Having come from Belgium straight into the 11th grade I had some difficulty getting acclimated to a whole new environment. I could speak English passably well, although with a heavy accent, but reading and writing was tougher.

My English teacher was Lieutenant Commander Harris (USN-Retired), an eccentric naval aviator who had flown with the “Black Sheep” squadron under Pappy Boyington in the Pacific during World War II. He was a tad senile, though well meaning. The 11th grade meant American Literature. I remember wondering how amusing it was to devote the entire junior year to American literature, and the same for English literature in the 12th, when the English body of literature was a thousand years older and richer. Americans as a people are terribly self-centered and, still to this day, largely and blissfully ignorant of the rest of the world. Note to my children: see as much of the world as early as you can; and not just the industrialized nations either; see how the other half lives. Now lets get back to the story.

Commander Harris could clearly see that I was struggling with English. It became very evident one day when the whole class frustrated him and he reverted to diagramming a sentence on the black board. My bewildered look must have clenched it. That night the top student in my class showed up unannounced during study period to help me. I was flabbergasted. This was not something that ever happened to me in Europe where everyone was on his own. I asked him how he could devote the time and why? He said just to help me and that some day I would take a turn doing a favor for someone else. What a concept! That was my first introduction to the word “team” and a lesson I never forgot. It was the first of many character building lessons I would begin to learn at Castle Heights. I say “begin” because I’m still learning today and will hopefully be learning until I pass.

The time to return a favor came soon and without too much of an option. It turns out that I was quickly identified as a “goody two-shoes” (trust me, I’m way over it now!) and it was hoped I could have a good influence on a hard case sophomore named Jim Kuhn. Jim had lost his father at a young age. He had been at Castle Heights since before high school and had been in trouble. I forget how many times he was busted back down in rank, but it was quite a few. They moved him in with me and soon we clashed until the day we physically fought it out to the moment we collapsed exhausted on the floor. I think Jim let me off easy as I was a scrawy, scraggly 6’2” with little muscle mass and he was quite the athlete at about my height. From the end of that fight we became best friends and still are today. Jim and I spent many week-ends together, took driving trips, visited Europe and so on and so forth. I guess the Commandant and the Headmaster’s plan worked out: Jim, one year my junior, went on to become the school’s battalion commander. His mother and I talked him out of a mediocre college and we both attended Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama. There were only two years of overlap as he was a year junior to me and I graduated a year early. Jim joined the Marine Corps upon graduation and retired a few years ago as a Lieutenant Colonel.

Life has thrown me a few curve balls but some emotions have been constant, among them the love for Castle Heights and what it taught me. I was heart broken when the school closed its doors in the mid 1980s.

Castle Heights taught me leadership; respect; teamwork; discipline and more. It instilled in me genuine American and global values that are still with me today.

What Castle Heights did not do for me, however, is make me into an athlete. I briefly tried football, track and basketball but realized quickly this was not my “thing.” I became instead the school’s photographer and went on to receive an All State of Tennessee award in photography. Strangely enough, it was for the sport I understood the least: wrestling.  I managed to figure the best photographic moments for all the other sports. But wrestling? I looked bemused at the slithering athletes and let the motor drive on my camera capture as many shots as possible. My boss on the school newspaper, Lt. Colonel (USA-Hon.) J.B. Leftwich chose the picture. He complimented me on the shot, and off to the front page it went. Not even a word about how many shots I had wasted. I never won for the good shots I took on purpose. I liked photography because it got me around to all the activities in the afternoon and participating in none of them. The tryout for the job consisted of being given ten rolls of film and 24 hours to bring them back. Everything was black and white and today still I prefer black and white photography over color: it is much more challenging and artistic. I thrilled at the test and passed it with flying colors.

I never passed my classes with flying colors. I was a “B” student and remained so throughout high school and college. Castle Heights had two diplomas: general and academic. The difference was in the courses taken and the GPA. I almost missed the academic diploma my senior year because I had difficulty in Integrated Math and received a 79 on the final. I need 85 for the academic diploma. I begged Major Ward, the teacher, for a re-test and he granted it. I studied like mad and showed up nervous as could be on the day of the test. The academic building was empty as we were done and preparing for graduation. The classroom was dark and the door locked. I knew this was the end of my academic diploma. There was, however, a note on the door addressed to me: “Congratulations on your academic diploma. You received an 85 on your re-test. Good luck in College. Major Ward”  He made me sweat but he was not going to let me miss the goal for a few points in one class. With the benefit of seasoning over almost thirty years I’m guessing he did not want to monitor me for 2 hours either! I’ve gotten more cynical in middle age.

Photography got me out of most sports but one was a requirement. I chose riflery because guns fascinated me and the sport required the least amount of exertion possible. Note to my kids: do not follow Dad’s example. Get involved in physical activity and stay involved. There were a dozen people or so on the rifle team. The top 4 or 5 shooters would compete in matches. I quickly qualified for the top five and steadily ranked third or fourth over two years. Most of our matches were done at the school and mailed in. For a few, like the Tennessee Trophy, we traveled.

We shot indoor, small-bore rifles: twenty-two caliber special rifles with very thick barrels to help with accuracy. We shot prone, standing and kneeling and competed mostly with other military schools. Occasionally we competed with civilian schools and added the sitting position at which we stank because we did not practice it enough. None of us thought the sitting position was very masculine. I did not pick up a gun again for 30 years when I used a Browning 9mm at the range for a couple of years.

At Castle Heights I rose to the rank of First Sergeant, the highest you could go at the time as a two-year cadet. Officer ranks were reserved for 3 and 4-year cadets. At castle heights I was also a DJ on the school’s small radio station and hilariously tried to convert cadets to classical music in the middle of “country,” a mere thirty miles from the Grand Ole Opry.

There was a designation at graduation for the best all-around achievers. It included academics (clearly not my forte, but passable); sports (photography and riflery counted; military (I was pretty good, maybe a tad over-zealous); and civic and extras and so on. Some years there were no winners among the senior class. My year, 1977, we were seven inductees in the “Cum Honore” Society. It is still to this day one of my proudest achievements.

Another proud achievement was the Pro Merito award, given to a senior who went all year without exceeding his or her seven monthly demerit limit. Like I said, back in those days I was way too good. But there was a hitch. In the last month of school, just when you’re relaxing and looking forward to graduation, the Commandant of Cadets posts the list of seniors who might get the award. And an effort is made to narrow the field.

The higher ranking cadets on the list had little to worry about (they were the ones handing out the demerits, after all) and would focus on steering away from faculty officers. Other often let themselves be “gotten” and relaxed. I went for it and got it. I am not as.”anal retentive” anymore. I don’t think I would do it again. Live and let live, I say.

Because we were short on officers the first sergeants (one for each company) and the battalion sergeant major took turns as “officer of the day.” The school was in fact largely run by the cadets and at night there were a couple of faculty officers living on campus and one on call. Each 24 hours 4 cadets (Officer, Non-Comm, two privates) were pulled from all activities (including classes, yeah!) and ran the guard detail. Among the duties were checking the perimeter at night (maybe for some Viet Cong who made it to the US and did not know the war was over, who knows) and running the bells.

At Castle Heights everything was run by the bells, like most schools. But most schools don’t operate 24X7 as we did. The bells started at Reveille. They warned for Breakfast Roll Call and the other meals, three times over 15 minutes. They rang for classes. They rang for sports. Bells were always ringing in your ears. One day when I was on guard the Commandant of Cadets showed up announced after taps (note to children, that when the bugle sounded over the PA system to tell us to go to sleep) in the middle of a snowstorm. “Fire drill, he said,” and all hell broke lose. We were supposed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice but few were. And the clock was ticking until we were “All present or accounted for, Sir!” We rang and rang the bells and cadets came streaming out to join formation in front of the main building. There was snow on the ground, and snow was still falling, which is unusual in that part of Tennessee. We stood in formation until everyone was counted. I guess the commandant could not resist the rarity of the snow and the cadets freezing in their undies…

I have so many good memories from Castle Heights and I will keep updating this page as they return. Suffice it to say I sobbed like a child when I left.