, I would have to be very careful how I lived.  Accidents or disease could invade one's life at any time.  Life, at best, was a precarious venture.  And someday, sooner or later, the issue had to be faced: surrender, give your life to Christ; or die eternally.  I had a profound sense that time would keep marching on, and that the day of reckoning would surely come.

My discomfort level was rising as the struggle intensified.  Finally, on the morning of March 3, 1947, just after a huge blizzard had piled up snowdrifts like sand dunes on the Iowa countryside, the issue came to a head.  I had finished the morning milking and was feeding the cows.  The preacher on the barn radio was urging his listeners to give their hearts to Christ.  I was listening.  I was pondering it.  But, no, I couldn't do it.  It was too much for me to throw away my life for something that was not all that attractive to me.  On the other hand, eternity in hell was a terrifying thought too.  So there I was, in a no-win situation: either way I would lose.
            
I don't know whether I weighed the alternatives there that morning and came to a rational decision, or whether I finally conceded that God had me in a corner and there was no escape.  I think, the latter.  In any case, there in the aisle between the horse stalls and the milking area, I fell on my face, prostrate before God and wrestled with the decision of destiny.  To surrender, it seemed, would be leaping into the dark unknown, casting myself into the hands of a God I really suspected would enslave me.  But I had no choice.  The alternative of an eternity without him was even worse and downright terrifying.  In desperation, I guess, I took the leap.  I surrendered to the God who had me cornered.

Instantly, amazingly, the precise moment I yielded and said (in effect): "Okay, Lord, here I am," the lights of heaven went on and a most astounding, beautiful warmth and peace and sense of love, like a wave, washed over my whole being.  I sensed--almost saw--the brilliantly white-robed Jesus standing before me with arms extended.  I was totally and overwhelmingly surprised by this phenomenon.  When one plummets into a dark, unknown chasm, one hardly expects to land on a flowery, soft and lighted bed of delight.  But that is comparable to what happened with me.  I have no adequate way to describe what occurred.  In one moment, from aimless anxiety, unrest and uncertainty, I was instantly engulfed in a peace, tranquility and assurance such as I could never have imagined.  That experience was then, and remains to this day, the most dramatic, exhilarating, and thoroughly surprising one I have ever had.
           
I'm not sure how long I remained there in that prostrate position.  Not long, I think.  But when I arose I was a different person from the one who had fallen there a few moments before.  Somehow, now I could see clearly; whereas, before, I was blind.  Everything took on a new and meaningful dimension.  While I had always known this was God's world, I now could see it with the lights turned on and in color.  Even that ornery white-faced, high-strung cow that had so often enraged me by kicking my milk pail and, later, my milking machine, now became a creature of God which, I sensed, needed gentle handling.  The animals weren't just animals anymore, they were unique beings displaying the handiwork of a gracious Creator.

More important, people too would take on a new aura.  Previously, I tended to classify people as allies or rivals, as worthy of respect, or subject to indifference or scorn; all evaluations depending on how their lives impinged upon my own.  I would now see them as persons of worth in their own right because they were made in God's image.  Everything was different.  I was a new person living in a new world.  It was without question the greatest turning point of my life.  I would never be quite the same again after this great surprise.




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Chapter 19 The War Years



The War Years
"There will be wars and rumors of wars," Jesus predicted as he surveyed that expanse of time before he would return.  How true that has been and continues to be.  President Wilson in the Great War (World War I) promised that that would be "the war to end all wars," but two decades later the world would once again be engulfed in another massive conflict.
            
In 1936 Italian Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini grabbed the weak African nation of Ethiopia, and in Spain the Fascist General Franco overthrew the democratic government of that country in a bitter civil war.  In 1937 the Japanese invaded northern China.  These events received prominent coverage in the newspapers of those years and I was aware of them, but the dangers seemed far away.  By this time also, Hitler, in violation of the Treaty of Versailles, had built an impressive war machine in Germany and had moved troops into the Rhineland.  Britain and France, still reeling from the tremendous loss of life and crippling expense of the recent World War, trembled as they watched this little, dark-haired, mustached fanatic whip his countrymen into a frenzy, promising to restore Germany to pride and greatness again.  In 1938 Hitler and his Nazi party took over Austria, and then proceeded to demand the German-speaking Sudetenland from Czechoslovakia.
            
The world breathed easier for a time, however, when Hitler met with British and French leaders at Munich in September of 1938 and assured them that he only wanted to restore what was rightfully a part of Germany: Austria and the German-speaking regions of Czechoslovakia.  To avoid war, France and England agreed to yield to these demands, and British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain returned to England with the wonderful news that "we have achieved peace in our times."  But the next spring Hitler took all of Czechoslovakia, and the world suspected that it had a monster on its hands.
            
This suspicion was soon confirmed when in September 1939  Hitler blitzkrieged Poland, and within a month Poland had fallen.  By this time France and England, though woefully unprepared, had declared war on Germany.  The United States, still fondly nursing the illusion that we did not have to get involved in European wars, stood nervously by and watched with apprehension--watched as Hitler turned westward and successively overran Denmark, Norway, Holland and Belgium.

Meanwhile, back in Kanawha, Iowa, I was 11 years old and learning a lot about the geography of Europe.  The Des Moines Register, our daily newspaper, showed maps of what was happening every day.  I can still draw a fairly accurate map of Germany, resembling a wolf, crunching helpless Czechoslovakia between its huge jaws.  We followed events in the newspapers and heard the foreign news correspondents like Clifton Utley, H.B. Kaltenborn and Edward R. Murrow report on radio from various points in Europe.
            
In May of 1940 Hitler began his invasion of France.  Things were getting serious.  France, however, had a highly vaunted, fortified defense line called the Maginot Line, which ran diagonally accross France between Germany and Paris.  Surely it would stop the German tanks and troops and give Britain and France time to build up their forces in defense.  Hitler, however, seeing no gentlemanly reason to challenge the line, simply flew his bombers over it and skirted his troops around it through the Holland and Belgium.  Within weeks, France had fallen and Britain had suffered tremendous losses as it evacuated its troops from France in the Battle of Dunkirk.  Dark days had descended on England and on the world, and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill addressed the English people, giving one of the most inspiring speeches of all time, promising to "...fight on the beaches,... fight in the fields and in the streets,... fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."  Blood, sweat and tears, he said, would be their lot.  The major concern now was:  How soon would Hitler invade England itself?
            
By this time, many Americans were beginning to realize that our country would have to get involved in some way.  At least we could help supply England with guns and planes and tanks.   And we did, first by sale, and later, in the Lend-Lease program.  American factories began gearing up to produce these materials.  In the fall of 1940 the military draft was instituted and American young men began to be inducted into the Army or to join the Navy, Marines or Air Force.  If England should fall, would Hitler be content to stop there?  Or was he intent on world domination?  It was best to be prepared.
            
There was a lull in the conduct of the war as Hitler contemplated whether he could successfully invade and conquer England.  Meanwhile, he continued to bomb London and other cities night after night.  1940 merged into 1941. I was now a seventh grader.   Franklin Roosevelt had been elected to an unprecedented third term as President, defeating the Republican Wendell Willkie and vowing that American boys would not be sent into any foreign war.  Then, in the summer of 1941, Hitler made an astounding decision.  He decided to invade Russia.  After quick and easy successes which brought his troops almost to Leningrad and Moscow, Hitler's army bogged down and was later stifled by the severe Russian winter.
            
Meanwhile, our government was negotiating with Japan to get that country out of China; and we eventually cut off all shipments of steel, oil and gasoline to Japan.  Japan proceeded to strengthen its existing alliance with Germany and Italy, and their envoys continued to carry on talks with the United States Government.

December 7, 1941 was a moderately cold, cloudy day in Iowa.  Being a Sunday, we had gone to church that morning as was our custom.  That afternoon my parents and I visited with Uncle Ben and Aunt Annie Assink and the cousins on the old farm where I was born.  I, like my cousin Alvin, was in the eighth grade, and getting a bit too sophisticated to play cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers; but Helen and Harlan were younger; so with some toy six-shooters which fired with convincing blasts from powder caps, we engaged in what would prove to be our last episode of cops and robbers.  Alvin and I, the criminals, were hiding out in a grain bin of their corn crib when their older brother Henry intruded upon the scene.  We shot him several times, but after dutifully collapsing and quickly recovering, he informed us that we were at war.  The Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
    
The gray skies darkened a shade or two as we headed to the house to discover more details.  The radio was giving the unhappy description of the catastrophe which abruptly turned our world into one of gloom and apprehension.  Several important American battleships had been destroyed, many lives were lost, and most distressing to us, we had been helplessly unable to retaliate.  That night in church, Rev. Plesscher talked about it and prayed about it.  (Somewhat to my surprise, even he had listened to the radio that Sunday afternoon.)  People knew what this attack meant.  They knew that now our young men would certainly be involved in real war.  There was generally at that point, however, an unrealistic optimism. "Six weeks, maybe two months, and we would be able to bring the dirty Japs to their knees."  We were at war, but the U.S. had never lost a war, and we would make quick work of this one now that we were actually involved.
            
The following day President Roosevelt addressed Congress and called for a declaration of war on Japan, Germany and Italy.   In describing the Japanese attack on December 7 he said that the day "would live in infamy."  Contrary to popular, early expectations, however, the Japanese were not to be brought to their knees soon.  As a matter of fact, within six months Japan had conquered a good share of Southeast Asia including Guam, the Philippines, Indonesia, French Indo China (Vietnam) and a host of other islands.  Japan's position was solid, and the United States soon recognized that it would be a long war.

With the help of a history textbook to refresh my memory I could give an account of the progress of the war to its conclusion almost four years later.  I shall not do that.  The early events of the war seem especially significant to my story because they reveal how my life was so dramatically changed and affected by them.  As time passed, however, things settled down, the war moved along, and life continued in many ways almost as if there were no war.
            
We, of course, continued to monitor the progress of the campaigns and battles in the newspapers and by listening to the morning and evening news broadcasts on radio.  But our lives were most impacted by the absence of so many young men.  The United States Armed Forces were built up to include over 15 million men (and a few women).  Almost every male who could pass the physical was put into the armed forces.  Brother Harold, having had a heart murmur all his life, did not pass the physical and was classified 4-F.  Even before we officially entered the war he had gone to an aircraft school in Omaha, Nebraska to receive training to build planes.  Shortly thereafter he was employed by the Bell Aircraft Corporation in Buffalo, New York, building the P-39 fighter plane.  Harold continued working there until 1942 when he returned to Kanawha, bought a truck and became a trucker.  He married Nettie Christians on November 17 of that year.  Somewhat later, he became the manager of the Farmers Produce station in Kanawha.
            
Henry, much to his chagrin, was also first classified 4-F.  He had an enlargement on the side of his head, something he had had since he was born, but the examiners thought it to be a more serious problem.  As soon as possible, Henry headed off to the San Francisco area and worked in a shipbuilding yard.  Early in 1943 he was re-examined, passed the physical and joined the Navy.  After training on the east coast, he spent most of his time until the war ended serving as a radar operator on the battleship Alaska in the Pacific Fleet.
     
There were some farm boys who avoided the draft because they were needed on the farm.  To fortify that need, many farmers bought more land to insure that their sons could avoid serving in the military.  There was a general disapproval by the public against those who did that and the name "draft-dodger" was designated for such who valued their safety and security above the patriotic call to risk their lives in the service of their country.  Pa had given consideration to purchasing more land, but neither of his draft-age sons would have approved of such action.  As things turned out, people who avoided the draft were "winners" in more ways.  Not only were they guaranteed safety from the hazards of war, they also profited greatly from rapidly rising prices of farm products.  This prosperity left them in a good position after the war to purchase even more land and equipment to expand their agricultural operations.
           
Life in Iowa and most of the nation carried on quite routinely during the war.  No armies invaded our soil, no battles wreaked destruction of the countryside, no German or Japanese bombers ever ventured across the expansive oceans to disturb our tranquility.  The worst feature of the war, especially in the early stages, was the anxiety we all experienced about the eventual outcome of the war and, equally, of the safety of the friends and relatives in the armed forces fighting in faraway places.  One soldier from our church, Kort Delger, was killed in action, and two or three others from the town of Kanawha lost their lives as well.  Families with men in service proudly displayed in their front windows a little banner with a blue star on it.  When a gold star was shown, we knew that someone in that family had given his life in the cause of freedom.
            
There were inconveniences that we all experienced because of the war.  Since many products were hard to obtain either because supplies of them had been cut off by enemy control or because they were needed in the war effort, a system of rationing was introduced by the government.  Sugar was rationed, and to make it serve our family needs, Mom determined that each of us would be allowed one cup of sugar per week.  Honey or syrup was often used on our breakfast cereal to stretch the supply. 
            
Gasoline was drastically curtailed.  Most drivers were allotted four gallons per week, unless they could prove that their need for more was essential.  Farmers were allowed much more gasoline because they needed it for their tractors.  Tractor gas could also be used in cars and few farmers had scruples against diverting some of the tractor gas for automobile use.  Some farmers even helped out their fellow citizens with extra supplies of gasoline.  To help conserve the gasoline, auto speed limits were lowered to 35 miles per hour.  Loyal citizens helped to enforce that by giving the "V for victory" signal--3 short toots of the horn and a long toot--to those who passed them on the highway at obviously higher speeds.
            
Rubber, produced mostly in Southeast Asia, was almost impossible to obtain.  Synthetic rubber was used for most automobile tires and was of such poor quality that flat tires were frequent.  Two spare tires were not uncommon in the trunks of many cars.
            
Another material, hemp, used in the manufacture of rope, was also cut off during the war.  To substitute for the high quality Philippine hemp a related hemp product was introduced into northern Iowa in 1943.  It grew six to eight feet tall and was ready to harvest in the month of November.  Because there was no machinery to bundle it for shipment to market, high school students were let out of school for several days to bundle it and load it on to trucks to be sent to processing plants.  This was also an opportunity for me as a sophomore to make good money since farmers paid about 75 cents per hour for our efforts.  Years later I would learn that the name for this hemp plant was Cannabis or, more popularly, Marijuana. 

The course of the war gradually shifted in favor of the Allies (the good guys).  The American army had grown immensely and had become trained for action.  War materials--tanks, planes, bombs, guns--were rolling off our assembly lines in phenomenal quantities.  By June 6, 1944 we were able to launch a massive invasion of northern Europe on the French coast.  D-Day, the name given to the day of the invasion, had finally arrived.  I heard the news on the radio early that morning and remember distinctly reflecting on the turn of events as I walked to the pasture to get the cows.  The corn in the adjacent field was already five or six inches tall that sunny morning, and the future looked more promising than it had for a long time.  It would now be only a matter of time before the enemy would be defeated and the war would end.
            
And that end would come within a year.  Although there had been stiff fighting, especially at the Battle of the Bulge in December of that year, the Germans were on the run.  VE Day (Victory in Europe Day) came on May 8, 1945.  I remember that day vividly because we learned of it during a high school baseball game against Britt in which I, now a Junior, pitched a one-hitter.
            
With the war in Europe over, the Allies could now devote their undivided attention to the war against Japan, which still held out in the Pacific War theater.  Japan was already being pushed back, however.  The Philippines had been retaken, as had much of Southeast Asia.  On August 6, 1945, while I was drinking orange nectar during the afternoon break in the farm work, we heard on the radio the news of an awesomely, devastating bomb having been dropped on Hiroshima, Japan.  Three days later a similar bomb was dropped on Nagasaki.  The world knew the end had come for Japan, and that was confirmed when on August 14 Japan officially surrendered.  Henry could soon come home.
            
The long war was over.  The greatest, most massive alignment of opposing forces ever to have taken place had ended.  The world could return to sanity and pursue more noble purposes again.  At least that was the fond hope entertained by most.  Our church, and I think other churches too, gathered that evening for a service of thanksgiving and prayer.  Later the whole town assembled on main street and a bonfire was lit to celebrate the
happy occasion.

And how was my life affected by World War II?  I've mentioned some of the things in the pages above, but did it shape me in any significant way to make me a different person than what I would have been?  These are difficult questions to answer.  Who really knows how the forces bearing on one's life really affect him.  I suspect that in waiting for the long conflict to end, I may have learned something about taking the long view, knowing that goals are not achieved in a day and that big changes don't occur instantaneously.  Certainly, I learned more about the world and its peoples.  And I learned more about what the larger community means, because so much of what went on during the war affected us in community beyond the family and the church community.  But more important than how my own life was affected, were the enormous changes that would occur in the world and society as a whole.  The world was thrown together, and that, with the enormous advances in technology the war brought about, would mean the beginning of our world becoming a global village.  And this would bring a new perspective to our lives forever.

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