The question was asked by someone earlier on the page about what TV show or movie do you think portrays brat life well? Most people answered “none”, and I understand that. I haven’t seen any that strike me as being realistic and representative of my experience, but if you were to ask me what TV show or movie portrays my father in a way that is familiar, I would have to say the movie “A Soldier Story” made in 1984 starring Harold E. Rollins Jr.

The main character is an African-American JAG Captain named Davenport. The story takes place during World War II when Davenport is sent to a backwoods Louisiana Army post to investigate the murder of a Black senior NCO in an all-Black Chemical Corps unit. Not withstanding the fact that my father was a Chemical Corps officer, and that Rollins looks a lot like him, the movie is well made and the story is compelling. It has an all-star cast of Black actors that includes Adolf Cesar and Denzel Washington in one of his first roles.

Notably, my father joined the Army after integration, but he was still a rare commodity as a Black officer in the late 1950s. Throughout my life, there were never more than a handful of Black senior officers wherever we were stationed [if any], so my father understood that he carried the burden of being the representative of the entire Black “race” on his shoulders no matter what he did, and he made sure that we his kids understood how our behavior would be judged by those same standards. He would often say to me when I did something wrong outside of our quarters, you can’t do that because you are my son and you represent me!

In the movie, Captain Davenport is a sophisticated, tough-as-nails, straight shooter with an impeccable sense of style and the self-assurance of a man who is keenly aware of his place in the world. Rollins’ character is so much like my father you would think the producers based Captain Davenport on him. Davenport’s mannerisms and the way he carries himself are mirror images of the amazing man I grew up with. 

When the movie came out in 1984 [four years after my father retired] I got to watch it with him, and after it ended, I turned to him and said, now I understand why you are the man you are. He smiled and said, that Captain Davenport was really something else wasn’t he. My father was a man of few words, but those few were his stamp of approval for what he had just seen, and more importantly lived through during his 23 years in the Army.

My father is gone now and I’ve watched the movie at least half a dozen times since he passed away and each time I see it I get choked up, but no doubt in a good way.

Ramon Rhodes


By Kent Scott

It was January 19, 1959.

My twenty third birthday, or would be at 10:37 PM. I had assumed the duty and was standing watch on the midnight to 0800 shift at the American Embassy in Kabul, Afghanistan. The temperature was ten below outside. Here on the inside at my guard desk was a ceramic electric heater. I was scorching my ass on one side and freezing it off on the other. I would have to tour the outside in a little while—I was thankful for the detachment’s only cold weather parka hanging in the corner. It was too big for me and I was bigger than most of the Marines in the detachment. The mittens that came with it were the kind that if you wore them, you couldn’t get to your weapon if you needed it. I didn’t wear them very often. I did the Un-Marine like thing. I kept my hand in the parka’s pocket. I had a plan in my head. With a sharp knife and needle and thread, I’d modify the right hand mitten so you could grip and fire a 38 Smith and Weston. Later I did the modification. On this watch, in this lonely place, it was not unusual for my mind to drift and start reviewing the events of my life. I’d stood this watch many times after I arrived in Kabul on New Year’s Day 1958.

I was a Corporal E-3 then and made Sergeant E-4 last May 1, 1958, on my Dad’s birthday. I could have been proud of making Sergeant in 22 1/2 months except for one fact. The yard stick by which I measured my success, my twin brother, now Sergeant Beldon K. Scott, already had been a Sergeant 9 months when I made it. His enlistment date came one week after mine. I secretly kept score on the accomplishments I deemed important. I had him down three to nothing until he got promoted. I beat him on the rifle range by one point in boot camp and won a five dollar bet. Not important to him—up to one year after I’d graduated boot camp no one had broken my record running the MCRD obstacle course. My feeling of self importance was really boosted when I was meritoriously promoted to Corporal in 10 1/2 months—one month before he made it. I was in shock. I was in awe. No one made Sergeant in 13 1/2 months in the Marine Corps. I found out about his amazing accomplishment in the most direct way.

I had gone over to Main Side to take a test to see if I qualified for the Naval Academy. I didn’t. I missed one math problem too many. The testing was done in a building across the street from the 7th Motor Transport barracks where he lived. I’d visited there a few times and knew one of the Marines that was a part of his unit. I’d gone through boot camp with him. Bro Keith’s squad bay was on the second floor so I went up there with the intention of seeing him and visiting. Well blow me down, there was Bro with Sergeant chevrons on his collars and cap. He was doing what Sergeants do. He was falling the troops out for the noon formation. He prepared to march the troops to the mess hall for chow. He acknowledged me with a nod and a smile and went on outside to take care of his Sergeant business. It was the last time I saw him until I was released from Marine Corps almost three years later. I was just standing there with an astonished-dumb look on my face, when Don Keim, the Marine I’d gone through boot camp with told me what happened.

According to Don, seven of the 7th Motor Transport Marines decided to go beer drinking at Ma’s outside the rear gate. In this group was brother Keith and a big thick-necked, heavy-muscled Corporal from Chicago who was supposed to be really bad. His name was something that ended with ‘ski. So ‘Ski is all I know to call him. It seems, according to Keim, after a few, Corporal ‘Ski started insulting and playing the better of Bro Keith. If I had been there I could have told him how this was going to play out. The only thing quicker than Bro’s fists was his wit. If you started trading insults with him—you were going to lose. Pfc. Don Keim didn’t have to tell me, I knew. Corporal ‘Ski lost his cool and said something to the effect of, “Scott, I’m coming over there and kick your smart mouthed Missouri hillbilly ass.”

It wasn’t a fatal mistake, but it was mistake. According to Don Keim who was there, Bro whipped him really fast and left him with swollen eyes and a big pregnant lip. Monday morning when the Company’s tough old Gunny Sergeant saw Corporal ‘Ski, he made inquiry and found out what and how it happened. He was really impressed with Bro Keith. He put him up for meritorious Corporal and he made it. Two months later, the Gunny put him up for meritorious Sergeant. Bro impressed the review board and got promoted. I’ll have to tell you,

I was both proud and jealous of my brother. My internal self defense mechanism took over. In my mind I took credit for his success. I was responsible for Bro becoming tougher than a weather cured hard oak board. I was the reason he became a skilled fighter and scrapper, the main reason he got promoted. I had been his sparing partner his entire life. Oh my god, how the time does fly by. I’ve got to don that parka, and go outside. I’ve got to “walk my post in a military manner, keeping on the alert, and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing”, on this cold winter night. The 2nd of the 11 General Orders for those on a guard post.


Circe Olson Woessner

A while ago,  I wrote about some projects I made for my children which created a record of their childhood memories. This week I’m going to share some others, which, during their creation can become “teachable moments” resulting in possible family keepsakes or reference tools.

My mom is an excellent cook, and I grew up helping her in the kitchen, but not really learning the recipes per se. When I went off to college, I asked her to write down some of the recipes that she had made when I was growing up and she did. Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t have many of her own mother’s recipes, so those treasures are lost forever.

When my kids were little, I decided to make a personalized cookbook for them using the recipes  on the handwritten cards my mother had given me.

This was before computers, so I carefully copied the recipes and illustrated some of them with my own drawings. Back then, I had to make photocopies of the finished products, but nowadays with computers and printers, this can be as elaborate or simple as you like.

Back then, I sorted the recipes into starters, main courses, and desserts, and stuck them into self-stick photo albums to present to each kid when he went off to college.

Small recipe cards tend to get lost, and although people keep things on their computers now, there’s something very satisfying in having all the family recipes in one easy-to-grab book. A photo album with its plastic sheets keeps the pages from getting dirty.

While I compiled recipes, I thought about what resources my sons would need to make the recipe, especially while living in a dorm, so I simplified them. Additionally, I thought about including dishes I always made from memory and wrote them out. It was good practice to figure out how much a “pinch” or handful really is!

The result is a thin photo album-cookbook of comfort foods, a taste of home—wonderful for those homesick moments when a sip of Gram’s soup or Aunt Rose’s green beans would help!

A really in-depth, but fun, project to make is a seasonal “compendium.” If you have tons of magazines lying around the house, like I do, this project will garner a really fantastic book of ideas, serve as a teaching tool as you build it with your kids and afterwards, your house will be less cluttered!(Well, maybe not…) Read the rest of this entry »