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.