In the beginning....

Before the official start of the school year at Kemper, there were 4 camps going on. Leadership; for prospective leaders. Band camp; well for band. Football camp for the players and rifle camp for prospective members of the rifle team.  I was the youngest person ever to attend rifle camp. This was because of my interest in guns. I didn’t know at the time that usually those people attending the camp would be n the rifle team. I just like shooting guns. And I learned how to shoot. SGM Winborn was a great teacher. Before the end of the camp and the start of Kemper, he took those of us at camp to the Missouri State Fair. I remember we went the ‘back way’ and n SGM’s car. There just wasn’t that many of us. During camp, none of the Kemper rules applied. I wasn’t a New Boy, there was no bracing or sitting up, yet.

Down the right side of K barracks was those were in band camp. Down the left side were those who were in leadership and rifle camp. I remember my father wanting to see the inside of the barracks.  As we entered, we encountered a tall cadet in uniform. He was in class C’s, cap, the model of a cadet Old Boy. I had never seen him before and didn’t know who he was at the time.

My father was a tall white man, 6”2’ while this cadet was a tall black kid.  He didn’t know this cadet yet, and yet he put his arm around his shoulders, pulled him close and started talking to him like they were old friends. He told this cadet that this was all new to me and to try and teach me what it was like to be a Kemper cadet and to watch out for me.  All the cadet could do was say “yes sir, yes sir.”  My father also had tendency to slap you on the back. I remember seeing my father, walking down the hallway, slapping this poor, bewildered cadet on the back. And I wasn’t even technically a cadet yet.

When the time came for me to join the ranks of the Corps, my father, mother and grandmother came to see me off.  At that time, you had to go to each station (finance, education, military, quartermaster, tailor shop, etc.), give/get whatever they wanted; check, parent’s signature, pick up your uniforms, and proceed until you were finally pointed to the officer’s porch where  a cadet with a clipboard was doling out room assignments.  This cadet was also in a “C” uniform, and though probably only as tall as I was, was older. He had that air about him. He was an officer, he was a leader, he was an Old Boy!

After getting my room assignment-3 rd floor B barracks. The room faced the inner court and a wall. Not the most attractive thing. Couldn’t see anything.  Well my father took me back down to the cadet. He went up to him. “Son, when I was here, my room was up there on the third floor. About halfway down. You can see it from here and I was hoping my son could get that room.”

The cadet looked up at my father and his determined face. He looked down at his clip board, erased something and wrote something. He then looked up at my father, “He’s in that room now.”

As we walked back up the stairs I asked him if that had been his room.  He just smiled.

Getting things situated, I remember my father taught me how to make socks ‘smile.’ He told me about putting Vaseline on the brim of my garrison cap to keep it shiny.  My new room had a view that overlooked the front of the school and Third Street. At night the streetlights that lined the drive between Johnston Field House and D barracks would come on.  For some reason my father knew that view would help a soon-to-be homesick boy. I can still see that view to this day.

I walked back down the stairs to say goodbye to my family.  I now stood in front of the school outside the president’s office windows with my father. He said I would need a watch and took off his Timex. He then asked if I needed any money.  I nodded of course. My grandmother and my mother had already slipped me some money.  He gave me some more.

We stood there, a comfortable-uncomfortable silence. He could tell that I was starting to realize that I really didn’t know what I was getting into too. We watched a very small black boy and his father carrying a trunk.  As they walked down toward the court, my father said, “See that boy. He’s being strong. You have to be strong. You think you can do that?”

I nodded. He shook my hand and went over and hugged my mother and grandmother around the neck. He got into that gold Cadillac and drove slowly down the street. I didn’t watch them disappear, but instead made my way back to my room to get into “D”s. My Kemper life started,