A BROTHER IN THE MAKING

Durward Warren Owen was born on August 30, 1930, in the foothills of Virginia, just as the Great Depression tightened its grip on the country. His parents, George and Gladys Owen, were hardworking, faith-driven millworkers who lived modestly but gave generously. The Owens didn't have much, but they had enough.

Their home on Stewart Street was humble but overflowing with love and lessons: show up, do the right thing and look out for your neighbors. The family’s weeks were marked by long shifts and Sundays spent in the church pews in the Belmont Christian Church. When the Owen family’s second son, Dotson, was born in 1939, Durward instinctively took to the role of big brother. In this close-knit household, the ideals of service, faith and responsibility first took root, which would forever shape Durward’s view on life.

As a young boy, Durward found early glimpses of brotherhood among his neighborhood friends. In the backyard ballfields of his working-class neighborhood, there were no uniforms or formal leagues, just one hat, one ball and a pack of boys who showed up every day to play. Nicknamed "Sticks by his teammates, his skinny stature made him an unusual but impressive choice for a catcher. What he lacked in size, he made up for in grit and presence. Baseball taught him discipline, teamwork and resilience, the same qualities he'd watched his parents model at home. By the time Durward reached high school, his dedication to the sport earned him a scholarship to Roanoke College, opening the door for him to become a first-generation college student.

Durward began his college journey at Roanoke College in 1949, attending for nearly a year and a half before the world had other plans. In those early semesters, he connected with a group of men whose shared values and quiet ambition mirrored his own. On October 29, 1950, he joined the Xi Chapter of Pi Kappa Phi. The men of Xi Chapter weren’t the flashiest on campus but they were steady, driven and grounded in shared ideals. To Durward, the values these men held dear felt familiar; they believed in commitment, character and being part of something greater than themselves. In them, he saw something familiar: brotherhood, yes, but also accountability. The kind of group that expected something of you and helped you live up to it.

Though his time with the chapter was initially brief, the experience made a strong impression. The ritual, the camaraderie and the sense of purpose resonated with him deeply. But, in 1951, with the Korean War escalating, like many young men of his generation, Durward felt called to serve his country. He set aside his college dreams and fraternity membership and enlisted in the United States Air Force.

Stationed at Sandia Air Force Base in New Mexico, Durward worked with the Armed Forces Special Weapons Project, helping maintain fifth-generation nuclear weapons such as the M-5 bomb. He held a Class Q security clearance, and therefore, a level of trust and responsibility that made him an asset to the Air Force, a man they did not want to lose. The Air Force had plans for him, but Durward had a different path in mind.

He felt a dissonance between his assignment and the type of service he believed in. He respected the work and his duty to his country but sensed a different calling. In an almost unheard-of move, Durward requested a transfer to the United States Army. Transfers between branches were rare, and approvals even rarer, but Durward understood that sometimes, the right door could be opened not because of policies but by people.

No one could have predicted just how far that commitment would carry him, or how far he would carry it.

Looking through the officer directory at Sandia, one name stood out: Major Harvey P. Apperson, Jr., the personnel officer for all Air Force personnel. Years earlier, as a page at the Virginia State Capitol, and stayed at the home of the then-State Attorney General Harvey P. Apperson, Sr. So, Durward guessed, Major Apperson might be his son.

With this information in mind, Durward arranged an appointment with Major Apperson. Upon arriving, Apperson was curious why he had made the meeting, and Durward told him about his desire to transfer. Apperson replied that a transfer was impractical for many reasons. Apperson asked once again, “Why did you come to see me?” Durward responded, “Because you are a Virginian and so am I.” By the end of their conversation, Apperson had arranged Durward’s transfer from the United States Air Force to the United States Army. It wasn’t logic that swayed Apperson, but shared roots, mutual respect and the sincerity of a young man who knew where he belonged. On October 29, 1951, Durward received his honorable discharge from the Air Force and stepped into a new chapter with the United States Army.

When his active service in the Army ended in 1952, Durward returned home, not as a wide-eyed teenager anymore, but as a man shaped by service, structure and sacrifice. College was still calling, and once again, he would answer. Pursuing a political science degree, he returned to campus not as a freshman looking to find his way but as someone already walking college life for the second time with a new perspective and focus. This time, he didn’t just rejoin campus life; he became a leader within it. He reconnected with his brothers in Pi Kappa Phi and soon stepped into a greater role, serving as the chapter’s archon.

The Xi Chapter had been struggling to find its footing on campus. Under his leadership, the chapter found new energy and direction. Durward helped refocus the group’s efforts, encouraged campus involvement and invited feedback instead of issuing orders. He mentored younger members, not by lecturing them, but by walking alongside them, grounded in the belief that lasting impact comes from collective effort. In a letter he wrote to the national office as archon, he showed vulnerability in saying, “This is another one of those letters in which I am asking for a favor,” never too proud to ask for help as he worked toward positive change.

By the time he graduated in 1955, the Xi Chapter had transformed. It was stronger, more unified and poised for continued growth. So was Durward.

After graduation, Durward remained in Roanoke and supported the chapter when he could, giving his time, wisdom and occasionally the money from his own wallet to help Xi keep growing stronger. His constant presence reminded the undergraduate brothers that brotherhood doesn’t end when college does; it evolves.

No one could have predicted just how far that commitment would carry him, or how far he would carry it. In hindsight, the signs were there: a man who leveraged connections to achieve his goals, a catcher who never missed a game with his teammates and a chapter leader who saw potential when others were complacent.

The foundation was in place.

The next chapter of Durward’s story –and Pi Kappa Phi’s – was just beginning.