Dates I will always remember. On November 22, 1963 I was returning from recess at Fort Totten to our classroom at Eleanor Marshall School when a distraught lady pulled her car to the curb. Our teacher went to her car to check on her. When she returned she explained that the President had been shot. We were living in a fearful time. We had drills to practice diving under our desk in case of nuclear attacks. The news was full of riots and demonstrations about issues that we were perhaps too young to understand. Multiple leaders were assassinated. Our society went through very dynamic changes. Eventually as time progressed things seem to improve.
Fast forward to September 11, 2001. While having my morning coffee a report came across the screen that one of the Towers at the World Trade Center had been hit by a plane. I left home to go to the Tent River Coffee Company to join the discussion at the table where all of the worlds woes were solved. Soon after my arrival the second Tower was struck. We watched and listened as it became apparent that our country was under attack. Rage, fear and confusion were experienced that day. The country's psyche would never be quite the same. I had not been born when Pearl Harbor was attacked but I imagine the feelings were much the same.
America will not forget the heroes of that day. People who ran toward the flames and destruction to protect others. Since that time two million young Americans have seen combat to make us safer and to improve the lives of those living under oppressive regimes. The America in which I live is still a wonderful place to live and I will always be grateful to those who have made it possible.
Gary Barker
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Showing posts with label Gary Barker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gary Barker. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Getting Paddled - The First Day of School
One of my most vivid memories occurred on the first day of the eighth grade. I remember thinking we had finally arrived. As an eighth grader in a grades one through eight school we were going to be kings for the entire year. The fall of 1967 certainly had promise. Those hollowed halls were at the time one of the oldest continually used public school facilities in America. My grand mother and father had attended school at this location. Now we were the kings, the masters of our domain. It is good to be king.
The opening bell sounded, we took our seats. The intercom speaker crackled and Mr. Hardison's voice welcomed us to school. He then called my name and five of my running buddies and summoned us to the office. I thought of naming the names but have decided against it. I wouldn't want to undermine any of my friends authority in their present positions by having them too closely tied to my escapades. When we inquired to the purpose of our summons we were informed he intended to exact corporal punishment upon our persons. He observed the horrified and quizzical expressions on our faces. He then told us that we had not yet committed any infractions. He went on to state that ours was a preemptive paddling. It was his opinion that most of the trouble in River City the previous year had been caused by the group assembled. He wanted to set the proper tone for the year. So much for being King.
I have told this story many times. I have found that people born after 1970 just do not understand the world in which the "Baby Boomers" lived. I often hear I would have told my parents. The parents of that day did not give their children a presumption of innocence. I never once considered going home to tell the Admiral that the Principle had paddled me for being the center of all that was wrong at the school for the preceding year. He would have investigated. I did not want the principle and my Dad having any conversation. A second paddling would have been certain along with long periods of confinement.
A good paddling was an act of grace. You misbehaved, were caught, felt guilty and then were punished. Once the paddling was completed you were completely restored. No further ramification or guilt was required. I would like to tell you I was a model student after that day. I can't. The teacher / student ratio in that day was about 1 to 30. The teachers managed quite well. Mrs. Ipock said that she liked to practice her tennis forehand by paddling her students. From my experience she must have gone undefeated that year.
The opening bell sounded, we took our seats. The intercom speaker crackled and Mr. Hardison's voice welcomed us to school. He then called my name and five of my running buddies and summoned us to the office. I thought of naming the names but have decided against it. I wouldn't want to undermine any of my friends authority in their present positions by having them too closely tied to my escapades. When we inquired to the purpose of our summons we were informed he intended to exact corporal punishment upon our persons. He observed the horrified and quizzical expressions on our faces. He then told us that we had not yet committed any infractions. He went on to state that ours was a preemptive paddling. It was his opinion that most of the trouble in River City the previous year had been caused by the group assembled. He wanted to set the proper tone for the year. So much for being King.
I have told this story many times. I have found that people born after 1970 just do not understand the world in which the "Baby Boomers" lived. I often hear I would have told my parents. The parents of that day did not give their children a presumption of innocence. I never once considered going home to tell the Admiral that the Principle had paddled me for being the center of all that was wrong at the school for the preceding year. He would have investigated. I did not want the principle and my Dad having any conversation. A second paddling would have been certain along with long periods of confinement.
A good paddling was an act of grace. You misbehaved, were caught, felt guilty and then were punished. Once the paddling was completed you were completely restored. No further ramification or guilt was required. I would like to tell you I was a model student after that day. I can't. The teacher / student ratio in that day was about 1 to 30. The teachers managed quite well. Mrs. Ipock said that she liked to practice her tennis forehand by paddling her students. From my experience she must have gone undefeated that year.
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Tuesday, April 12, 2011
My First Senior Class Party (The Citadel)
One of the first time knobs (freshman) got to leave The Citadel campus was for our first Senior Class Party. The senior classes have traditionally thrown off campus parties on Saturday after the formal balls held Friday nights. Southern debutantes flock to Charleston for the Homecoming, Ring Hop, Parents Day and other formal dances that were held on Fridays. Saturday the party would move off campus to a location with less discipline. In my day our favorite location was the Folly Beach Pier. The name fit.
The Senior Class always threw a great party. Attendance was highly encouraged. Ticket sales funded the event. We had some really great bands. Most parties had two. Typically there would be a rock band and a beach band. They would play alternating sets. We had many bands that went on to great success such as The Showmen (predecessor of the Chairmen of the Board) and Sha Na Na. Bowser stole the beer I laid on the front of the stage. I must have been holding it for a friend.
We got to leave campus so that we could attend. The Commandant even allowed curfew to be an hour later. Freshman and Sophomores had to be in an hour before the upper class men. An additional unofficial privilege allowed was that we could wear civvies at the party. I went stag. There had not been an opportunity to explore the area for the local girls. One of my classmates from the Charleston area had his car parked off campus which several us planned to use to get to Folly Beach. Once we arrived we changed into our civilian party clothes and joined the frivolity.
We enjoyed our brief freedom with enthusiasm. Typically these parties were BYOC. (Bring your own cooler). When the time to leave approached somehow my classmates had disappeared. Getting a ride would not be a problem but my missing uniform was a crisis. I sought out my squad sergeant whom I affectionately called Mr. Matthews for advice.
He was a junior and was allowed to return to campus wearing what we called a blazer uniform. It consisted of a blue blazer, white shirt, Citadel tie and grey pants. He also had the uniform in which he left campus which he offered for my use.Wearing a sergeant uniform to return to campus didn't seem to be a great idea but it was vastly superior to trying to return to the barracks in civilian clothes.
I had my ride drop me off behind the Padgett-Thomas Barracks. Mr. Matthews was a smaller man than I. His pants were two inches short and lacked three inches closing in the front. His dress blouse lacked more than four inches in the chest and the sleeves were short. His hat looked comical sitting on the back of my head. I was a sight with junior and sergeant stripes on my sleeve. My only hope of survival was to develop the swagger of a junior. The juniors and seniors would not return for another hour. My hope was to pull off one great bluff. I planned to stroll in the front gate and walk across the quadrangle. I hoped I would look like a slightly disheveled junior returning a little early. Freshman year you run while bracing within the open areas of the barracks. You don't earn the right to walk on the quadrangle until second semester of your sophomore year. If I could fool the corporal of the guard and the other sophomores hanging around the galleries I might just make it to my room and live.
As I turned the corner to walk to the front sally port I saw an Air Force Major approaching. I rendered a very proper hand salute and kept walking. Then I heard that terrifying word, "halt". He returned and looked me over with a very stern expression gracing his face. Then he smiled and asked me if I was a knob. I answered affirmatively. Knobs have a haircut that makes you resemble a door knob and thus the name. I was so glad this alumni officer was a spiritual man. He said, "May God have mercy on your soul. Carry on."
As I passed by the Corporal of the Guard I gave him a grunt to acknowledge his existence. He had questions in his eyes but lacked the courage to question an upperclassman. I cocked Matthew's cap further back on my head, opened the blouse further, and shoved my hands in the pockets. With a blend of swagger and a fained element of stagger I began my trip across the quadrangle. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a row of sophomores lining the rail of the H Company third floor balcony.
They didn't recognize this strolling junior and walked down to the stairwell and caught me when I reached the third floor. They had figured that a junior after partying a little strong had returned to the wrong barracks. I heard, "Barker" and a string of other comments deleted by the author. The committee of sophomore's were unsure of what to do with me. Finally one made a comment relating to my anatomy and sent me to my room. The crisis was over but the Class of 75 always held me in a slightly higher regard.
Gary Barker is a member of the Class of 1976
The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina
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We got to leave campus so that we could attend. The Commandant even allowed curfew to be an hour later. Freshman and Sophomores had to be in an hour before the upper class men. An additional unofficial privilege allowed was that we could wear civvies at the party. I went stag. There had not been an opportunity to explore the area for the local girls. One of my classmates from the Charleston area had his car parked off campus which several us planned to use to get to Folly Beach. Once we arrived we changed into our civilian party clothes and joined the frivolity.
We enjoyed our brief freedom with enthusiasm. Typically these parties were BYOC. (Bring your own cooler). When the time to leave approached somehow my classmates had disappeared. Getting a ride would not be a problem but my missing uniform was a crisis. I sought out my squad sergeant whom I affectionately called Mr. Matthews for advice.
He was a junior and was allowed to return to campus wearing what we called a blazer uniform. It consisted of a blue blazer, white shirt, Citadel tie and grey pants. He also had the uniform in which he left campus which he offered for my use.Wearing a sergeant uniform to return to campus didn't seem to be a great idea but it was vastly superior to trying to return to the barracks in civilian clothes.
I had my ride drop me off behind the Padgett-Thomas Barracks. Mr. Matthews was a smaller man than I. His pants were two inches short and lacked three inches closing in the front. His dress blouse lacked more than four inches in the chest and the sleeves were short. His hat looked comical sitting on the back of my head. I was a sight with junior and sergeant stripes on my sleeve. My only hope of survival was to develop the swagger of a junior. The juniors and seniors would not return for another hour. My hope was to pull off one great bluff. I planned to stroll in the front gate and walk across the quadrangle. I hoped I would look like a slightly disheveled junior returning a little early. Freshman year you run while bracing within the open areas of the barracks. You don't earn the right to walk on the quadrangle until second semester of your sophomore year. If I could fool the corporal of the guard and the other sophomores hanging around the galleries I might just make it to my room and live.
As I turned the corner to walk to the front sally port I saw an Air Force Major approaching. I rendered a very proper hand salute and kept walking. Then I heard that terrifying word, "halt". He returned and looked me over with a very stern expression gracing his face. Then he smiled and asked me if I was a knob. I answered affirmatively. Knobs have a haircut that makes you resemble a door knob and thus the name. I was so glad this alumni officer was a spiritual man. He said, "May God have mercy on your soul. Carry on."
As I passed by the Corporal of the Guard I gave him a grunt to acknowledge his existence. He had questions in his eyes but lacked the courage to question an upperclassman. I cocked Matthew's cap further back on my head, opened the blouse further, and shoved my hands in the pockets. With a blend of swagger and a fained element of stagger I began my trip across the quadrangle. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a row of sophomores lining the rail of the H Company third floor balcony.
They didn't recognize this strolling junior and walked down to the stairwell and caught me when I reached the third floor. They had figured that a junior after partying a little strong had returned to the wrong barracks. I heard, "Barker" and a string of other comments deleted by the author. The committee of sophomore's were unsure of what to do with me. Finally one made a comment relating to my anatomy and sent me to my room. The crisis was over but the Class of 75 always held me in a slightly higher regard.
Gary Barker is a member of the Class of 1976
The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina
Follow us on Facebook
Email Me
Visit my Website
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
When Gerald Ford Visited The Citadel
I was sitting in the snack bar of Mark Clark Hall having one of those fabulous chocolate shakes with a couple of classmates when we noticed some suits. Knowing that the Vice President was soon to visit, it was easy to identify Secret Service agents. They were the advance team and had just arrived. As true Americans their first stop was for a cheeseburger in a building named for a true American.
I decided to engage them in a conversation. Eventually they asked where the weapons on campus were stored. I told them that the personal weapons of cadets and the pistols of the Pistol Team were held in the armory maintained by the US Army ROTC unit. You could just tell that they were thinking that it would be easy to control that situation by a lock down. Then with perfect timing I delivered the punch line that each cadet had a M-14 in his room. Trying to remain cool they tried not to react but you see them tense. Then I revealed that the firing pins had been removed. The agents relaxed. I just could not leave it alone. I explained that an inserted 16p nail would make an M-14 fire at least once. I had no idea if it would work or if the nail would fit where the pin had been removed but it sounded good. Their radar went back up.
Going back to the barracks I was enjoying the thought that we would have to turn in our rifles and we would get to parade without them. Cadets love mischief and I thought I had disrupted our world. To further entertain myself I told my fellow cadets that the Secret Service was prepared to shoot you if you made a strange move while you passed in review. For the uninitiated that is the point in the parade where you would be very close to the Vice President holding a rifle. I was still certain that our rifles would be collected.
The joke was on me. The rifles remained in our room gun racks. Several weeks later, the day of the parade arrived. Everyone was excited, we had heard a rumor that some College of Charleston girls were going to streak at the parade in front of the VPOTUS. We were hoping that we would be incensed. (Ray Steven's song lyrics) The company first sergeant inspected each rifle. I had to believe he was looking for nails. I started in on my fellow cadets telling them they would be shot if they tripped or mishandled their rifle when they were close to Vice President Ford. I was having a ball right up to the point when I saw the sniper on the roof of the Padgett-Thomas Barracks.
Gary Barker is an alumni member of the Citadel class of 1976. You can follow him on Facebook or visit his Website.
The joke was on me. The rifles remained in our room gun racks. Several weeks later, the day of the parade arrived. Everyone was excited, we had heard a rumor that some College of Charleston girls were going to streak at the parade in front of the VPOTUS. We were hoping that we would be incensed. (Ray Steven's song lyrics) The company first sergeant inspected each rifle. I had to believe he was looking for nails. I started in on my fellow cadets telling them they would be shot if they tripped or mishandled their rifle when they were close to Vice President Ford. I was having a ball right up to the point when I saw the sniper on the roof of the Padgett-Thomas Barracks.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Friday nights with Burke Taylor
In the 1960s New Bern High School athletes did not have a better friend than Mr. Burke Taylor. Mr. Taylor was an automobile dealer in New Bern early in that industry's history. He originally sold Oldsmobiles and Cadillacs. The story, as I was told was he received a medical diagnosis that his time was limited. He sold his business to Mr. Don Deichman. He continued to live and decided to sell Dodges which he did for many years. However he did continue to drive Cadillacs. He was a classic southern gentleman. He wore a Stetson Rancher style felt hat. The type that has a narrower brim. He smoked great cigars. He helped young people when they wanted to start a business when banks wouldn't. You could see folks stopping by his office to seek advice and make payments for personal loans.
Mr. Taylor was a dear friend to my grandfather. As a physician my grandfather always wanted to have dependable transportation. He made house calls. So the family story goes he bought a new car each year. I guess buying dozens of cars will endear you to an auto dealer. My father retired from the military and moved back home when his father was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Papa passed away after we had been home less than eighteen months. Mr. Taylor became a father figure, mentor and best friend for my Dad. When my Dad entered politics, Mr. Taylor always served as his campaign manager.
For years and years Mr. Taylor was the biggest booster for New Bern Athletics. When trophies were passed out to the athletes Mr. Taylor had paid for them. If the school had a need I am sure he got a call. He was so appreciated by the school that during home football games he had a parking space inside the fence just behind the end zone. His influence was so great that the athletic director would arrange the same privilege at away games. He would invite my dad to go to all the New Bern games with him. We would pile into his huge Cadillac. Dad and Mr. Taylor would be in the front. My sister, myself and Mr. Taylor's grandaughter Juliet would be in the back. Usually the away game trips would include a stop at Wilbur's or King's for good old NC style bar-b-que. Good friends, good food and a great ball game, what could be better?
He was a great mentor for my father. Mentors can be such a blessing. Unfortunately time seems to remove them from your life. Often times you don't appreciate what you have until they are gone. I wish I could ride in the backseat of a big 1966 Cadillac and listen to Mr. Taylor and my Dad one more time.
Mr. Taylor was a dear friend to my grandfather. As a physician my grandfather always wanted to have dependable transportation. He made house calls. So the family story goes he bought a new car each year. I guess buying dozens of cars will endear you to an auto dealer. My father retired from the military and moved back home when his father was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Papa passed away after we had been home less than eighteen months. Mr. Taylor became a father figure, mentor and best friend for my Dad. When my Dad entered politics, Mr. Taylor always served as his campaign manager.
For years and years Mr. Taylor was the biggest booster for New Bern Athletics. When trophies were passed out to the athletes Mr. Taylor had paid for them. If the school had a need I am sure he got a call. He was so appreciated by the school that during home football games he had a parking space inside the fence just behind the end zone. His influence was so great that the athletic director would arrange the same privilege at away games. He would invite my dad to go to all the New Bern games with him. We would pile into his huge Cadillac. Dad and Mr. Taylor would be in the front. My sister, myself and Mr. Taylor's grandaughter Juliet would be in the back. Usually the away game trips would include a stop at Wilbur's or King's for good old NC style bar-b-que. Good friends, good food and a great ball game, what could be better?
He was a great mentor for my father. Mentors can be such a blessing. Unfortunately time seems to remove them from your life. Often times you don't appreciate what you have until they are gone. I wish I could ride in the backseat of a big 1966 Cadillac and listen to Mr. Taylor and my Dad one more time.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Don't fly a dead bear!
I hang out with a bunch of guys who know how to properly display a flag. We have a Master Gunnery Sergeant, Master Chief Petty Officer, a couple of Sergent Majors, and a Chief Master Sergeant. If you display "Old Glory" improperly you will definitely hear about it. Any one of those guys are likely to pull out a "Flag Manual" out of his back pocket. Some of these guys have flown on Marine One or served as crew chief on Fat Albert with the Blue Angels. You can't find a more patriotic group.
I am not sure that anyone has taken that zeal and applied to our City flags. I am not sure there is a manual for the red, yellow and black. My wife dislikes the display when the Bear is lying on his back. I think it shows the Bear in distress. I told her that I would blog about it if she would take some photos. I hope others will join our crusade to keep our Bear climbing upward and onward. Please forward this blog to folks that have pride in our City.
Proper Display
Dead Bear Display
Proper Bear on a Banner
Fly the Bear. Keep him travelling upward and onward. Please no dead Bears.
I am not sure that anyone has taken that zeal and applied to our City flags. I am not sure there is a manual for the red, yellow and black. My wife dislikes the display when the Bear is lying on his back. I think it shows the Bear in distress. I told her that I would blog about it if she would take some photos. I hope others will join our crusade to keep our Bear climbing upward and onward. Please forward this blog to folks that have pride in our City.
Fly the Bear. Keep him travelling upward and onward. Please no dead Bears.
Friday, February 11, 2011
The First Social Network
Breaker...Breaker...One Nine....Hey Cheese ya got your ears on?
Such as that could be heard heard on the CB radios in old cars cruising through Trent Woods on a summer night. We didn't have cell phones, laptops or Facebook but we had a Social Network. We would jump in the car and fire up a CB radio.
I realized while writing this whole generations reading blogs and using Facebook have never used a CB radio. Most wouldn't even know about CBs if they hadn't seen a rerun of the "Dukes of Hazard". We were networking a couple of years before the beginning of filming of "Moonrunners".(1973) The film was the inspiration for the TV show. The stock car in the movie was named Traveler. (R. E. Lee's Horse) In the show the car was the General Lee. I always thought they must have been watching us to get the ideas for the show. We were up to mischief and trying to outwit Trent Wood's Roscoe P Coltrane.
People developed their own vocabulary to communicate their thoughts via the airwaves. So it is not surprising that we have new words and acronyms that are used on Facebook and in Text messages. So I am LMAO remembering my old "handle" the River Rat.
Such as that could be heard heard on the CB radios in old cars cruising through Trent Woods on a summer night. We didn't have cell phones, laptops or Facebook but we had a Social Network. We would jump in the car and fire up a CB radio.
People developed their own vocabulary to communicate their thoughts via the airwaves. So it is not surprising that we have new words and acronyms that are used on Facebook and in Text messages. So I am LMAO remembering my old "handle" the River Rat.
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