More of my story

continuing the story from here              

After dad died, that uncle was made executor of the estate and our guardian.  

Dad had rewritten his will that summer and explained it 

            to us, saying that uncle dick was the strictest of the relatives, 
            and young enough to make us behave.
           
Uncle dick was very much into the concept of "tough love".  I don’t 
            think he particularly cared for my brother and me, and used us as 
            subjects for his tough love.  Ten days after dad died, he shipped us 
            off to a military school on the shores of Lake Elsinore, in southern 
            California, near Riverside.
            Lake Elsinore was in the middle of nowhere in those days – you might 
            remember the motorcycle races that they had there in the 60’s and 70’s.  
            Conklin Military Academy was on the southeast shore of the lake.  At 
            one time, I understand that it had been one of the top military schools in Southern California, 
            but the Vietnam war had pretty much killed 
            off interest in the military at that time, and the school was in 
            decay and was a shadow of its former self.
           
It was, in a few words, the last stop for bad kids before jail.  
            Every other student there had been through many schools- thrown out 
            or worse.  The staff was of less than sterling character.  The 
            headmaster, who styled himself a "Colonel", had been discharged from 
            the army as a Lieutenant in the Army, but had been cashiered for some 
            unknown (to me) reason.  He did not have an Honorable Discharge.  
            The commandant of cadets had been a Gunners Mate in the Navy but was 
            now "Captain" Zane.
 
            We were assigned quarters, separately.  The first room I was 
            assigned to had it’s own bathroom, but the next room I was moved to 
            had no functional toilets or showers in it – we had to go to another 
            building to shower and use the bathrooms.  A disgruntled student had 
            torched the main building, a grand looking structure that had been 
            gutted by the fire and not rebuilt.  On the first floor, a partial 
            basement, was the dinning room where we ate, and the chapel where we 
            were occasionally herded into to be preached at.
 
            I had been in the Air Force Junior ROTC in the public high school I 
            had been attending before my parents died, so I was made a 
            "sergeant" and given a room of other kids as my "squad".  We were 
            moved into the building with non-functional bathroom facilities.  By 
            non-functional, I mean that the toilets were backed up with shit, 
            did not flush, and were in no way usable.  The showers in that 
            building did not work.  It was "lights out" from 10pm, and if we had 
            to go to the bathroom after that, we had to use flashlights to get 
            to another building.
 
            I was also assigned to the mess hall, as the cadet in charge of 
            cleaning the room, setting it up for meals, and cleaning that up 
            too.  This was not a popular task, but it got me into the kitchen, 
            where I made friends with the drunk who cooked for us, and it got me 
            full meals, unlike nearly everyone else.  We set the tables with 
           plates and silverware and the other cadets were marched in.  
            Everyone stood at their assigned tables until told to sit; whoever 
            was the top group was allowed to sit first.  Everyone had to put 
            their hands together for the before meal prayer, and then we would 
            be allowed to get up, go through the chow line, and dish up our 
            meals.  When everyone had their plates full, we were allowed to eat. 
             There was a set time to eat in, and if we were not finished, too 
            bad.  The uneaten food was scrapped into the trash cans and everyone 
            lined up and marched out.  My crew would then get out brooms and 
            mops and clean the place, to be inspected.
 
            I saw some things there.
 
            A couple of students had "gone AWOL" (absent without leave) after 
            the Thanksgiving holiday and the school had gathered up some of the 
            seniors and went to get them, presumably with their parents or 
            guardian’s permission.  They were grabbed out of their homes, or off 
            the streets, and beaten all the way back to the school.
            As a sergeant, I was assigned as a guard on the brig, a 
            sound-proofed room, to guard the "prisoners",  For me, this was good 
            reading time.  I’d look in the brig to see who I was guarding, and 
            then sat down and read for the four hours I was assigned.  Prior to 
            beginning this duty, I was told, explicitly and in so many words, 
            that I could do anything I liked to the "prisoner". 
            So were the  other "guards".  I read.  
            Others tortured and beat the prisoners.
 
            I saw a black kid, a student, whom they had grabbed off the street 
            in Bellflower, a black suburb of LA, beaten with a 1X4 until it 
            broke across his back.  I saw the senior kids make the younger ones 
            give them head – suck their dicks until they came, and if the kid 
            didn’t swallow, he was beaten.  I saw the Commandant of cadets get 
            drunk, whip out his .357 revolver, and empty it into the various 
            buildings on the school grounds.
 
            One of the "teachers", a black man who had failed out of Harvard, 
            supposedly, was the instructor for the elementary kids.  He gave 
            better grades to those kids who would come to his quarters and suck 
            his dick.  He was found out, and Captain Zane chased him off the 
            school grounds, .357 in hand and prepared to fire.
 
            We would call Uncle dick and tell him these things, and the 
            headmaster, who monitored our calls on another extension, would call 
            my uncle back and tell him that we were having trouble adjusting to 
            the military and that we were lying and making up stories and Uncle 
            dick believed him, not us.  Uncle Dick had had us declared 
            "Incorrigible" by the courts, believing that we were drug users and 
            liars and not to be trusted at all.
 
            We were incarcerated there from October 1977 until February, 1978, 
            when the headmaster, who had required that tuition be paid in full, 
            in advance, took all the money and disappeared with one of the 
            school’s cars.  One day we were called into study hall, told that we 
            had to be out by 2pm the next day, andthey begged us not to harm 
            the school or each other.
 
            I saw every window broken.  I saw former "prisoners" pay back those 
            who had tortured them in the brig.  I didn’t participate in this – I 
            was still a good kid.  And I had a couple of knives and bayonets, and no one 
            fucked with me because I was fully prepared to defend myself.  
           
I saw rapes.  I saw pillage.  I saw blood.  I’ve seen and lived in 
            Hell, and I was still only 15.
            
 

 *****