I love Kansas City!

I finally figured out why I love Kansas City so much.

Yes, it's a great town. Big city with a small town feel. The West! Bar-b-que, steak, cowboys. But for me, when I was a kid, we would travel to KC during the holidays. When I was at Kemper, we would come up for special events; parades, the American Royal, concerts, ball games. Things like that.

I remember my first concert; it was at the American Royal. I remember seeing Crystal Gail. I made it to near the stage when she sang "Don't it Make My Brown Eyes, Blue" and all the flash bulbs going off, her long hair and her voice. Not to mention before we had paraded in Kansas City and also presented the colors. I remember my friend Webb taking pictures of her and him giving me one. Then the long bus ride back.

Also the Shrine Circus and lights popping there also. Like miniature suns exploding in the darkness of night.

I remember seeing the Royals play the Texas Rangers.

I remember going to Worlds of Fun for senior night, and hanging with Miner. And meeting some girls that we hooked up with for the rest of the time there. The Scream Roller and the view of the skyline.

All of these and more; Christmas lights, Thanksgiving with family, the travel to and from the farm, stopping at Nickerson's Farm and then when I was old enough; for me to drive up here on my own. Quick Trip, which hadn't made it to Columbia was a big deal I thought. The different malls. Oak Park Mall. Blue Ridge Mall was still here and Crown Center was a still new. Leaving KCI for any trips-there was n o t h i n g out there at that time.

The radio stations which I could barely get in mid-Missouri. At that time AM was still big: 610 was WDAF, 710 was WHB and 810 was KCMO. The same for the TV stations. I always loved channel 41 KSHB and there was channel 5 and 9 which was KCMO I believe. And Dick Wilson. To me that man was Kansas City. Glad to hear him on 94.9 KCMO which plays the oldies, but at the time that was the music I loved and still do! Hope to eventually get an autographed picture of him someday, preferably me shaking his hand.

All of this and more make Kansas City very special to me. Those memories are some of the best times of my life. They add up to many reasons why I love Kansas City.

More than 30 years and a lifetime ago.

While at Kemper, in my officer years, I had access to my car. Since I knew many of the young teenagers in Boonville, and my reputation was solid (in that I could be trusted) I would haul them around. These were my 'little sisters' and I figured having me around kept some of the guys in check. 

Anyways, there was this diner; I remember going there for breakfast on the weekends. I also remember there was a waitress, cute, who I would playful give a hard time too. I guess I was flirting with her, but didn't think too much of it until one day, when I was riding with a friend and they got out to talk to some people. One of them was this girl. She leaned and looked at me and I looked back and we both said "YOU!"

She got in and we talked for a while. It was like out of a movie. I wish I had flirted more with her as she was cute. Found out later she was the daughter of the owner of the diner. 

Still, it's a memory that makes me smile. Both of the time in my life and of the girl.

The Most Dangerous Thing in the Universe is...

Well Gen Con has come and gone. I want to tell you a story about one of the last times I was at Gen Con when it was still in Milwaukee. If you've never been, go. As a gamer it’s a warm feeling knowing that everyone here is a gamer. Unlike Comic Con where you have no idea why some of them are there.

In any case, I had signed up for a Star Trek tournament using the FASA Star Trek system; one that I particularly love and use myself. And since I am also in STARFLEET International, I went in my uniform.  Getting to the table I discovered three things; I was the only one in a Star Trek uniform, the DM was this scenario’s author and he was wearing a KU Jayhawk hat.  That last item, let me explain. I graduated from the University of Missouri-Columba and Kansas University is our arch-rivals. Basically Orcs vs Elves. So I had to give him some playful crap about that.

The scenario was a two-parter. The best three players from two tables would advance to the 2^nd and final round. Also at the table I was playing at was a young man who said he had just received his commission as a 2^nd lieutenant in the U.S. Army reserves through a 4-year ROTC program.  Ok, that’s something else I had to playful get on; see I attended a military school for 6 years. Unlike him, it was 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for 9 months. I was glad for him as I know what he had to go through and I knew what he had to look forward too.  So the game started.

The first part had us as a Starfleet crew going to investigate the loss of a Federation starship that had slipped into the Mirror, Mirror universe.  At the end of this round, after the votes were tabulated, I didn't make the cut. That was ok with me, I had a good time, and to me that is what makes a good game. But the GM was impressed with me and said he wanted me in the 2^nd part as he had a special role for me to play…

So the 2^nd part starts. One of the people that had advanced was this new 2^nd lieutenant. This time the PCs were playing a Federation rescue team sent to rescue the Federation ship and any crew and get them back to Federation space, along with any information. I was playing the captain of the Federation ship that had slipped through. They were to rescue me as I was being tortured. Or so they thought.

I was in actuality my Mirror, Mirror counterpart. The real captain had already been killed and I was placed where I was as a set up so the PCs could rescue me, and I could in fact then present the PCs to my Mirror, Mirror superiors.

Now this group of PCs was paranoid. It took them 2 ½ hours to get to where I was being ‘tortured.’ They get to the control booth and were cautiously and quietly and s l o w l y trying to figure out what to do.  The GM, the creator of this scenario had finally had enough and snapped. He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote something on it and gave it to the PCs. When they asked what it was he replied, “It’s a pass for the Clue Bus; get a clue!” He then grabbed the paper back and scribbled some more and thrust it back at them saying “Here, I even gave you a transfer!”  All the time I had been sitting quietly waiting to be rescued. They finally rescued me and we got aboard their ship and was making our escape.

The ship was taking fire. And the direction we were heading had us going by the original Federation ship, mine supposedly, so we decided to beam over and use that ship to escape. The only problem was the shields were up. No problem. I’m the captain, so I have the command over-ride. Nooooo, I don’t. I figured I was about to give myself away.  The Communication’s Officer PC, who was the one who would send the code, was basically described as a ‘MacGiver’. I made up some numbers and gave it to him figuring I could fast talk my way out it when it didn't work. He rolled in front of all us. The only way he could screw up if he rolled like a 95 and above. Guess what? He rolled double zero. In this case, that was not good, so it didn't work. So we figured we would go through the captain’s launch on the ship to access the computer and then use my voice over ride to lower the shields and we would beam over and take the ship.

Another aspect of this; all this time, this new 2^nd lieutenant had been the rescue party leader. But when we stepped aboard the ship and got it under control, I assumed command. The new 2^nd looey did not like that. My argument was simple; for the rescue he had been the leader but aboard MY ship, I am the captain. He didn't like it and the other PCs were caught in the middle. Well the MacGiver had scrambled the command codes so the enemy couldn't do what we just did. You could see this guy looking between us; me, still in my movie Trek uniform and a brand new 2^nd lieutenant. He said that he wrote down the code, cleared it from his screen and gave the paper with the command override for the ship to… me.

I tried not to be smug when I thanked him and ordered us to the rift in space between our two universes so we could go ‘home.’  What the PCs didn’t know was that the Mirror, Mirror universe was set to invade the Federation. So we get there, and there are all these ships. We are hailed; there is a final attack briefing and since my ship is the one to lead the attack, I had to attend. So I and my Chief of Security are going to take a shuttle across.

As we land, there are guards to arrest the PC. About this time the Admiral comes down and congratulates me on capturing all the invaders. (We had left the table and were outside everyone else’s hearing while all of this was going on.) I thank him and then say, “Oh by the way sir; here are the command overrides so you might want to shut everything down before they get a chance to do anything.”  It wasn’t until that time that I realized that the GM had forgotten I had them. He literally broke up laughing and almost fell on the floor when he realized I had totally done something he had never thought would happen. It was something that he wasn’t prepared for; and as we know, DMs don’t like that.

Back at the table, the rest of the PCs are told what is going on as their shields are lowered and shuttles are landing. Well the 2^nd lieutenant runs to the engineering room and sets up a switch so he can mix matter and anti-matter thereby destroying the ship. He wasn’t going to be taken alive.  Three times he was asked to surrender; there was no shame he was told. The rest of the PCs decided that discretion is the better part of valor and surrendered.  The lieutenant gave everyone a chance to get off the ship before he blew it up. Even after everyone left he was given one last chance to surrender. He didn’t and blew the ship up.

What I didn’t know until after that happened was that there was a resistant movement that raised its head and stopped the invasion by detonating a photon torpedo in the rift, thereby closing it. Had the lieutenant only surrendered, he would have been alive to see it.  As I think back on it, I don’t know if I would want to be a part of this brand new lieutenant’s unit. In real life In a game, he took it a bit too seriously.

The GM also wanted a certain outcome; and made it that way. The GM said that every other time he ran it, everyone lived and succeeded in getting away and collapsing the rift. Except this one.

But I’m not done yet!

Since I had been to Gen Con a number of times, and this was his first time there, and I had a great time playing with him, I invited him to come and try some of the local hang outs that the thirty-thousand plus gamers went to when they weren’t locked in gaming. I took him to The Safe House.

You are not cleared to receive all the information about the location (it is a great place-themed in spy motif. I highly recommend if you are anywhere near Milwaukee, check it out).

Once we made it in, we ordered the house special called “Spy’s Demise’. You get the drink in a themed glass; the drink is then discounted and you get to take the glass with you. The drink looks like Kool-Aid. Trust me, it’s not.

My Jayhawk friend walked around, checking things out, seeing people he knew and generally exploring. I had been there before so I stayed closed to the table. And since we were both having the same thing, I thought I would be a good friend and friendly opponent, and give him some of my drink-often. He never saw me do it, and could never quite figure out why his drink was always more full than mine.

After awhile we decided to grab something to eat, so we moved from the bar to a table. As we sat down, he had just gotten a fresh drink. He said that he was going to the bathroom and for me not to touch it. I replied I had no idea what he was talking about. As he stood to go he looked at a large table filled with people next to us; people we had no idea who they were, and said, “Make sure that he,” meaning me, “doesn’t mess with me drink.” He then left.

Right after he was out of sight, I took his drink and poured all of it into mine. The people at the table just watched me. He then came back and immediately asked what happened to his drink. I stated that I didn’t know what he was talking about as he drank all his drink before he left. He said he hadn’t. A woman at the table behind him piped up and said that I taken his drink. He turned back after she was done and said that I had been messing with him and his drinks all night. As he berated me the woman who had spoken up got up and left. He concluded his rant stating that he even had a woman who had seen me mess with his drink.

I looked at him and asked, “What woman?”

“That woman right there at that table!” He turned around and saw an empty chair where she had been. He then asked the table what had happened to the woman that had been sitting there.

This table, full of people we had never met or seen before looked at him with blank stares. One man said, with a perfectly straight face, “What woman?”

I wonder if that guy was from K-State?

The tavern

The tavern. The first place adventurers go to quench their thirst, hear rumors and get started on their adventures. Yes its cliché. But considering that many of the early role players were not old enough to legally drink, this was the next best thing. I remember many, many Green Gryphon taverns in my day.  I made my own, called The Winged Dragon. I had drawn out the inside and numbered the locations of tables, chairs and such. I even had the clientele figured out for morning, afternoon and evening. In my early days that was where the party started. After they grew in levels, it was where they returned to tell stories of their great deeds. It became their HQ; the hub for their world.  For some reason the place never caught fire and when dinosaurs rampaged the city, they missed this particular business.

The owner was a character I had played only to 8^th level; a human illusionist.  I have no idea why I made him have the Winged Dragon; except after some of the stuff he had been through, I thought he might want to retire while he was still breathing.  

The place served anything and everything from Gwidiyon Wine (very expensive, very rare and very good), to Red (or any color) Dragon steak (very expensive and possibly deadly).  The dart tournament was extremely popular throughout the entire realm.  That was how one group got drug into some espionage and political intrigue; one of the members of the team favored to win, disappeared and one of the PC’s was drug in to fill his shoes.

So the tavern is the age old starting point. But after awhile, it got overdone to start a group there. The problem was how do you get a ½ Orc Bard, Elven mage and a Gnome fighter, together as a group? One scenario which I haven’t tried yet is a sinking ship.  Women and children and PC’s first!

I did play with a group and we started in a tavern, but we didn't meet up until later that night when the tavern caught fire and the owner killed by some undead. We had to scavenge starting out and then find out who did this and why; not to mention some of the group wanted payback.

The character’s group could be childhood friends, brothers and sisters or the random grouping of race, class and alignment.  The start of an adventure, The Meet Up, can set the tone of the adventure and how the characters take to each other.

And if you do start in a tavern, there is nothing wrong with that. But make it memorable. Make a barkeep they will never forget.  I played with one group, that when we went into this one tavern, the barmaid that waited on us had the personality of someone who has been here for 12 hours and was so very excited (not) to wait on another table. Her spiel was like “Hello, welcome to the Bloodied Axe (sigh), my name is Rachel and I’ll be your server for this evening, (sigh), what can I get you fine ladies and gentlemen…” in a bored and uninterested voice. Nothing we did seem to faze her either.

You could make the place smoky from the candles and fireplace and people smoking. Or exceptionally clean with the staff making sure any spilled drink is immediately cleaned up. Use your senses to describe the place they are sitting in. Make them smell the food that’s cooking in the back. Describe the two gentlemen in the back booth huddled together and cautiously glancing around.  Explain that they hear the bard getting ready to start singing (his instrument is off key and he has a poor voice). And then there are the drinks; the names, the concoctions, the drunk factor. There is so much you can do.

While the tavern is a starting place for adventure, it can be an adventure in itself. Make use of it. 

Chickens

Imagine the Green Gryphon tavern in the evening on a rainy night. The place is busy as usual and a group of new adventurers are seeking advice from the barkeep (as all bartenders are keepers of worldly knowledge). Instead he directs them to a figure in the corner.

As the party approaches the man in a hooded cloak, they note that his clothes, though old, worn and no longer in fashion are never-the- less, clean and serviceable. By the light of the fireplace they can see weird designs on his shirt and cap that he wears.  Though he seems to carry a sword, other instruments of death and destruction can be seen peaking out of his high hard boots and a backpack that is close to his feet. As the strangers approach, they can see he is petting a cat. The feline growls a warning, but is hushed by the man with a ‘shh.’

The man raises his head to take in the new arrivals. He has a short goatee starting to grey. His eyes are a lighter shade of green than his cat; and if you could see into them you would get that they had seen much. Laugh lines and a few wrinkles around his eye and mouth make his age hard to determine. He leans back a bit in the booth, as his bulk takes up most of the bench. He reaches for a mug of something, but doesn't lift to drink. He gazes at the leader of this party, who has come seeking knowledge to help them on their myriad of untold adventures yet to come.

This man seated before them is called O.G. by friends and comrades. The rest know him as The Old Gamer.

“So, you want the knowledge that I and others like me, have gleamed over the years; hoping to cheat death and improve your social and economical levels. Hmph. You young ones don’t know really know about those that went before you. They paved the way. They are honored names; if you are even familiar with them. Always remember; you are standing on the shoulders of others who were like you at one time. And we didn't have any one to turn for advice. We made it up as we went along.”

He takes a sip from the mug and smacks his lips, “Ah. That’s the stuff. This,” and he shakes the mug at them spilling some, “is what you need to fortify yourself for a night of adventuring. It is the tried and true of most gamers; it is the Dew of the Mountains. Good stuff. You can get it in 2 liters, 6 or 12 pack. There, that’s some advice.”

Those standing before him looked unimpressed.

“What? Something more than drink advice? Well, if I must. Grab a seat. You standing there makes me nervous; can’t see the whole bar.” With that he puts down the cat, which immediately scampers off.

Reaching for a bowl that held chips and other snackables, he stuffed in a mouthful and chewed. “This,” and he holds up some popcorn before eating it, “reminds me of chickens.” He pauses. “Now I can see by the looks on your faces what you are thinking; No, I’m not drunk or pulling your leg and my mother had me tested; I am not crazy. See; this is what I mean about you young ones. You think you know it all.” He grabs another handful of popcorn but just looked at it.

“Back in the day, it was pretty much dungeon delving to get the gold and goodies. There was always something big, nasty and mean guarding the stuff; usually a lot of them. One group I hooked up with took some live chickens with them when we went down into this one dungeon.”

Taking a long pull of his drink, his eyes went back to another time and another place.

“Well, we cleared out a few rooms and redistributed various items and gold from their previous owners to our own packs. Seemed pretty easy. That was until our fighter kicked in this one door and we rushed in. I’m not sure what it was or how many; I just know that we were in it deep. We ran.”

Looking at his listeners, “Don’t give me those looks, I didn't stutter. We ran. Don’t think you have to stand and fight everything you meet. There is no disgrace when you meet something bigger and more bad-ass than you. In any case, we all took off down the hall-way. But these things were right behind us, and gaining!”

He laughed now, “Man did they smell.  Anyway, here is where this party’s smarts saved our hides. As we ran, they opened up the sacks that had the chickens in them and let them go. Besides lightening the load, we just gave the big baddies some free chicken dinners. Well they fell on those feathered things like nothing else. We heard a few squawks and then nothing.  I didn't take the time to look back, but I have a feeling there was nothing left but a few feathers.

“Those chickens provided us with a diversion, and gave those things a meal that didn't put up a fight. It took us 2 more days to get out of there. We needed to get back to town and get a few more swords. And chickens.”

He takes another healthy pull and pops a few kernels into his mouth as he watches what he said sink in. Smirking a bit, “Good; I can see you are starting to think unconventionally. And that may save your life.”

Making a show of looking around the tavern, he then focuses back on his listeners, “Now this other bit of ‘chicken-sense’ came about…oh I’d say 5 years ago.” He had lowered his voice so just the listeners could hear him. “While this might make some of the goody-two shoes a bit queasy; it’s effective. A group I was with had this mage. He was a bit…different. He too carried chickens. As we descended into a underground fortification, he took a chicken out, killed it and then cast animate dead animals. So it was a zombie chicken under his command. He then cast some spells on it; one was that whenever it took any kind of damage, it would explode. He then commanded it to walk ahead of the party about 20 feet. So if it ran into a trap, it exploded. If something was hiding ahead and attacked the chicken, it exploded giving us a chance to get ready and causing damage to whatever had attacked the undead chicken.”

He could see the skeptical looks on some of their faces, “I saw it with my own eyes. Disturbing, messy and effective, all at the same time.”

Yawning, “Well, that’s going to do with the advice giving for the evening. Go out and think unconventionally and you might just make it back to share what you have learned with a group of new adventurers.”

Signaling for another drink he yawned again. “Tell you what; come back after you've been out and I will tell you some more tales. I heard of this tree-preacher mage made a good living at it; telling about magic items, spells , monsters and all other things. Now what was his name again? Oak, wood….no Elm-something or another. In any case; good luck and well met.”

My voices

What is about old friends that gets me thinking. Talked with one and he made that comment that with the passing of my father, it was an end of era. I agree. My father was of a time removed. And yet he had manners, treated everyone he met as they were the most important person. And he was louder than me. There was a time when who ever was the loudest won an argument - usually we did it just to upset my mother.

And I've always said if I was a tenth of a man my father was I'd be somebody. Another Kemper friend tells me not to try and compete with my father. Not doing that but I am glad I am like him.

Speaking of that friend; there is a country song called Voices by Chris Young. I hear voices myself and they are usually of those friends from Kemper. I kid that I have two guys on my shoulders (maybe more at times). Note I didn't say Angels or Devils, because at times they are both. But I can hear those voices, and if I wanted, I can picture exactly what they look like. Then. One of those friends wears a baseball cap as he is getting extremely bald; where as in his younger day he had curly blond hair. In this case he really needs to keep the cap on.

I can't swear if they give me advice, keep me company or are just made up memories. No matter what, they make me smile.

A Cruel Dream

I had a cruel dream this morning. I don't mean a scary dream or a nightmare; those are common at times; being chased by a score of zombie cheerleaders or falling. No this didn't have Death as a theme. I view Death as an upcoming movie I am looking forward too (not too soon, so no worries). No this was the kind of dream that leaves you unsettled and 'off' for the rest of the day. and now, in the cold, harsh light of the day, I still can remember it. But how do I explain it to my friends; I have no problem relating my weird dreams-even my nightmares. But this...I guess it is more of the perspective and how we view whats important. Needless to say, I woke up, probably screaming "No!" I know I was gasping for air as I beat my pillow.

I had woken up early and laid there trying to get some sleep before actually getting up. So I closed my eyes and between 3:30 am and 5:00 am I dreamed. All I know I was talking with this pretty woman; initially she was a redhead. She changed to a blond and back to a redhead as we talked. About what? I have no idea. Though it seem liked we were getting to know each other, like a date. We then started playfully grabbing each other and hugging. She gave me some quick kisses on my neck. I then smiled and grabbed and took her in my arms for a deep kiss and... she faded away and I was left literally holding my pillow.

Some may laugh or find it funny. Not me. Not now. Not ever anymore.

Dreams (the night time variety)

I more than most know about dreams; I minored in Psychology in college so know just how screwed I am. Dreams are either your subconscious or perhaps if you believe-of things yet to come.  And if you even remember your dreams, that's something.

I remember a dream I had last night; as it woke me up gasping for air.

I was seated outside. A pretty woman who I did not know, came up to me and I stuck my hand up, like raising my hand to answer a question in class. She took my hand and kissed it tenderly and for a long time. She then helped me up and I kissed her lovingly and for a long time. Again, I did not know her.

I then said something that I can not believe.

"Are you a mechanic? Cause you just jump stared my heart."

I then woke up, Not sure if it was from the cheesy line or what.

8-tracks, WKRP In Cincinnati and fireflies

There are times I can be envious of the kids today. Internet, computers, cell phones that are more powerful than the space craft that took our astronauts to the moon. A billion channels on TV, more graphic, more CGI (less good writing and plot in my opinion) kids bodies growing up faster (both good and bad).

I remember the big thing growing up PK (pre-Kemper) was turning into a teen. Then it was 16 and a driver license and car. Then 18 graduating college. 21 was l e g a l drinking age.

I also remember something that has gone by the wayside; the RCA and Columbia House record club. This was a way to get your music cheap. You would send in a penny and choose 11 albums and they would send them to you. Over the next year you had to buy a certain number at regular price. They would send you a packet every month, and you had to mail back the card if you didn't want that month's selection or else it would be sent to you and you had to pay. At that time the selection was reel-to-reel, album, 8-track or cassette.

I remember my first car had an 8 track player. I believe I kept that for about 2 years before changing it over to cassette, and with the addition of some more speakers (with some help from a friend at Kemper-Temple I'm talking about you.).

8 Tracks were something that would just keep playing, were smaller than albums, but bigger than cassettes. At the time, auto re-wind and play were still not yet known.

I remember my pretty church youth teacher (who I had a crush on) had a blue Firebird with t-tops and a cassette deck. She turned me onto the more modern music (Chicago, Doobie Brothers). Some more memories every time I hear those groups.

I think back to the music, the tv variety shows, three channels and if the president was on, he was on all of them. But then I also remember playing games with my parents. Being outside catching fireflies, reading books and using my imagination-a tree house that was transformed into whatever I could imagine. I remember climbing trees, staying out until it got dark and my mom rang the dinner bell for me to come home.

So see; I do have memories not necessary of Kemper. I also believe that I lived the best of times during those. Everything made sense. The music was music. The tv shows were great. Yeah I know; I look back and think 'why did I like that?' I could, except I still like 98% of what I watched then, even now. WKRP In Cincinnati is still without a doubt one of the best. And the Thanksgiving episode... OMG. Welcome Back Kotter, the Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Love, American Style. The great thing about those times was that if you missed an episodes or were away at a military school where you didn't have TV, during the summer, they re-ran the episodes, and it was like I was seeing them for the first time!

Though I am very happy with my cds and dvds and satellite radio and tv, there is still a part of me that thinks back to those days. And I remember.

Samantha Sang: Emotion

Its amazing what you remember when you hear an old song; Emotion by Samantha Sang.

This is one of those disco/70s song that I love. Well at Kemper I had the album-Yes a vinyl record. The cover was a picture of Samantha Sang looking good. Well a friend from way south of the border, I can't remember if Gomez-diaz was from Guatemala or Honduras. In any case, Gomez was one of the nicest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He wanted the album. I am not sure if it was for the music or the picture. I think I may have sold it to him for $10 and a poster.

I had that poster for a long time after that, but eventually it went away also. The poster would be considered a motivational one; I can't describe it nor can I tell you the exact wording. But the memory of that poster, the memory of my friend and that whole transaction all come back when I hear that song. It was a time of my life that I never forget, nor want to. It sustains me through the crazy and hectic days of the here and now.

The Auctioneer and An Old Boy Can Survive

There are some things that just stay with you. I was talking with Caldwell and reminded him that I remember him and Randy wright lip syncing to The Auctioneer at Kemper. This was way before it was cool or karaoke or anything. They were just having fun making up their own dance moves.  I also remember Randy re-writing A Country Boy Can Survive to An Old Boy Can Survive.  I wish he had written it down and saved it. I know he included George and I in it, or at least Ohio and Glasgow.

I use my time at Kemper and how I was raised a yardstick for kids these days. In some ways they have it so much easier, so many toys; both the boys and girls body's maturing so fast. Thinking  they are grown up. At Kemper we knew we were mature, but we were also kids. In some ways I think we were better off than any kids these days. What we were 'taught' is something that I can't really explain.

I do remember some 'adult' magazines making their way through companies. But also comic books and paperback books. That was something that I actually looked forward to pulling OD Duty. There was usually a couple of paperback books in the desk, That was where I got hooked on a series; that until a few years ago, I had only read the first book. Again, that book along with others, stayed with me.

Why do I talk about Kemper? Why am I protected of Kemper? If you have to ask then you don't and won't understand,.

Some Old Boys don't want to remember how they were. Or admit they were someway in their wild and woolly days. Trying to re-write their history. Fail. You can lie to you wife, kids... but we know and remember  Granted there were no cell phone cameras or videos (thank God) but to deny that you didn't play Rat Patrol, and all that stuff isn't gonna cut it. I remember it. No, my memory isn't wrong, as you can tell, when it comes to Kemper, I am walking historian of my time there. And yeah, I am dam proud of that fact.

Rondo soda

Its interesting to hear people say what they wouldn't do. The argument being 'I won't drink warm soda'. Back in the day of my first year at Kemper, your footlocker was yours. You could put a blanket on the top of whatever you kept in there, and as long as you made it look nice, it was ok. I would get CARE packages which included Rondo soda-similar to Mountain Dew. Also cookies and other goodies. So I would drink warm soda, as you had no choice.

That is something that I have come to understand which makes those of us who, in my opinion, who fully embraced Kemper, understand. We do things which we have no choice, we adapt, we make do with what we have. We are Kemper. We are survivors.

Fast Food Service Industry

Ok, this post will not be about Kemper or home or anything like that. It will be about my fast food days.

While I worked at the Missourian, I also had to work at night. The only place I could really find work would be in the fast food industry. I applied at snajajob to work at the local Captain D's and got an almost immediate response to come in for an interview. I did, and a about a week later I was offered the job. I told them I wouldn't be able to get there until 5:30, working at the Missourian, I closed at 5 pm. Not a problem they said.

The point I want to focus on, is actually one of the asst. managers. I wish I could remember his name, but he looked like a miniature Allan Jackson; and had more than some redneck in him. Even he called himself white trash, which at times I might have agreed with, but there was much that offset that.

When we worked together, he would work. I mean hard. No problem from me, but others.... He said something that was very profound for someone around 25; he was there to work. To get a paycheck for him and his family. He had 2 kids and got his girlfriend pregnant again before I left Captain D's. But he worked hard and he said he wasn't there to make friends. I understood exactly what he was talking about from Kemper. Eventually it would be he and I after 8 pm. The manager was trying to keep costs down, so after the slow down, there would only be 2 people after 8 pm, as we closed at 9. But trust me, there were times, when it wasn't slow. Those were the times when I saw what he was made of. He worked. He did whatever needed to be done and got it done. You might find that I point that out as something unusual. With the exception of working at 5 Guys, where you had a 5-6 man crew, I would stack up his work against anything else. I told him so. I said that I would work for him anytime, anywhere. And there were times when he needed me not to clock in, as costs were high. Or stay later when we got a rush. That was never a problem. I respected him. Wish I could say that about a lot of the fast food managers I worked for. There are good ones out there, but there are also some bad ones. In any case...

He also knew that I shared the hard work idea; which also meant we had fun when we could. There was a time, it had just passed 8, and I hadn't started to drain the grease when this man came in and I started to hear over the speakers the order. I thought my manger was joking. It was like 30 pieces of fish, 10 chicken strips, fries, etc...a damn big order. I poked my head through the window to get confirmation that I was hearing him right, and he nodded. The guy apologized for a big order, but I shrugged it off. As I said, we were dead, I hadn't started any break down, and the man was understanding it was going to take some time to do the order.

Amazingly, no one else came in, and I got the order out with some help from my manager. As we were bagging everything up, my manager reaches through and says here. He handed me a ten-dollar bill. I poked my head through the window again. The man had given both my manager and myself a ten. I nodded my thank you and he said it wasn't from him but from his mother-in-law, but he appreciated everything we did. That was the biggest single tip I ever got, aside from working pizza delivery. And after he left, my manager helped me start to break things down as we were running behind. When it was he and I,  we could get everything cleaned and ready to go by 11 pm. That is damn good for 2 people and working with the equipment we had.

I worked at Domino's as a delivery driver and had some memorable experiences there. When I worked at the Missourian, there was no time that I wasn't working a second job at night in the food service industry. I started at Captain D's and was there until they closed. Then I got a job at Dairy Queen. Then finally I ended at 5 Guys.

Any 5 Guys you go to will be some of the cleanest and healthiest places to eat at. I met a lot of kids working fast food. A few oldsters like me also. But something I found humorous was right before I left Columbia for Kansas City.

5 Guys, in my opinion, is ranked up there as a good business to work for. They have great trainers that travel around and help open stores and so they do and meet exactly how the 5 Guys corporate want them too. Like McD's I am sure. And, the majority are young kids.

There was this one kid at 5 Guys. Tall, lanky, black guy. A bit of player. Nice guy, also hard worker. But still given the chance to slack off...in any case, I liked working with him. He made the time go by and as I said, he was also a hard worker. I think he was 24, and had a brush or two with the 'po-po.' But as I was leaving I made the comment that I couldn't wait until I was in Kansas City as I would only be working 1 job. He asked me what I meant.

"I get up at 5:30. Go to the gym, shower and get ready to be at the Missourian by 8 am so I could open. Then I was there until 5, then I got off, changed and was at 5 Guys by 5:30. I was there until at least 11 or 11:30 depending on when we got out. Then I would get to bed by 12. Then start the whole process over the next day. I worked 5 out 7 days."

He looked at me, "And how old are you?"

I was usually the oldest on any crew I worked with very few exceptions; "How old do you think I am?"

He guessed wrong, and I told him "I'm 48."

He was shocked and impressed. I wasn't as fast as he was on some things, but I could hold my own. Then when he found out everything else I was doing, he just shook his head. He couldn't believe it. He would be another I'd work with and for.

I think everyone should work pizza delivery and fast food. It gives you a perspective that nothing else will. I was lucky with everyone I ever worked with as I learned something about them and myself.

So my advice; don't get upset if your order is wrong. Don't get mad if you have to wait a bit as someone new is learning the register. You don't know their story. Whenever I go to a fast food restaurant, I never get upset or mad; I check my order and let them know if its wrong or I am missing something. Someone new working the counter, I just smile and wait. I have been there. Another thing; when you order, smile back at them. Trust me, if you have been working 6 hours without a break, a smile and some understanding goes along way.

Another time at Captain D's; we would always get this one woman every Thursday at 8:15. Like clockwork. And she would usually order the same thing. Because she was a regular we took care of her. If we had extra fish or chicken, she would get an extra. No charge, not that she ever tipped, but she always came in, was nice, and understood if we rushed before her. That earned her a place in our good graces.

I am very thankful for all the bosses who gave me a chance. For the trainers who taught me what I needed to know and do. For my co-workers who made the time bearable and even fun at time. And to the customers who were understanding and easy going when we were rushed.

I learned the most important things about myself and what I could do while working fast food.

George

I don't try and explain the kind of relationships I have with my fellow Old Boys. That alone should tell you something. I always say to people who comment about 2 or 3 good friends or friends they can count on one hand. I tell them I can't count the number of good friends and that using both hands I don't even get out of the "A"s. These are the kind of friends that you can literally get into a fight with and it doesn't mean anything.  

George. The man who I went neck and neck with at Kemper. Platoon sergeants, platoon leaders, staff, etc. One of my bestest friends in the world. A brother. A comrade in arms. That being said, let me tell you about the only time I know and remember we ever got into a fight. I don't mean arguments. Hell, George and I would get into an argument at the drop of a hat, at the suggestion of something or just for the fun of it. It could get hot, heated and loud and you know what? It never meant anything. It was never personal. No lines were ever crossed. But some who might see it would wonder. With George it was really like a verbal chess match. But in this case, George would cheat. He would know or find that 1 fact that would prove him right...even though 99 times it was wrong. And he could tell you something so slick, so sincere, you would buy it; hook, line and sinker.  Anyway, back to our fight. 

I was mad. I don't know why, but I was. And it wasn't at George. We were in the barracks walking down the hall and George said something and it just hit me wrong. I remember thinking I was gonna knock that smirk off his face and I did a spinning back kick to his head. As George tells it, I 'telegraphed' my move; and I have no doubt as I didn't connect. BUT, to my credit George also said that he could feel the wind as it went by; had he no more room to back up, and if he hadn't pulled his head I would have connected. Solid.

But, since I did not connect, and I was over balance I ended up on my butt and back. George then proceeded to jump on me and playfully beat me in the chest til he realized I was pissed and jumped off. Now, I laid there looking at him, a lot of the fire gone. I rose up on one elbow and glared at him. He had backed off; and when he saw that I wasn't gonna chase him or do anything else, he reached down and gave me his hand. I took it, stood up and brushed myself off. We continued down the hall; and honestly nothing was ever said. Until we started telling the story about how I ALMOST kicked George in the face. And we both tell it and laugh. 

As I said, it was nothing he did. I was just in a bad mood. George knows me and I honestly think that was the first time he ever saw me that pissed. He had seen so many sides of me for 6 years and beyond; like I said, I love the guy like a brother. Love his family, and I know my family loved him and his.

My trust in George is irrevocable and complete. Almost. Let me state for the record: I trust him completely with my life and everything and everyone I hold dear. BUT, if he said, "Here, try this," I wouldn't. You have to understand; George is also a practical joker. You remember Harry Anderson from Night Court? That's George. To. A. T. A con man and anything for a good joke or laugh.

I was telling George that once on the phone, as I had related it to someone about how his and mine relationship was. He laughed on the other end when I got to the 'here try this.'  He said, "Unless I said, 'no really.'" I laughed even harder and said "ESPECIALLY if you said that!" He laughed too when he realized that, yeah, he would have done it. 

At George's wedding, I was a groomsman. Fast forward to the reception. George and his lovely bride are dancing. After an appropriate amount of time I strolled over and tapped her on the shoulder. She gave me a less than pleased look and said, "Well what if I don't want to dance with you?" 

I looked her over and said, "I was asking to dance with you." Grabbed George and off we danced. I would like to say it was planned as it went off like it had been. But it was spur of the moment; just the kind of thing that George and I would do. I don't think she has fully gotten over that. 

Like I said, I trust him with my life; and hes not a bad dancer. 

Martin, marching and pork chops

Had dinner with Martin last night. It was great to sit and remember Kemper and people and times. He liked my stories, and I can say he knows me better in a lot of ways than some; and I him. I was his squad leader when he got to Kemper, and Martin did not like getting up in the morning. I was 14 but still not totally sure of myself and here I am having to deal with this lanky senior, even though he was a New Boy. Not to mention he was fast and liked to show off his martial art moves. When he was awake he was fairly ok, it was getting him to that state. There is no real manual that covers everything; and even if there was, we at Kemper would corrupt it. We called the Army's 22-5 Drill and Ceremony "22-Kemper." There were just some things that were not covered or didn't apply.  This was one of them. So I had a system.

I would initially come into his room and tell him to get up; try and wake him up. That usually succeed in getting him to a barely awake stage; he would look at me and threaten me with bodily harm. I would then leave and make sure the rest of my squad was up and doing what they were suppose to, then I would come back. As I said, for my size I can be very quiet and very fast when need be. This was one of them. I would creep back into his room and grab his blanket and dive for the door. Since you slept on top of your bed fold and used another blanket to sleep under, this usually had the affect of Martin quickly following it; until he hit the hallway. When a New Boy hit the hall, he had to brace; and while at that time Martin may not have much to be afraid of a 14 year buck sergeant, there were other bigger and badder people. After he was horizontal, he would do what he had to do. I have never let him forget that. Even when he became my platoon leader and I was his platoon sergeant. Then he became my company commander and I was one of his platoon leaders. I also saw how he changed, and I will tell you; he was and is one of the best leaders we had. It was that combination of bad ass and Kemper. It was a combination I saw repeated time and time again. If you don't understand, I can't explain it. Let me just say I'd still follow him anywhere. He still has that quality about him. And he's family.

During my New Boy year, when I transferred to Band, I thought the band was going to be easier than a line company. Yes, there was more focus on band playing, marching, sound and the myriad of other things that a band had to go through. But the kicker was the cadets in the band all were pros. I mean, a lot of them were 1st chairs in their own rights; some had gone to band camps for years, competed nationally, had parents that were musical or were just naturally gifted in the music department. I was ok, I had 4 years of playing a tuba, with some trumpet and piano training; these people played stuff I had never even heard of until I was at Kemper. I thought playing a parade when I was at my old school was kinda hard; coming from a small town with a about a 4 block main street, with a couple of parades which may have lasted 2 hours. At times that was a pipe dream. Years later when we played the World's Fair, I have no idea how long we marched and played in the summer heat, but 4 miles seem about right. And we played 80% of the time. But I am getting a head of myself. Back to my New Boy year in the band.

I believe it was right after we got back from Christmas break I had run into Chief in the Club Room. I mentioned that I played the tuba and if needed another...I don't think I got much more out when he said he would take care of it. I didn't think much more of it.

A few weeks later I had come down with something and was actually on bed rest, when suddenly, and I do mean this literally, my door flew open. Silhouetted in the door way was Ray Kendeigh. He was big. Is still big. He marches into my room and announced we were going to be room mates and he was here to move me down to K Barracks and the Band. I climbed out of bed and, still kinda foggy was wondering how... when Kendeigh went to work. I think I asked how many trips did he think it would take to move me. He replied simply, "One."

I had moved a few times, it was usually from one room to another on the same floor. Took a few hours to get everything as you had your clothes, books, trunk, etc. Not a slow process, but it was a way to make sure you got things back into the order that they were. Ray had no compunction about that. After I got up out of bed, he opened my closet, grabbed all my clothes and laid them down on the bed. Then he piled shoes, underwear, socks, sweats, and everything else on top of that. Then he did the same with my blotter and books. He told me I'd be carrying my own foot locker. Ok. I dressed in sweats and got my tennis shoes on. When I had secured my locker I saw that he had undone my bed fold and drew the four corners up into a Santa Sack. With one heave he slung it over his shoulder like dear Saint Nick and headed for the door with a 'Come on, we have to get you moved before 3rd mess.' I looked around, he had everything that wasn't in my trunk in the bed sheets and he was heading out the door. I quickly picked up my locker and followed him down to K Barracks and Band Company.

I have more than a few stories about Ray, and some I can even write here, but that's not what I want to focus on right now.

My first year in Band I was 3rd Tuba. Yes, there were actually 2 other playing tuba players in the Band at that time. Never since had there been that many actually playing tuba. Baird was our first sergeant and he was from Alaska. He was big, had a space between his two front teeth and was a good guy and a good tuba player. He was an Old Boy, and I'm not sure how many years he had been there, but he was graduating high school and wouldn't be coming back to college there. Davis was a New Boy. A very rotund young man, I believe he was also a high school senior. Also a very good tuba player and a nice kid. He did not return to Kemper after his first year. Then you had me. A high school freshman; decent tuba player or so I thought. Then I saw some of the run of notes in the songs. I didn't know my fingers could fly over the keys that fast. But they learned too. We were the Bass section. At that time, Chief usually had us in the back ranks. That was fine by me, as I knew I didn't want to be in the front, because even though I had finally figured out flanks and columns, I sure as hell didn't want to embarrass myself. Later I actually liked being on the front rank, but again, that's another story and another time.

Band was hard. Not only did we still have to study, march, clean, and learn everything about being at a military school, in a military structure, we had band practice. We had parades that the band went to. We had concerts; we played special music for dignitaries. At special times we had band practice in the morning, then play 1st mess, go to school, play 2nd mess, go to school, have an hour and half of band practice, then play 3rd mess formation and depending if there was something really special we might have more band practice before lights out. Usually we'd just play all the messes and then band practice. Sometimes we'd only play two or one mess. It depended. I'll say one thing; my chops got broken in and perhaps that why during the later years, along with the others like Bunch, Speidel, Martin, Whitney, Kipper and others we could play as long as we did. I think it was that coupled with the fact that we never wanted to let Chief down that we did what we did and played like we played.

At Old Boy's Weekend, the Corps would form up and we would march up to Walnut Grove Cemetery where we'd lay a wreath on F.T. Kemper's grave, some people would talk, and then we'd march back. I think it was about a 2 mile march. The band would start off playing then we'd go into a street beat with snares and a bass drum to keep the beat of the left foot striking ground for the Corps. We'd play Kemper Cadet and Kemper Fight, along with the National Anthem. We might have something ready if we wanted to let people know that the Kemper Corps was marching through; like Ballad of the Green Berets and Longest Day.

Now to get there and back is a major undertaking with road guards, letting the local police know we would be moving over 200 cadets in a parade. And the route was not just straight level ground. There were some hills. So we marched there; heard the speaker, laid the wreath and taps were played. And then we marched back. The usual order of march was Battalion staff, followed by the Color Guard, the Band and then Alpha, Charlie and Delta companies. That year we didn't have a Bravo company. We also had cadets, usually MP's who would act as road guards on the cross streets to stop traffic.

So returning up this last long hill, and being in the back of the formation, I saw where someone had lost a shoe. You might think that's hard to do or uncommon; not really. Especially in a close formation; if you over step and give the guy in front of you a flat tire or really step on his heel and maybe he doesn't have the shoe tied tight...in any case, there was a black shoe in the middle of the street and we marched right by it. Suddenly the shoe flew forward over our heads. We marched by it again. Again the shoe flew over our heads and whoever was missing it obviously got it and got it on. Luckily we were not anywhere close to anyone, and whoever had lost it was going to keep marching as you didn't stop for something as simple as missing a shoe.

Towards the end of my New Boy year we in formation between D barracks and the Admin building during band practice. A little strange but we'd been formed up there before. Usually it was because there was something special and needed more court for some presentation or something. We played a number and then Simms, our drum major started us off. We did a counter column and started marching towards the street. At this time, Davis and Baird were in the front ranks and I was in the last rank in the middle. Simms guided us across the street  and between two houses. He then stopped us. There was Chief and a few others and a bar-b-que/picnic; one of the houses was Chief's as it had a large 1st Calvary sign hanging on the porch  . We were then ordered to fall out and enjoy ourselves, which we did. That was the first time I ever had Chief's teriyaki pork chops. It was his way of saying 'thank-you' to us for all our hard work. It was for what we accomplished, what we had become.

That was when I knew I was home.

Guardsmen, Band and Chief

By the time my 4th year at Kemper rolled around, I was an officer. A 2nd lieutenant. My company commander (Martin) had actually been a new boy in my squad. The previous year I had been his platoon sergeant and he was the platoon leader. Now I was one of his platoon leader.

Those last few years had really solidified the band. We had gotten better, but this band was the best and would stay that way up til I and others graduated. Whenever Kemper wanted to send their best they sent the Guardsmen, the Color Guard and the Band. There was always rivalry between us and the Guardsmen. In actuality we admired and respected what they did with their rifles. To this day, I have NEVER seen anything like what they did. I hear some one say they were on a drill team, and I am sorry; to call what you were on a drill team? You were kids with white plastic rifles. I don't care how many tournaments you think you have won. The Guardsmen were the best. Eventually they faded away even before Kemper closed. Why? I don't know. Don't ask me. I only remember how they were. The very BEST! 

I was also lucky to have known 3 Yangers; Albert and I went through New Boy year together; he was college and I was high school. We were actually in the same PE class I remember, and became friends. The second year he was Guardsmen commander. My 3rd year, Leo came to Kemper. My 4th year, Leo was Guardsmen commander. My 5th year, Zardo arrived. And, you guessed it, he was Guardsmen commander my 6th year. All of them received their commissions and are some of the nicest people I have ever met! 

I learned how to spin a rifle by watching them and thats about it. And though the Band and Guardsmen had a rivalry, its like trying to compare Apples to a Mercedes. There is NO comparison. I would hope they would agree that for our size, the Band had a better sound twice our size, and we even went toe-to-toe with the 1st Infantry Division band. With Chief leading us, we could and did dam near anything he asked of us. Period. The Guardsmen had their own quality about them and I have nothing but the utmost  respect for what they did. They flung rifles at each other. Over others. Backwards. Talk about trust, precision and guts. And yes, Guardsmen were both men and women. They earned their black berets and carried the title "Guardsmen" with honor. I can think of two immediately; Julie Ulloa and Robin Smith who would immediately tell you they were Guardsmen!

I know; those who never saw them might say I am looking back at things with rose colored glasses. I could easily just tell you to Foxtrot Yankee. But you want an example, ok here goes: 

During one Parent's Weekend, they were doing one of their special numbers. Let me see if I can describe this. Two rows of Guardsmen spinning their 1903 Springfields; bolts soldered shut but still a hefty weapon; especially if you got hit in any part of your body with one. In between them were three more; one at each end and one in the middle, between those two. You are looking at abut five to seven people lengths in between the three of them. Two of them were also spinning their rifles, while the one on the very end had no rifle. All three were facing the same direction. When the time came they brought their rifles down and slammed them on the court twice and then straight armed threw them, behind each other. The first one threw to the one in the middle. The one in the middle threw to the one without a weapon, who at this time happen to be our big, black, muscular, sergeant-major. The throws had to be perfect as they were throwing behind them. If the rifle veered off it would hit one of the Guardsmen spinning his own weapon. They also had to throw hard enough to get to the catching Guardsmen. The one in the middle caught his with no problem. The one thrown to our sergeant-major spun one more than he might have been expecting and the barrel stuck into his bicep.  He caught it by that barrel-pulled it out of his arm and continued the maneuver  which was spinning the rifle some more. All the time blood was pouring out of his wound, Eventually that maneuver ended and he had to be lead off, as he was going to continue, as their show wasn't over. 

I don't have enough words to use to describe the pride, esprit-de-corps and professionalism in them. There wasn't anyone at Kemper in those years who weren't proud of the Guardsmen. Wherever they went they brought home trophies, plaques, medals, ribbons. Everyone was proud of them and rightfully so. They were the best of the best. And trust me, we had the best of the best there already. These were so head and shoulders above the rest of any drill team they went up against, I always felt sorry for the competitors. I was lucky enough to see some competitions, and again, I know I am bias, but there was no competition. No they didn't always win; everyone has a bad day; you get people who like some things and not like others. But for my money it was always the Guardsmen. 

The Guardsmen were college only. Becko and I both started in Delta Company as New Boys and were in a  few classes together. Becko was by far one of the funniest guys I had ever met at that time. Not to mention he was a heck of a writer, as he and I had Mr. Doyle's English class together. Anyway, Becko was not going to be a Guardsman yet, as he was in high school but he became their 'water boy' of sorts.  I say that because one time a group of them were on the court and yelled out to Becko, in unison, "Hey water boy, come over here and shine my shoes." He learned how to drill and was their equipment manager. I'll give him credit, he took everything and he worked hard to get that black beret. He left Kemper after two or three years, and I don't remember if he got it or not. But I know, he learned more about what a drill team was than any civilian 'drill team' member. He had the best of the best teaching him. 

Like I said, the Band, Guardsmen and the Color Guard went a lot of places. The Band was the voice of Kemper. The Guardsmen were for the eyes. And the colors were our National Pride. You knew who were were when we came marching down the street. And that's why were in such demand. 

Chief once gave me a compliment during my later years there, in that he could hear me when he sat on his porch across the street from Kemper. From then on I made sure I played loud. He said that I played like three tubas. I never wanted to let Chief down. Even to the point of never wanting to miss anything. One time when the band had an unexpected parade to go to, I had already put in for a permit for something. I think it was for a wedding or something for some cousin. I told Chief no problem, I didn't have to go and could make the parade, as I was his only playing tuba. 

"No worries Chief I can go to the parade."

"Did you already put in your permit and get it approved?"

"Well, yes, but you need me..."

"No. You go on your permit. There may come a time when something comes up and we need you more. But you asked for time off before this came up, so you will take it." 

I took it. And trust me, I would have rather been at the parade.  None of us in Band ever wanted to let Chief down. Ever. 

One time, the leadership of the Band screwed up. This was back when I was a squad leader.  I think Stretch was CO. I know Whitney was still there. Anyway, they and by association, the rest of us, let Chief down. Chief went off on us. All of us. We shared in the glory but by God we also shared in the ruin. 

I am not really sure I can effectively go into what Chief said, and you might be surprised that he would berate us like he did. Again, I can't explain it, but here goes; Chief treated us like professionals. Like an Army band. In his eyes that's what we were. Believe me, Chief knew we were young, but by treating us like what he knew, he raised us to a level that I can not explain to you. It's a feeling that is indescribable. We were BAND. We had Chief. He watched our back, no matter how bad we screwed up. But we NEVER screwed Chief. We may have screwed up, but it was not a slap against Chief. In any case, he let us have it in the band room. As he was winding down he said something that as soon as he said it, affected everyone in that room. I know. I saw it. See, we were on risers, and being a tuba, I was in the back and off the right side as you faced the conductor. I believe it was me and Cowgill. So I had a view of everyone. Chief said something like that we let down those people who were going to hear us and that "You all are a bunch of losers" for doing what we did. And then he walked out. I remember the leadership, literally all of us, sat there stunned. There was not a thing we could say or do. And if memory serves me, it was around Commencement and I think we missed a parade practice or band performance that we were suppose to do, without Chief. I think it was practice for the next week, when the parents and guests would be here, but we should have been somewhere, doing something and we weren't. 

After Chief had left I remember Stretch and Whitney standing up and basically saying Chief was right. They couldn't say anything as we followed their lead. We all filed out and back to the barracks. But there was an energy there. For the next week, we were motivated. During our practices, marches, whatever; we put everything into. 

That Commencement we kicked ass. We nailed every piece we played, we were where we were supposed to be, we looked good, we marched good. We kicked ass!

After the last performance outside, Chief gave us what I think was the first of the 'kisses.' He blew us all a kiss; his way of saying we nailed it. Then back up in the band room for one final talk, Chief said he was proud of us, that we did this great; that person nailed that particular part of a piece of music; in other words, we were back to being in the good graces of Chief. 

Whitney wasn't going to let an opportunity like this go by. After all of Chief's great words, Whitney said, "Well you know Chief; we're just a bunch of losers." 

Chief broke out into a smile and started laughing as we all did. We were back. We were Band!

Age 50

50. 5-0. I never thought I'd be this old. Hell I never thought I'd live past 21. Then that number came and went. And time passed. Days moved by like your eyes blinking. People coming in and out. Some stayed. I was lucky in that many in my life did stay. Wherever my friends were, they are my friends. Not past tense. Current. Now. My life intertwined in theirs. Of that I am the luckiest of them all.

Old Boys. Now-a-days Old Boys refer to anyone who attended Kemper. Since Kemper is gone, Old Boys are alumni.

After graduating from Kemper you would always get a birthday post card. I remember many of them signed by Col. John E. Gould. I can't begin to tell you about him. Some may consider me Kemper, I consider HIM Kemper. My father actually attended Kemper the same time he did. Col. Gould was also old time Calvary, back when the Army had horses. He was a helluva man. A gentleman with a devilish streak that he rarely showed to anyone, unless you were lucky. Like getting a smile from Mrs. Roberts.

I always waited and expected and looked forward to that post card and knew his writing as well as I did my own mother's. I was also lucky enough to have one of my pictures of the color-guard used for the post card. But by that time Col. Gould was gone. It would have been something to have his words on the back. I think I may have one or two cards somewhere packed away. I just never thought that I wouldn't receive a birthday card as I always thought Kemper would continue. I never thought there wouldn't be a time when there wasn't a Kemper Military School & College. Just like I never thought I would ever have gone through what I have. I never thought I'd live to see 50.

Now my goal is to see 68. Dad died when he was 68 so I want to at least hit that age. Do I have a bucket list? Um... No. I have already done more than most people have and while I might make a pail list (small bucket) I am not looking to jump out of a perfectly good air plane. I par-sailed once-I know from those Airborne types its not the same. But since I am not able to go through the 3 weeks of Airborne school and then get my wings, anything else just isn't. If I have a list, its very specific.

I have been to Europe. Hawaii. I have traveled all over the US. Are there places I would like to go? Hell yes. Siberia, Yugoslavia, Ireland, Scotland, etc. But I have a great imagination. I love to read. I have seen movies. If I don't make it, I can go there in my mind.

I have been to Disney World. I have stood in Time Square on New Year's Eve and drank with people I would never see again and got a couple of kisses at midnight from a pretty Russian girl. I think I have a picture of that. I have much more, my life, in memories, in my mind.

I have owned businesses; retired twice. Made and lost money. Married and divorced. Finally got my degree 30 years later. Worked for a newspaper. Been in love? Maybe. I have loved deeply some women. I have been and still maybe in love with some women. They may or may not know. Maybe the problem was they never loved me deep enough, or loved me back the way I loved them or... who knows. And then I have what I consider the two great loves of my life; Julie and Kemper.

I attended a military school that only a finite number of men and women ever attended. And of those men and women, our numbers are getting smaller as each day dawns and the sun sets. I have friendships with men and women going on 37 years. Of men and women who I love, respect and hold in high honor. THAT I am not surprised of. Those bonds can't be broken by anything but death. And even then its not forever; we will meet again in that formation in the sky.

So we circle back to 50. Mid life crisis? Nope; already had a crisis at 38 and still have it at times. Done anything crazy? Please. I have done more crazy than you will ever know. I feel extremely lucky that there were no cell phone cameras or videos in those days. Some of my friends who have tried to re-invent themselves should really be thankful. While I may not have pictures, I have a better memory; and like the old joke-I know where the skeletons are buried as I helped bury them.

Understand? Some will. A lot won't. And that's ok. Just call it the ramblings of an old man. And for those who know and understand; I am still dam proud of being an Old Boy!

Names, names, names...

A rose by any other name...

At Kemper was where I learned that names meant something but also they meant nothing.  In Delta Co., we had "sound offs". That meant is someone yelled your name; last name of course, you had to respond with your own personal sound off. Like a friend whose last name was Tandy had his sound off: "Sir, my name is Tandy... beep, beep, sir!" It was a play on the Tandy Corporation  who owned Radio Shack.  Mine was: "Sir, my name is Herring and I am full of ball bearings, sir!" Obviously I was more rotund at the time. And then we had Woodle. Woodle was a 7th grader, small and hyper as a lot of 7th graders are. His sound off was: "Sir, my name is Woodle; Woodles wobble but they don't fall down sir!" After the toys of the day that woobled but didn't fall down.

In any case, Woodle also was a talker. He would say this, he would say that. The Old Boys and chain of command never heard it as he was a New Boy. But us New Boys heard him. We would just shake our head when he said his dad was going to land his chopper and give him his trombone. Uh huh, right.

One Saturday night I was at the movie in the auditorium along with a bunch of other New Boys. As New Boys you weren't allowed to watch tv or if you got that privilege it might not be something you wanted to watch. So there were we watching a movie when we heard it. Like distant thunder but getting closer. It then sounded like something was going to crash into the barracks. We all piled out onto the court.

Suddenly a light from the sky illuminated us. Was it a UFO? Nope. It was Chinook helicopter coming in for a landing on the west parade field (it was the larger of our two). No sooner had it touched down than someone in fatigues wearing a flight helmet carrying a trombone case, jumped out. We could see Woodle run out and meet the man half way. The man hugged Woodle, gave him his trombone case and then quickly ran and jumped back aboard and the chopper took off. The rotors never stopped turning or even slowed. the whole thing lasted a minute; two tops, It then rose in the night sky and disappeared to the west.

Names also never meant anything when you are standing at attention or a brace and you have someone within 6 inches of your face calling you every name in the book along with some highly impossible sex acts. That's why today I can be called any thing by anybody and I just look at them and tell them that I have been called worse by better people than they will ever know AND in more languages. In other words, it doesn't bother me. They don't know me.

One time at band practice, Chief stops us and yells at me to play whats written. We play again, he stops us. He then says "Look, umm..uh, oh Hell, Farmer Boy play that blankety blank tuba right!" He had forgotten my name! That became one of the names that Chief would call me.

Another time, early in my first year at Kemper I was one of the Privates of the Guard. Luckily it was during a parade and I didn't have to march. I was making my way back to the OD Office when the adjutant (Gaskill), yelled over to me "OD, OD come here." I went over to correct him, "Sir I'm not the OD, I'm just a runner." I didn't know that at the time that all personnel on the OD force would be called OD.

I am proud of my name. I am also proud of some nicknames I have picked up over the years as they are road maps of where I have come and it also a way I can identify almost how a person knows me. It all depends on how they address me. Only certain people are allowed to call me certain names. Even close friends who didn't go to Kemper and (ex-) wives are not allowed to call me by one of them as they don't have the right. Of this, it may sound funny, but I am serious. Luckily the ones that know, know.

Phase II Black Patches

I had a lot of people commenting about my 'birthday' writing (though not on HERE). I know I write about Kemper, but then they say write what you know and love. And that's Kemper. There's enough "you won't believe this shit" stories to go on for years. 

Here's another. 

At age 14 you really hadn't, at least at that time, done a lot in your young life. If you were in sports or FFA or FHA or Boy Scouts or 4-H maybe. Up until that time my biggest claim to fame was winning the 8th grade science fair with my exhibit on the Bermuda Triangle. So going to Kemper was a big step to begin with. 

Back in those days, after 6 weeks of Phase I, the best of the best got promoted to Phase II. That meant they didn't have to brace in the halls or sit Phase I. That meant sitting in the first third of your chair and 'sitting-up.' You also could have like a rug on your floor and a picture or something. No big stereos, just small clock radios were aloud. So any kind of promotion got a you a few more privileges. After that every 4 weeks the best got promoted so by the time Christmas Corporal Dinner came around, the best New Boys were promoted to Corporal. 

After the first 6 weeks I was still Phase I. The next promotions came; I was still Phase I. The next promotions came and went; still no black patches. Then came Christmas Corporal. There were hall decorating contests (Band won that one that year with aluminum foil hanging from the ceiling and the walls.) Individual door decorations (our 1Sgt in Delta won that one; Selfridge). We were going to eat steak, each company would have some kind of skit or songs and then promotions. The next day we would all leave for a MONTH break. I could sleep in, no sitting up, watch TV and relax.

Anyway, at that time the way you sat at tables were by platoon. Usually you had one or two tables with nothing but New Boys, with the Platoon Leader at one end and a squad leader at the other end. Another table would have the Platoon Sergeant and another squad leader. The overflow of Old Boys and NCOs would sit at the NCO table. 

My squad leader hated me. I couldn't march right, didn't know my right foot from the left and I didn't know a flank from a column,. No one ever explained it to until much later what exactly a column and a flank was. I did plenty of push ups and sit ups and braced. So there I sat in my class A's with my arms folded, after having ate a nice meal without having to sit Phase I. They were reading the promotions off, starting with the lowest and working their way up to the officers and getting their swords presented. As they were reading the names off I locked eyes with my squad leader; Williams. He sat there looking at me and suddenly my name was called off. I was no longer a Phase I but a Phase II. There is no amount of money you could have given and no award since that has felt as good as hearing my name being promoted and looking at the person who had made my life Hell. (The next year when he came back for a visit, not returning as a cadet, I went up to him and told him how I hated his guts the previous year, but shook his hand and thanked him for everything)

What the price I paid to receive two little pieces of black felt to wear on my shoulders was tantamount to having been broken and been rebuilt. Seriously. I was no longer the same person that had come there. I never realized it until much later that I had started to take steps toward manhood. I was still a boy, but I was growing. 

The cadets who were there at my years at Kemper were some of the most insightful people I have ever met and I have met few like them since. They were boys and girls ranging from 7th grade to junior college. From all over the world with a multitude of background and reasons for being there. And yet, with all of that, there was someone who could relate to any problem a cadet might have. I will always say I was lucky to have gone when I did. 

Back to the mess hall and the promotions; I was stunned. Literally. I couldn't stop staring and then I could feel a smile come on my face and I finally broke eye contact with him and shook my head. I honestly can't remember what changed after that, but I know things did. 

Those first steps I took with the help and the pain of the Old Boys around me; from my squad leader and my assistant squad leader Holmes (who died the next year and who was one of my best first friends there). To unassigned Old Boys like Shehorn and Eehl. I can remember Eehl sitting on a shoe box upon my squad's introduction to our squad leadership. 

Two black patches. I would eventually trade those in for corporal stripes when I transferred to the Band as a tuba player. But that's another story. I have always wondered what would have happened had I not transferred. I look back at that time now with hopefully more wisdom and wonder what if. I also wish I could shake William's hand one more time. So where ever you are, thank you. 

Two black patches on a light blue shirt with brass insignia on the collar points; the first real things I ever earned.

Past Birthdays

Wow, I hadn't realized I had let that much time pass.

My birthday is coming up on the 8th. I will be turning 50. Age is a state of mind I know. I don't feel 50 nor do I look it. I have had to show my license on more than one occasion to prove how old I am. But of course, at this special time in my life, I think back to Kemper.

At Kemper, you were tossed in the lake or the showers on 2 occasions; when you got promoted or your birthday. Usually you would be in the company area and chased until you were eventually caught. Depending on the time of year and the 'goodness' of your friends doing the tossing, would decide on where you went. Also, if you went to the showers you usually got shaving creamed also. I am going to recount two times on my birthday at Kemper.

I had 'helped' people go into the showers and pond on promotions and birthdays and I had gone into the showers on my promotions and on my birthdays. In fact it was one of those things that showed how much people cared for you. But that didn't mean you had to make it easy. Not to mention, you were in uniform, so you had better be prepared; as in you had a clean shirt, pants, shoes, etc, because they were going to be wet, shaving creamed or *ugh* pond watered. It was fun way to chase and lead a merry chase. No one ever escaped. They knew where you lived and you had to come back to your room sooner or later. And trust me, no rank was off limits. Sometimes the bigger the better.

It was in my 4th year at Kemper; I was a 2nd lieutenant, and I honestly don't remember what day my birthday fell, but I want to say it was a Thursday. as an officer with good grades, I could have a mid-week and i was taking it in the Officer's Club. By the time I was an officer, the O Club was a shadow of it's former glory, but still had a working TV and had some acquired basic cable. It was close to the club room, so right after 3rd mess I headed there to watch some TV and chomp on a grease burger and fries from the Club Room. I knew I would get it, hell I was prepared for it, but I had planned on giving a merry chase before I ended up  in the showers. So I wasn't prepared for what happened next. There was a knock on the door of the O Club. Being the only one in there I answered it; figuring someone was looking for anyone but me.

There stood Anderson, one on my cadets in my platoon.

"Sir, someone broke your tuba."

"What do you mean someone 'broke my tuba?'"

"I don't know sir, but its in pieces in your room, you can see it from the hall."

I figured someone had come into my room looking for me and had accidentally knocked my sousaphone off my bed and the bell had come off. It was a quick fix, i wasn't worried; it was also fiberglass and fairly indestructible.

So I got my hat and walked backed to the 1st floor of K barracks. It was close to the end of evening study so i didn't think anything strange as I didn't see anyone. My room was in the middle of the hall and I was almost there when someone yelled "Get him!"

With that the doors all opened and I was swamped by bodies. I was grabbed and lifted off my feet and propelled for the showers. Before I got there I stopped everyone and spoke up.

"Ok," I said, "I have two requests or I promise you I will make people walk funny before I go in: One, someone get my glasses as I don't want them broken and two; take off my shoes so they don't get wet."

I believe George got my glasses and someone removed my shoes. Of course by this time the showers were all going, it was steamy and the water was as hot as it could get, and in I went. I did manage to take a couple of the guys with me, but that was also part of the fun.

After that was over my glasses were returned along with my shoes. And when I got back to my room, my sousaphone was fine.

The last time I went into the showers I wasn't even a cadet. I had graduated at mid-term and was at Mizzou. But I came back on my birthday for this. I walked in for 2nd mess and I think I even told someone I was here because it was my birthday. I had a gym bag with spare clothes that i set outside the mess hall doors as I knew what was going to happen. Anyway, I hung out by the doors as everybody was getting their food and  then the prayer and announcements. It was announced that it was my birthday and though I wasn't technically a cadet I was still going to be got. As it was said that it was my birthday, my friends from Band and other companies were already moving. So was I. I knew I could could keep them busy for about 3 minutes. And I did. The more adventurous wouldn't care about their uniforms as they would want to get me. I remember Beaver really chasing me. Anyway, I was got and hoisted up over everyone and I was headed for the lake. I again my promise that I had no problem going into the showers but I would make people pay if I went into the lake. That veered them back to the showers. I asked someone to get my bag and it was got; after I found my way into the showers along with shaving cream.

I knew people that were actually upset that their birthdays were in the summer months as they only got to have that fun if they got promoted.

Do I miss that kind of birthday? Getting wet, having shaving cream sprayed all over you? Chased and possibly bruised and battered as you outran and fought your friends who only wanted to see you go into the showers or if they were mad at you; the lake?

In my life I have had awards and honors, and as I tell people that what I did and what I got at Kemper  means more to me than any of those. Kemper it was your peers. Men and women who served in the military, who made it through combat and Lord knows what else that life had to throw them. These people gave you their friendship and respect. They gave you important gifts like what made them tick and what made them hurt. What made them happy, sad and so much more. No other gifts have I ever gotten can compete with the friendship and respect that I was given by those people. That is something that is so dear to me that is indescribable and without a value. I always work to make sure that those that gave that to me will never regret what they have given me. I try and honor them and those that have already gone before us everyday of my life; fighting the good fight and thanking God for Kemper. Its the old adage; unless you were there you don't know.

Thank you everyone for those gifts. I can never repay you enough.