Hometown hero
Friends and family remember Kevin Bewley
By Janie Ginocchio
Reporter

HECTOR — Three days after his son’s death in Iraq, the reality finally sank in for Ron “Duke” Bewley.
“It’s the worst day of my life,” the mourning father told The Courier on Thursday afternoon. “I haven’t been to sleep in three days.”

Kevin Bewley, 27, was a naval petty officer serving in the elite Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Mobile Unit 11 when he died Monday from wounds sustained from a bomb that detonated in Sala ad Din Province, according to an Associated Press account. Sitting inside his modest brick home on State Highway 124, Duke Bewley is dressed in overalls, unshaven, with a boy’s blue cap — Kevin’s, from when he played baseball — perched on his head.

 

A stream of visitors have come to see Duke since the news broke, and on this afternoon the living room is full of people: J. Patrick Bewley, Bewley’s oldest son; Jeff Swanson, who was Kevin’s roommate and in the same EOD unit; Andrew Levy, also in Kevin’s unit; and a family friend.
The conversation, once started, moved easily as the assembled group talked about Kevin.
Duke, leaning forward in a recliner, his little dog Amigo nestled at the small of his back, recounted the last time he saw his son. He and J. Patrick visited Kevin at his duty base, Whitbey Island Naval Air Station, located outside Oak Harbor, Wash. It was shortly before Kevin shipped out to Iraq for the second and last time.

“We got to the airport, and Kevin said, ‘Are you going on that plane?’” he said. “I told him I had to, because Patrick had already taken the car. He said, ‘I hate to tell you this, Dad, but every third plane on that airline crashes.’”  A bark of laughter erupted from the group. “He was hugging me and he wouldn’t let me go,” Duke said. “He said, ‘When I get home, let’s go out to Montana.’ I said OK. I told him he better let me go because I didn’t want to be on the last seat of that little plane.
“Of course, I had to take the last seat. I looked out the window and there he was, grinning, saying, ‘last seat.’ That was the last time I saw him.”

One last call
Duke said Kevin called after he arrived in Iraq.
“He got the answering machine, and he said, ‘Yo, Dad, pick up. If you’re not going to pick up, tell Amigo to pick up.’” Duke paused, catching his breath. “That was the last time I heard from him.”
The laughter died down and the silence settled heavily on the group. Reflected on the faces of those present was the realization that Kevin was gone. J. Patrick broke the silence. “He loved to be outside,” he said. “He loved backpacking — I think he’d rather be outside than inside.”
“He had a zest for life,” Levy added.

A new line of conversation started, and Duke and J. Patrick told a story about the three of them driving to the Arctic Circle in a four-wheel drive. “Is this when you had the backpacks and your dad had the suitcase on wheels?” Swanson asked. “We drove to Mount McKinley and camped,” Duke said. “There was moose droppings all over the ground, so I sat on the suitcase in the tent.”  “Dad drove us 27 miles into the Denali National Forest and dropped us off and we ran back,” J. Patrick said. “We got out of the brush, though, because it was mating season for the moose.”
“I said, ‘You boys are crazy.’” Duke said.

Later on in the trip, the trio made it to the Arctic Ocean. “It was 28 degrees outside,” Duke said. “Our guide said if anyone wanted to swim, they had towels. I stayed in the bus, but those two —”
“Kevin and I were standing at the edge of the Arctic Ocean, and he looks at me and we look at each other, and I said, ‘Are you going to get in?’” J. Patrick said. “He said, ‘I’ve got to, I’m a diver.’ So we stripped down to our underwear and took turns wading in about waist deep.”  Duke shook his head and laughed.
“The bus driver said, ‘Do you see those two out there? I was just kidding about going swimming!’”
J. Patrick said they camped at the Arctic Circle. Duke added that a federal marshal came by and told them a white wolf in the area had attacked a woman and run down a man on a motorcycle, knocking him off the bike.

 

He asked if the men had a gun. Duke said he didn’t think they even had a penknife.
“Kevin was like, ‘Cool!’” J. Patrick said with a laugh. “He was smearing ham on the picnic table.”
“I said, ‘How are we going to outrun a wolf?’ Kevin said, ‘Dad, all he have to do is outrun you.’” Duke said.

Another sharp silence and Duke’s mind turned to the war.
“The man on Channel 4 said I made a strong statement,” he said, his eyes watering slightly, his voice breaking a little as he continued. “All I said was, if we’re going to fight, we need to fight to win. I don’t want another American family to go through what we’re going through.”
“The Navy EOD unit Kevin belonged to is a top-notch, elite unit that’s disarmed hundreds of roadside bombs in Iraq, saving hundreds of American lives and thousands of Iraqi lives,” J. Patrick told a reporter sitting with the group. “Kevin absolutely believed in that mission whole-heartedly. That service meant something to him, and it gave him a chance to save lives that most people never get. That is one of things he would want to be remembered for.”
Swanson nodded his head in agreement.

J. Patrick said Kevin dreamed of being in the military as part of a special operations team since he was 15. He said Kevin learned about the EOD unit while in basic training. “From that point, that’s exactly where he wanted to go,” J. Patrick said. “He loved the military life,” Swanson said. “Even when he wasn’t working, he was watching the military channel, reading about it.” “He was a student of history,” J. Patrick added. “He knew every major battle from every major war.

 

He completed a U.S. Civil War and American West course at Columbia University through correspondence when he was in Iraq the first time.” “He could give you the trajectory of every bullet not currently in use,” Levy said. “He was just a walking encyclopedia,” J. Patrick said. Swanson said he’s known Kevin since Swanson joined the unit in 2004. “That’s a lifetime because we spend so much time together,” he said. “There’s only about 80 people in the whole unit.”

A unit that has lost six members in Iraq this year, including Kevin.
“It never gets any easier,” he said.
Swanson said he was on leave, deer hunting in Michigan when he got the call about Kevin.
“The Navy flew me down,” he said. “The command is really good about that — they sent me and [Levy] down, and there are more guys from the unit who will be here. Now we’re just waiting for Kevin to come back.” In the last silence, another visitor arrived. He’s a family friend, a lawyer, and the talk turned to funeral arrangements and arrangements for Kevin’s daughter — whom he adored, Swanson said — now that her father is gone. It’s a tangible, prosaic reminder of how the end of one life inexorably alters the lives of those left behind.

 

 

Whidbey sailor killed in Iraq

By Erik Lacitis

Seattle Times staff reporter

He didn't have family in this area — Petty Officer 2nd Class Kevin R. Bewley was from the little town of Hector, Ark. — but he was among the thousands of enlisted Navy personnel who for a year or two make Whidbey Island their home.

Petty Officer Bewley, 27, died Monday while performing one of the more dangerous duties in Iraq.

He was part of an Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team, and he died of wounds suffered when a bomb detonated while he was conducting operations in Salah ad Din province, said the Navy.

Petty Officer Bewley was a member of EOD Mobile Unit 11, based at the Naval Air Station at Whidbey Island. So far, out of 160 members in the group, six have been killed in Iraq, said a spokeswoman for the base.

His father, Ron Bewley, of Hector, said, "Let me tell you, man, it's hard to bury your boy when he gets killed in Iraq. ... My son's name is Kevin Ronald Bewley. He was born April 18, 1980. He was born at St. Mary's Hospital in Russellville, Ark. He weighed 7 pounds, 6 ounces. I'm his daddy."

Petty Officer Bewley was part of a tight-knit group of EOD members, said his brother, Jay Patrick Bewley, 32, a San Francisco consultant.

 

"It's very much a brotherhood in his unit. They were all transplants," said Jay Bewley.

The brothers loved to travel together; they made a driving trek to the Arctic Circle.

"We lived our lives with no regrets. We took a trip at every opportunity. We did things together. There was nothing left unsaid. It was just the way we lived," Jay Bewley said.

After first joining the National Guard, Petty Officer Bewley joined the Navy in November 2001. He already had served a deployment in Iraq in 2006. "He literally had disarmed hundreds of bombs. Each one he disarmed saved someone's life," Jay Bewley said.

 

In addition to his brother and father, Petty Officer Bewley is survived by his mother, Connie Whitaker of Greenbrier, Ark.; and his daughter, McKinnzie Bewley of San Antonio.

Although the Navy news release said Petty Officer Bewley died when a bomb detonated, his brother said the Navy told him Bewley had disarmed two bombs when there was small-arms fire.

"That's important," said the brother. "He did his job right."

Services will be held in Arkansas. Details are pending.

 

 

Sailors laud their fallen comrade

By Paul Boring

Dec 01 2007

 

The same pool of adjectives invariably surface when describing the mettle of a fallen sailor. Although evocative, it is the uncontrollable tears from men trained to disarm bombs that speak clearly to the true character of the deceased.

Petty Officer 2nd Class Kevin Bewley was killed Nov. 5 in Iraq, the sixth member of Explosive Ordnance Disposal Mobile Unit 11 to be called on to make the ultimate sacrifice.

A memorial held Tuesday at Whidbey Island Naval Air Station rendered otherwise articulate sailors almost speechless. The 27-year-old Arkansas native led by example, his dedication and genuine enthusiasm leaving no room for posturing. EODMU-11 became his second family.“This role was perfectly suited for him,” said Cmdr. Joseph DiGuardo, Commanding Officer, EODMU-11. “Even as he came to understand the full magnitude of his new career and the enormity of the responsibility, he never faltered.”

 

The consummate rugged outdoorsman with minimalist bent, Bewley was a MacGyver-esque EOD technician. “He sought out ways to do his job better with less, knowing that sometimes when performing dangerous tasks in a barren desert some 3,000 miles away, he would need to rely on his wits and ingenuity to survive,” DiGuardo said.

 

Bewley performed his duties flawlessly on Nov. 5. He was equipped with technology and refined skills. DiGuardo said on that day the “enemy got a vote” and “evil triumphed over good.” The sailor’s memory, like the memory of his fallen brothers, serves to reinforce the nation’s resolve, regardless of one’s view of the geographically distant conflict.“The war in which our nation is embroiled is not over,” the commander said. “The example Kevin has set is not lost. He was our brother, A member of the sacred fellowship sworn to defend our Constitution. And within that fellowship he was a hero, one of the nation’s greatest sons.

 

His courage and character have branded the hearts of each and every one of us.”

Bewley’s military performance gained him respect among his peers. But it was his personality and vitality that will make “KB” live on in their minds and hearts. EOD Master Chief Dale Rock read letters sent by other team members specifically for the memorial. Rock’s sometimes wavering voice more than adequately expressed the emotion wrought by the EOD members’ words.

“In all my years in the Navy, I’ve never met a man who exuded such positive energy,” one sailor wrote. “He didn’t bother with negativity. He didn’t have any room for it . . . Simply put, KB was the man.”

“He was a beacon of sanity in an insane world,” another EOD team member wrote. “No one will ever know how many lives he saved.”

 

“He never criticized,” Rock read from a letter. “He was never anyone’s judge.”

The master chief himself described Bewley as a quiet man who commanded listeners when he chose to speak. He also praised the petty officer on his preternatural ability to grow formidable facial hair. At one point his follicle-rich face was a “mix of Grizzly Adams and Elvis Presley.”

Petty Officer 1st Class Brian Stanley could not put into words a description that did justice to Bewley. One had to experience the young man to fully appreciate his quirkiness and what came to be known as “KB-isms.”

 

“Everything KB did was unique to him, was unique to the time that he did them,” Stanley said.

A common thread among those closest to Bewley noted his pride in being a father. Stanley recalled his friend and peer telling him about an improvised bedtime story he gave his 4-year-old daughter when she visited NAS Whidbey. Refusing to reread a story, Bewley, true to form, improvised and read from Field & Stream. He never heard a complaint.

“KB cherished his daughter and he cherished the responsibility of being a father,” Stanley said.

After losing five EOD team members, Stanley was not prepared for tragedy to strike again. He did, however, take the time before Bewley left on his second deployment to impart to the young sailor how much he cared for him.

 

Petty Officer 2nd Class Jeffrey Swanson could not doubt Bewley’s happiness in the afterlife. His brother, Patrick, attended the memorial and Swanson lauded his commitment to his sibling, with whom he had shared many adventures. “Today I know that KB is happy,” Swanson said. “Patrick is making good on his promise to take care of his little girl.”

 

Rear Adm. Michael Tillotson, Deputy Commander, Naval Expeditionary Combat Command, said Bewley’s family cherishes his memory, finding solace in the knowledge that he died “doing what he wanted to do.”

“They’re not being tied down by the loss, they are thriving on it,” Tillotson said.

Bewley was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart and Bronze Star.