Dad and I sat on that couch for most of the afternoon. A conversation that I had expected to last only a few minutes, covering selected memories of his service years, actually began on the morning of December 7, 1941, and ended with his return from the Pacific campaign to his boyhood home in Ojai, California.Between lunch and dinner that cold day in Bieber, California, I learned more about my dad than I had ever known in stolen summers that spanned over fifty years. I was thrilled beyond belief to have had this opportunity, until I suddenly realized that I was the only one who would ever really know the details he had just shared. Shells exploded in my ears and smoke burned my eyes, as I sat listening to Dad recount his experiences so long ago. The heat from flamethrowers singed my arms and the moans of the dying wrenched my heart. I hung on every word he spoke. And throughout that afternoon, Dad's countenance never changed as he moved from the horrors of battle to the adventures and comedic episodes of mainland Japan occupation. Once a Marine, always a Marine.What we created was not only a living memory of his existence, but also a cornerstone of pride for me, my children, and my children's children yet to come. In these following pages, I have reported Dad's experiences as he remembered them. I have taken the liberty to correct spelling, verb tenses, and punctuation, because I had always encouraged Dad to simply get his words on paper and forget about errors while he recreated his story night after night.Sometimes he only shared a few sentences during nightly phone conversations, while other times he would read to me several pages in machine gun cadence. But whether a few words, paragraphs, or pages, the pride was always evident in his voice. I often ended these calls with a random tear streaming down my face.As you read these following pages, I would urge you to consider the specific details of recollection, as well as the emotions that each of these memories creates.Dad was eighty years old when he wrote the recollections of a sixteen year old high school sophomore. He was also eighty years old when he recounted with unbelievable detail his experiences in the war. Be amazed by his service, but also be moved by his valued and detailed memories. They all made the man ...It is my strongest desire to share this pride with you and it is my most humble wish that these recollections let Floyd Dowell, Jr. live on in your hearts as he does in mine. Semper Fi, Dad.Daniel Scott Dowell
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