I love the fall. It
used to be great, going back to Kemper. Before the internet; when you got back
together you told what you did over the summer to your buddies. I heard more b.s. stories about what someone
did, or who they did, to last a life time. Usually in a room, some guys sitting
on a bed while others took one of the chairs or the footlocker, the desk lamp
on and the radio tuned to KWRT in Boonville or KFMZ out of Columbia. The music
was the soundtrack of that time. You’d talk til late until the bell rang for
lights outs and taps.
Hopefully the weather had turned so you weren’t sweating in
the sheets as you tried to get some sleep. Windows open, maybe mosquitoes or
crickets. You’d hear a train rumble by. Maybe the distant hum of the
interstate. The night would be cool and black except for the odd pools of
lights from the dusk to dawn lights on the buildings. The stars watched over
us, remembering. Lights from distant houses, street lights, and lightning bugs
were like far away dreams; you could see but were always out of reach.
The trees turning were the best as the colors were stuff you
would never see anywhere except CGI. That’s when parades were the best too.
Sound carried, whether it was Gaskill’s ‘Ba-tallion!’ the sound of the band or
Bunch playing taps. That feeling was like no other. When it snowed, those
cadets from the south seas, who had never seen snow before, would be out in
t-shirts, shorts and flip flops or boots. I imagine for those who had never
seen the ocean it would be the same reaction.
Depending on the barracks, at night, you could hear wood
creek or footfall in the hall. In B barracks, if someone went to the latrines
you could hear that big wooden door open and close.
Halloween meant we got to dress in civilian clothes; dress
up or down. It was a bit relaxed. You might have gotten your black patches by
then if you were very good. By that time you weren’t messing up as much and
things were starting to come together.
By Thanksgiving it was even better. After my first year, I had
A LOT of people coming to the house. Because I lived close, and my mother loved
to cook, and my father was an Old Boy and on the Board of Trustees and loved to
talk, and these were men and women who I loved then and still do today, those
days were filled with laughs, talks and a feeling that transcends being
friends. In the military you trust you
buddies. At Kemper that applied but there was something more. By the time you
got to the real military you had jelled a lot as an almost adult. At Kemper
that process was still going on, kids becoming men and women. I have always
said those of us who went to Kemper know each other better than anyone else.
During those times I knew how some people would react in almost any given
situation. That is why we are the way we
are today. It’s not like someone you have met and hung out with occasionally
for a few years. This was 24/7, hours
upon hours through parades, classes, sports, weekends, holidays, those long
talks, etc. We know the real person; not the one you show to wives,
girlfriends, boyfriends, co-workers, or blood relatives. We know the person who
is trying to re-write their past so those people don’t know how you were.
So what? That was you. That IS you. It is a part of your
history. That sometimes is a hard lesson for said wives, girlfriends, etc to
accept. Thus the Kemper Curse. But that’s another story. This is about how well
we know each other.
Promotion or birthday. Pond or shower. That’s all I need to say. Those who know
understand. Those who don’t…. should be obvious. You get promoted or it’s your
birthday, you went either to the pond or shower. It depended on how well liked
you were. If you weren’t, or if you were caught near there, the pond. That
sucked as pond water, dirt, grass stains play Hell with uniforms. Showers was usually just water, either very
hot or cold, maybe some shaving cream. But you were usually close to your room
where you could change. And it was not
an ‘if’, but a ‘when’.
My birthday. I decided to hide out in the Officer’s Club
during my mid-week. At this time it was
like a grand hotel that was run down. Lots of wood, broken down couches that
had been jumped on more times than should be allowed, shag carpet, a console tv
that was on its last legs with ‘borrowed’ cable from the apartment and
commandant’s office above. The pool
table had seen better days. That was where I first saw TBS and CNN. But it was
quiet, and killing a few hours before I knew I had to make my run was
appealing. I was in evening study wear; C pants, tennis shoes, white t-shirt.
There came a knock on the door and there was Anderson; God I
wish I knew where he was today. Anyways, he said that someone had knocked my
tuba off and it was broken. I figured that someone had been in my room looking
for me and had knocked it on the floor and the bell had just come off. No big
deal. So I dutifully followed him back to K Barracks. Band was 1st
floor K. My room was down the right hall, about halfway. As I walked down the
hall, all the doors were closed, but that didn’t register as weird, it being
evening study. It wasn’t until I was right in the middle and someone, I’ll say
it was George, yelled “Get him!”
All the doors opened up and a mob descended upon me. I was
got. Strong hands gripped my shoulders and arms. Grinning faces, not unkind
were all around. I knew where I was going. I was a little upset. Not that I was
got, but that I didn’t get a chance to lead them on a merry chase. Sometimes
the person resisted, strenuously and violently. But in the end, it was no use. Me, I just liked to see how far and long it
would take them. With cries of “Shower! Shower!” I calmly took off my glasses and handed them
to Anderson. Evening study was over.
I get asked at times how can I remember what happened way
back then. Because I replay those times over and over in mind.
My one unique ability is to be able to replay memories like
that; songs, smells, sight, sounds-whenever I want or needed them. I can hear
the voice of Bunch or George or others in mind.
I could easily assign the voice of Wilkey as a devil. Now granted, I
talk to all of these guys often, so its not unusual. But I also hear people’s
voice that are no longer with us. Chief being a big one. I have the ability to
compartmentalize; to have those memories running in the background of my mind
and soul is what keeps me alive and moving through this life one second at a
time.
When I have had to do
repetitive tasks or grunt work or whatever needed to be done, I can replay them.
And its not all Kemper, but a lot is,as the work I am doing seems to suit those
memories. I also think of certain people
from then. After a while you forget what it’s like to be a New Boy. Then you
have some very humbling experiences and instead of being the scared New Boy who
didn’t know anything and was afraid of the Old Boys, you are that New Boy who
is strong. Though you may not know exactly what to do, knows that hard work is
what it will take. Because of that, because of those men, and I am specifically
thinking of Dolloff and Parks, I worked hard, harder than any others. Whenever
I have questioned how hard to work, I would volunteer for the jobs that no one
wanted to do. I think of Kozlick. I did
what had to be done and I learned what it took, I learned what I was made of
and what I could do. It was because of them. I want them to know that their ethics are
still remembered. Theyw ere older than I was at the time, and at the time I
didn’t realize I still had much to learn. I am a good person, and I think I
have always been a pretty good person, but these last 15 years….I think has
made me a better person. The past helps.
"I was that
which others did not want to be. I went where others feared to go. And did what
others failed to do. I asked nothing from those who gave nothing, and
reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness, should I fail. I have
seen the face of terror, felt the stinging cold of fear, and enjoyed the sweet
taste of a moments love. I have cried, pained and hoped, but most of all I have
lived times others would say were best forgotten. At least someday I will be
able to say that I was proud of what I was. A soldier." Cpt. G.L. Skypeck, Viet Nam, Republic of,
1972. This was in a classroom at Kemper that I saw almost every day for years.
I memorized it. The title is Soldier.
