The Fall

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 1^st 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.