#189, It Came Just The Same Part II

December 4, 2017

You look out at the fence, and you are a little surprised at what you see. Or perhaps you stare out ahead of your airplane, and what you encounter stirs emotions that were completely unexpected. Normally it would have been so easy not to notice, but you did notice, and now you have a choice to make. You can keep your head down and do what you had planned, or you can choose another path. It would be easy to let this moment pass right by. You are busy and have so many things to do, and nobody would question you if you just went ahead and did what was expected. Now, however, you are confronted with the decision to follow your earlier plans or else take a different path, and your choice may impact someone else’s life, or possibly even your own. In that decisive moment, when it would be easy for you to do what you are “supposed to do,” what do you do?

For many years I have made chocolate chip muffins for breakfast on Sunday morning. We are always in a rush getting ready for church, and that was something the boys would eat that was easy to throw in the oven while I went and did other things. I have made them so many years I do not even read the bag, I just pour in the muffin mix, add an egg, some oil, and a half a cup of milk, and put them in the oven for 16 minutes while I go get ready. For years this has been the foolproof breakfast for busy Sunday mornings. Then the other day I made some and when I opened the oven I found a batch of really nice chocolate chip hockey pucks. They didn’t look anything like muffins, and everything was wrong about them. I thought in my rush I must have just done something wrong and figured I would be more careful the next time. Then when Sunday came around, I got another batch of hockey pucks. Now I was curious about how something I had done right for so many years was suddenly all wrong. I grabbed the bag and checked the instructions on the back, and they were nothing like the instructions I had always used, and didn’t sound anything like how to make a muffin. So I flipped the bag over, and on the front right where it used to say “muffins” it said “cookies,” accompanied by a nice photo of a plate of cookies. The bags were similar, but in my rush of the morning I had not noticed something that was obvious and right in front of me that made a big difference. Messing up a batch of muffins is not particularly monumental, but it reminded me how much can be missed when I get so busy that I am just “doing” without observing or being thoughtful, or I am just “looking” without “seeing,” and I don’t take time to notice all that is around me. I will say, however, that if you want a good recipe for chocolate hockey pucks I have one now.

This time of year it is very easy to get so busy following our schedule, packing in events and meeting our deadlines that we can miss the opportunities that are right in front of us. We have so many year-end tasks to accomplish at work, we have orders to get processed and shipped, and plans for next year to get put in place. Outside work, we have parties, school plays, school chorus and band performances, ball games, concerts, and hundreds of things to do. It is easy to get everything scheduled and follow the planned routine, and all the while be missing amazing things that could be going on all around at work or at home. The opportunities we have to make a difference to a customer, to someone we work with, or even to a complete stranger could pass right by unnoticed like those falling leaves blowing in the breeze. A chance to make work better, or make someone’s life better, might be as obvious as the photo on that muffin bag, but if I don’t take the time to look and notice I can completely miss it. So I enjoy stories that remind me of folks who chose the unplanned path; who could have followed the routine and been too busy to notice, but who paused and reflected long enough to think about how their choices could impact others.

Franz Stigler could have told us a lot about pausing and observing. I would have loved to have the opportunity to talk to him, because that is exactly what he did even in a moment when the “rules” and his own personal motivations would have suggested otherwise. Video interviews, numerous magazine articles, and a book titled “A Higher Call” tell the amazing story of this young German fighter pilot. Mr. Stigler had lost his brother in the war, so he was seeking revenge every time he climbed into the cockpit to take on an Allied plane. He was very successful in his quest, as he had flown hundreds of missions and only needed to take down one more bomber in order to be awarded the Knights Cross. He was probably quite surprised that he didn’t have to go look for that bomber, as just before Christmas of 1943 an enemy plane came into view.  Charlie Brown, a young West Virginian, was flying one of his first missions as a pilot of a B-17 bomber, and that mission had not gone well. His plane was shot up, and as he limped back across Germany trying to reach the safety of Allied territory, he passed right over an airfield where Mr. Stigler was refueling. Franz sprang into action, pursuing the American bomber that was sputtering over the German skies. He knew just what to do, and he knew how to do it; there was very little to think about as he chased down his foe. But something happened. Mr. Stigler in his interview tells about how as he closed in for the attack, with his finger hovering over the trigger, he paused. He came closer and saw that the gunner in the back was slumped over and appeared to be gone. It was apparent that the plane was badly damaged, and he could see in the open holes of the shot-up fuselage that the living crewmen were caring for the wounded and dead. And in that moment, as he paused in the very act of doing what he was trained and commanded to do, his heart melted and that desire for revenge vanished. Suddenly he felt compassion for his adversary; men he saw who were on the “other side” but who were just like him, or just like the brother he had lost. His hands left the trigger, and as he pulled alongside Charlie Brown’s plane their eyes met. He could see the young American pilot was afraid and was struggling to keep his damaged plane in the air.  Amazingly, Mr. Stigler then used his German plane to shield the American bomber from further German anti-aircraft attacks. He guided Charlie Brown and his crew over the North Sea and back toward the safety of England. Charlie Brown would see that Christmas after all, and go on to see dozens more, all because Franz Stigler paused.

Franz Stigler and Charlie Brown would not meet for many years. After the war, Mr. Stigler moved to Canada, and Mr. Brown returned to the US. The interviews of them meeting are heartwarming, as Mr. Stigler recounts how in that moment Charlie replaced his own brother. It is an amazing story of compassion, and of the difference one can make in another’s life when you stop, pause and notice. The simple thing to do was to shoot. His instructions were to shoot, his own motivation told him to shoot, and if he had just followed his normal routine in the heat of battle it would have been second nature to take that shot. But for some reason, one we may never fully understand, Franz made a different choice in that moment of decision. Perhaps it was the spirit of the holidays that came upon him while flying in the cold winters’ skies over a battle-scarred land. It may have been the spirit of compassion and goodness that always lived inside of him, but had been muted by the trials of war. Or maybe he recalled the words of an earlier commander, one who had instructed his recruits to show respect and decency toward their adversary. Whatever intervened as Franz closed in on that cold December day, it made all the difference in both he and Charlie’s lives.

While Franz Stigler and Charlie Brown were flying the skies of World War II Europe, a different young Charlie sat in a small school-house in the tiny town of Lyons, Kansas, probably wishing he was there. Born on a Creek reservation in Oklahoma, his family had moved to quiet, rural Rice County where he attended a one-room school. After high-school, he joined the air force and was soon stationed at Bergstrom Air Force Base near Austin, Texas. There he met a high-school girl named Marian working at the local pharmacy, and when you hear her stories you get a sense of what remarkable people they both were. She told me that as soon as she graduated in 1950, she and Charlie were married and over the next two years had two children. Then in 1952 Charlie was deployed to Korea.

It is easy to focus on the strength, sacrifice and sense of duty shown by those who go off to war overseas. However, what we probably fail to recognize enough is the bravery and strength demonstrated by those who are left behind. Marian, still in her late-teens or possibly early-twenties, suddenly found herself thrust into the temporary role of being a single parent to two very small children. There would be no spouse coming home in the evening to help do chores, or to entertain the kids a few minutes so the other parent can take a break, take a walk, or take a shower.  Trying to keep up with a two-year old is tough even when there is help. Those thoughts of Marian courageously maintaining the home and raising their two small children alone probably came to mind often as Charlie faced that cold Korean Christmas of 1953. Perhaps those memories of his own children inspired him when he looked out at the fence surrounding the area where he was working, and found himself facing a moment of decision.

Charlie’s story began with his anticipation of a Christmas dinner at Kimpo Air Base in South Korea. Turkey was supposedly being flown in from Japan, and the troops were excited about the idea of a hot, traditional holiday dinner during a time when their minds would be drifting back toward the memories of home. But Charlie was a senior radio technician, and on Christmas Eve they received word that an important beacon used to guide aircraft near the North Korean border had gone down, and he would have to travel several hours to repair it. Realizing he would now miss that highly-anticipated Christmas dinner, he grabbed cartons of cigarettes and two bottles of bourbon to have his own party on a remote hillside with the handful of soldiers guarding the site. But as he worked on the equipment, he noticed something he had not expected:

“When I arrived on site, we immediately started working on the radio equipment. During the late afternoon, I noticed that a lot of Korean orphan kids were standing outside the fence begging for food. The guys didn’t seem to be paying much attention, and were even sort of sheepish about the situation. GIs are usually so generous, I couldn’t understand what was happening. After the equipment was restored and working properly, I finally asked the NCO in charge, a very young sergeant, what was going on with the kids. He told me they were orphans living in caves up above the site and fending for themselves. He said they come every day begging for food, and we have given them everything we could spare plus more, and now we really don’t have enough left for ourselves.”

Only 22 years old, far from home, missing Marian and his two children, and missing out on a hot turkey dinner back at Kimpo, Charlie could have just kept his head down and gone about his work. But that wasn’t the kind of person he was. Along that long path that led him from an Oklahoma reservation, to a small town in Kansas, to a dusty air base near Austin, and now to a snow mountaintop in Korea, it is evident Charlie had maintained a sense of goodness and compassion for others that had not left him even during a time of war. Here is what happened next:

“So instead of celebrating Christmas Eve with those two precious bottle of CC, we took off for the supply point. We traded our two bottles of CC for a jeep load of rations and headed back to the site. On Christmas day the guys invited the kids in, and we heated up C rations and all had a Christmas feast of sorts with Spam, Lima beans, etc. We had a communications receiver tuned into Armed Forces Radio playing Christmas tunes loudly and some of the guys were trying to teach the Korean kids to sing hymns with them. Every box of C rations had cookies and the guys gave those to the children for Christmas presents.”

Charlie wrote that he would finally have his turkey dinner the following year, but nothing measured up to that snowy Christmas day spent with those Korean kids. Charlie eventually left Korea, and over the course of his long career in the Air Force rose to the rank of Colonel before he retired to a ranch near Austin. But sadly, the war in Korea followed him home. While planning their 65th anniversary celebration, he lost his battle with the Agent Orange he had been exposed to during the war, and he was taken once more from his beloved Marian. Just as when Charlie was away during that cold Korean Christmas, Marian has had to once again pick up the load and lead her family on. As she and I have exchanged messages, I can tell that she is a remarkable person with an incredible strength of character, probably a character that they helped develop in each other and that they shared with their own children. From the words she shared with me, I believe there is no doubt that the light they shared still shines brightly and is seen in her life by their family and friends. As she described the classes they did together at their church, and the times he spent with kids and grand-kids with activities, you almost feel he is still there with her helping her write about their life together. And as we approach the holidays, she will once again fulfill the same role she did some 65 years ago of being the rock back home, while Charlie is probably watching over her and looking after hungry children from somewhere above.

Over the coming days you will no doubt find yourself busy with work and all the other activities that accompany this time of year. During those busy days, when we have so much to do, it is often difficult to notice the opportunities that are all around. It is easy to keep our heads down and keep pushing forward, fulfilling the obligations on our calendar and getting things done. But what might happen if you were to pause and gaze ahead out over your own horizon, or look about at those imaginary fences around you? Could there be an opportunity to make a difference right there nearby, just waiting for you to rise to the occasion? Is there another Charlie or Marian at your place of work or in your own neighborhood, just waiting to inspire you? Could another Franz Stigler be passing you by, and you never pause to hear their story or learn how amazing they are? How many situations call for you to be a Charlie, a Marian, or a Franz and inspire the people you know at work, the customers you talk to throughout the year, and the folks you pass on your way back home in the evening? Could there be people around you that find themselves like those soldiers on that Korean hilltop, wanting to do something but not knowing exactly what to do until you show them the way? It may not take much for you to make all the difference in the world.

We all have our routines and can get so caught up in being busy, that in our hurry we don’t notice the amazing opportunities that are often close by. Don’t let the busy times distract you from your time when you were meant to make a difference. Just pause and look… an awesome day may be right there waiting for you.

Have a great week.

Randy

Sources:

A Higher Call, Adam Makos, 2012  Dutton Calibre

A 1952 Korean War Christmas Story, Charlie Nelson, Rockne Historical Association

Cnn.com; Two enemies discover a higher call in battle; John Blake, 3/9/2013

Time; A Christmas Story, But Not By Charles Dickens; Mark Thompson 12/20/12

Warhistoryonline.com; The story behind Charlie Brown & Franz Stigler; McLaughlin, 12/3/14

Youtube.com Interviews with Franz Stigler and Charlie Brown

Photo source: google images, cnn.com and Marian Nelson