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.

Where did this dream come from?

I hate when I have dreams that I have no idea where they come from.  Last night I didn’t watch any movie or series. I was busy on the computer sending things out, but not watching anything, just listening to music.

I went to bed early as I hadn’t slept well the night before.

I woke and still kinda remember my dream.

It was on the old farm. I had driven up and saw a tank, Hum-Vee and a command vehicle in the back by the white barn. I looked around. I don’t know if I was supposed to be meeting someone or I still lived here or what. I got out of my vehicle and could see that the top hatch of the tank, the commander’s ring, was up and open. I immediately knew that my son was in there.  I saw an officer standing in and out of the command vehicle. But no other soldiers around.  For some reason I knew it was just us; that the rest of the soldiers were elsewhere.

I looked over at the officer and asked if there was anything in the tank that my child could touch to make it fire, start up, etc. I got no response just a look from him.

I climbed on the tank and loudly said my offspring’s name. I got a “Yeah dad?”  Told him to come on out. When I saw him I reached in and pull him up and out and stood him on the back of the tank. I wasn’t really mad or anything as I probably would have done the same thing, given the situation, at any age.

Just then my ex-wife showed. But it was neither one of my current ex’s and no one that I know (and I also got the impression that the man I was , was either a younger me or not me, so it’s not like some weird premonition)  As my son and I climbed off the tank, she grabbed his arm and started walking towards a car.  A typical angry parent about her child doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

Suddenly this officer is moving past me, un-holstering his pistol.  She lets go of the boy and starts to run for the house, her brown hair flowing behind her. A shot rings out and I run to where my ex has falling. For some reason I have the receiver of a portable phone. I try to stop the bleeding and dial 0 at the same time.  I can hear the phone ringing and I get some pre-recorded message. Finally I hear an operator and I tell her to send an ambulance, the Sheriff and Highway Patrol, as my ex-wife had been shot by the Army.  For some reason I got the feeling that this was the start of a nationwide coup.  I look down and my hands are covered in blood as is the phone. I sit there against the side of the house as I cradle her in my arms.

Wow. Talk about a lot going on. Again, no idea where this came from.

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,

Pictures in the Mind

Why is it that lack of sleep or maybe the early hours gets one philosophical?

You can try and share things with others, but they will never truly understand or appreciate why hat you are sharing is important, unless they were there too; to witness or experience the moment.

I am a professional photographer; though now the only pictures I take are with my cell phone or my mind. For those who don't know; I did have a studio and yes people actually paid me money to take their picture and I have had pictures published...so I am a professional. Just not currently. Anyway-I do have a portfolio, but the funny thing is that I have pictures in my head that will never be seen by anyone. Moments, people, places...many no longer with us. Am I selfish? No. I just u n d e r s t a n d.

I can share a picture. I can tell a story. But to 99.9% it will never convey the emotion, the tingle in the tongue moment of it because that person I am telling it too wasn't there. They may say the right words or look impressed, but they will never understand. Should I try to make them understand?

I wonder. Part of me, a big part, knows I will probably still try; to force memories and emotions of that time on others. That way maybe they will understand me a bit better. To understand why I am me. But will they really?

The pictures and times we all carry are sacred.

Star Trek: Renegades

Just watched Star Trek: Renegades. An 'independent' or 'web based' movie. The look was good, not bad special effects and it was nice seeing some familiar faces. Interesting story, neat 'villain' race. Although I am getting tired with every other alien race having the "I want the honor of the first kill" bit. I would have been satisfied with the 'honor of the last kill' which is what they said first and I thought was interesting.  I liked Chekov's office with the different Trek pictures. And the uniforms aren't bad, but almost a little plain. That being the good things said, let me count the ways it lacked, in my opinion.

This was like Star Trek: The Motion Picture. A lot going on and cramming it in one movie. Well maybe not in relation to the story, but definitely in relations to the characters. It was like a bad role play game; you had all the arch-types/stereo-types all together.

You had the Cardassian hating Bajoran. The token Cardassian. The reformed Borg.  A defective Betazoid. The disgraced doctor, who, I was surprised to see was Sean Young who had a love affair with the creator of the holographic doctor. Gary Graham is there too as.... something. and what looked like something from Star Wars. And the captain of these renegades is Kahn's daughter? Really?? Literally, they were a group of players who each wanted to 'play something different.'

I will say they did have a surprise or two, so the story isn't bad. But half way through it I cared more about Chekov's great grand-daughter that the crew of the Icarius. Maybe it was their acting abilities or lack of? I don't know Even now I half wish that the bad guys had killed them. But they couldn't or earth would have been destroyed.

And they set it up for sequels or a series. All in all it was ok. 6.5 out of 10.

I Envy Those With Only A Few Close Friends

I envy those people who say  they only have one or two close friends. That way when one or both of them are gone, they won't have any more pain from those relationships. Or someone with one or two siblings. When they are gone, you never have the pain of loosing a brother or sister or best friend. 

Randy died on Tuesday. Randy is the first in my class to have passed, and it was sudden and a shock. From what I have been told, he had gone to the hospital two weeks ago for pain in one of his legs. When they got the tests back they found cancer. I guess further tests show that it had spread to his stomach and other lower organs. 

Two weeks later he was gone. He passed away in his sleep.

I was in shock when I first heard. I immediately started notifying all the Old Boys who knew him. None of us could believe it. He was 51. 

You see, I have many, many close friends. I say 'friend' so that you understand. But they are my family. We have a bond that transcends simple terms like 'best friend' or 'brother' as there are women in this group. They fought hard to make sure they also got the term "Old Boy." 

Randy was the jokester, the wise cracking, Jack Daniels drinking, Texan. I had just talked to him a month ago and nothing seemed amiss. 

So I envy those with only one or two special people. Those who say they can count on one hand they love and trust and are close friends with. Using two hands I don't even get out of the "A"s.

You may think I am over-reacting. Then you don't understand. You ask any military person how close the bonds they have with their fellow comrade-in-arms. With me, these relationships started 37 years ago. Some of our brethren have worn and are still wearing the uniform of United States Armed Forces. Some traded them to be law enforcement at all levels. And some went their own path. 

I am in contact with many through the years, BEFORE the Internet. Through phone calls, reunions, letters and social organizations (OK, I really need to explain that one. It's funny, trust me)

A few years after I graduated Kemper I joined a Star Trek fan club. I also realized that the U.S. Mail would forward things to people who moved. So I signed up a lot of my fellow Old Boys. I did this for a couple of reasons; it helped my with membership numbers. It made sure that I knew if one of them moved, I would get notification of their new address. And they would remember me and it was a way to 'poke' them every time they got something Star Trek. 

Ray was deployed during the first Desert Storm. When mail call came around it was announced to him, "Hey Sgt ________. You got something from STARFLEET. Hey, Captain Kirk, come get your mail."  You can imagine a group of combat personnel, in the desert, with not a lot of entertainment. I have a feeling that Ray got more than his share of comments.

And then there was Randy; who said because I had signed him up for STARFLEET he could never run for office in Texas as they would only want to know about him joining. He good natured threatened me many times over that (I think it was good natured...)

The last time I spoke to Randy was a month ago. He had called me three times, when we finally talked and got our usual pleasantries out of the way, the conversation went something like this: 

Randy: I was at the Austin library and found…have you heard of these re-mastered Star Trek dvds?

Me: Yes Randy I have…. (he cut me off)

R: I used to be able to tell what episode it was by the planet, but now…. I mean they look great and all but do you think that by changing them they have changed the whole story? I remember reading somewhere about Lucas changing the affects and that some fans weren't happy because by changing that they changed the feel…

It went on and on like that for twenty minutes straight (Randy could talk). 

Finally I had to say, “Randy, yes I have heard of them and seen a few clips (he had obviously seen them all). You do know who you are talking too? I signed you up for STARFLEET and you were mad because you said you could never get elected!”

I had photo-shopped Randy’s face onto a Star Trek uniform and sent it to him as a joke, but I guess it wasn't that much of a joke seeing how passionately and seriously he talked. My favorite picture is when the ‘jazz band ensemble’ at Kemper dressed up at Halloween and got our picture taken. Randy was in full Conan regale and poised with us. I have always said it reminds me of an album cover. It’s my wallpaper on my phone. I had to call those guys in the picture to let them know Randy was gone. 

One of my favorite Belushi’s bit was as him as Kirk. I can see Randy in Command gold now. 

So you see why I envy those with just a few. I don't look forward to receiving any more early morning phone calls. But I wouldn't trade my Kemper family for anything. I am so glad I have the time I have with them .

But still...I miss you Randy. I can still hear your voice and laugh. I'll raise a glass of Jack Daniels in your honor. 

"And when you stand on that last great day, before the eternal judge, may you hear from His lips the approving sentence: Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of the Lord." 

Memories of my father

Twenty-seven years ago my life changed. I went from a child with an idealistic life living in the Garden of Eden to one of having a bucket of ice water dumped on me. My father died. Now you would say that would make anyone sad, their life changes, etc. I would agree with you to a point. But it was around this time that I actually liked hanging out with my father. We had finally started to get on the same page.

I remember he took me to a Mizzou football game and introduced me to tailgating and where he had sat in the same seats at Faurot Field for 35 years. Then we went for dinner at Bobby Bufford and discussed the pros and cons of owning your own equipment verses having someone work your farm land. I can still remember the sun setting in the west and its golden rays play along I-70. I felt that my father actually listened to me and took what I had to say seriously, as a grown up. Perhaps that was why he passed when he did. He thought I was ready. Well yes and no.

My faith made me ready for my father leaving. I remember driving like a bat out of Hell from Columbia to the farm and making it in 45 minutes. When I got out of the car, Helen came through the back porch door and just said, "He's gone Jim Barton." I turned and walked across to the field and stared to the North, I don't remember too much except going to the hospital in Fayette and seeing my father laid out on a table. Then I sank down in a hallway outside that room. I really don't recall much at that time. But, because of my faith I knew, I just KNEW that my father was Heaven, out of pain and having a blast talking and meeting everyone. My father was more out going than I ever am; I get my personality from him. I wasn't really sad, except that I would miss him and miss the support I had from him. No matter what disagreements we ever had, I knew that my father had my back. No questions asked. He knew that I would never lie to him. Oh, we both stretched the truth; but as all Old Boys know; We. Never. Lie. To one of our own. So if anything happened, my father had my back. We played it straight; on the level and by the plumb. I am also so glad that my father saw me return all 3 of my degrees in my Blue Lodge.

His death also proved something that I knew; I have the best friends from Kemper. My family. That's what they are. Beyond blood. My father's funeral proved that. Not only was he loved and respected by many, but we all were family. Just like Chief's funeral. At dad's there were Old Boys who literally flew in just for the funeral and then had to immediately leave.How many? More than I can count on both hands and feet.

To this day, when Eric and I talk, we both remember this date, August 20.

I had to grow up; a battlefield promotion in some respects. Launched from a carrier, the sub dove, jumping out of an airplane, whatever metaphor that means that I was on my own. I had men and women who had my back, but for the most part it was going to be just me.

Today I am a better person than I was then. I mean I was a good guy, but just seemed to give lip service to things and still had growing up to do. I am so far from where I was then, you couldn't see it using the Hubble telescope. And like starlight, that star died a long time ago, but the light is still with us.

So that day will be one that I mark in my heart. I know Eric is marking it; as he loved my father. Eric will mark my father and his father passing on that big heart of his. I pray for them both, for Eric and myself.

George has said to me that I need to quit trying to live up to my father. That's actually impossible; there is no way I could ever do that. He was a better man than I can ever be. I can and do live by many of the things made him who he was. But I am not him. I am from him, a part of him and for that I will be eternally grateful. For those who knew him, they still speak very fondly of him and that is one of the best epitaph I know. I hope I am as well remembered when I am gone.

Thank you Dad. I know I never told you that enough. And because we were men, we never said 'I love you' after I got to Kemper as much. I know you knew I loved you and followed in your footsteps. I also remember lessons learned from you; those things that you never really taught me, that I saw about you and learned things that you didn't know you were teaching. Because when you tried to actually teach me things, it didn't go so well. Just like when I tried to teach you how to use the computer (Apple IIc).  We just never could actually teach the other, we had to learn from the other when teaching wasn't the goal.

I know you are looking down on me. I know I have made you proud and also shamed you on some things. But I also know that you love me no matter what and that if I can be a tenth of the man you were I will be someone. I know you and Chief are up there sitting in chairs, a bottle of Jack Daniels between you watching me as I bumble and fumble through this life. Occasionally rising above the milk with the cream.

I am under no illusion; my father was not perfect. And there are some things that I know I should have stood up for that would have changed my life. But then, I wasn't ready at that time. It took his passing for the cement to harden. But he was a perfect father for me.

I love and miss you Dad. Thank you for everything you did for me, tried to do for me and everything in between.

KMS '36-'38

In the kitchen at the farm

Glasgow Cemetery

Numquam non Paratus

So mote it be