Learning
to March
by
Donald Carpenter Goss '49 |
John Mason Kemper |
Returning
to Andover for the start of the lower and upper years had been, for
our class, routine, unexciting and predictable. World War II was over
and normalcy was settling in.
But fall 1948, the beginning of our senior year, would be different.
Claude Fuess, 10th headmaster of Phillips Academy, would have retired
and in his place would be a new headmaster. We would be his first
class. When the trustees announced their decision that the new headmaster
would be Colonel John Mason Kemper, a graduate of the United States
Military Academy at West Point, we were stunned! Immediately we visualized
an entirely different and unpleasant type of school—one in which
we couldn’t each demonstrate our own version of how to look and
act cool. We could see discipline in our future. Our wonderfully individualized
haircuts would be transformed into Marine-styled shaved heads. Food
fights would be a thing of the past, and passage to and from classrooms
would be at double time. Some of us even conjured that we would have
to salute the housemasters. We were a very uncertain and anxious bunch
of returning seniors.
The school year got off to a unique start with the inauguration of
Mr. Kemper. It was held on the Great Lawn under gorgeous cloudless
skies and splendid elms. Hundreds of heads of schools and colleges,
famous and distinguished educators gowned in academic robes, were
there to pay tribute to Mr. Kemper and to welcome him into their ranks,
and in so doing pay tribute to Phillips Academy. For the first time
I realized how truly remarkable my school was.
Mr. Kemper spoke eloquently, and we saw an exceedingly handsome man,
soldier-thin and parade-erect. He had a square jaw, high cheekbones,
a full head of closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair, penetrating eyes
and an easy smile. I liked him immediately. (At our 50th Reunion,
we were each asked to name our favorite teacher. I answered unreservedly,
“John Mason Kemper.” Next to my father, he was the finest
man I ever met.)
Then school got under way. The following Thursday, after the first
football game, my fellow band members and I were practicing on Graves
Field when I saw a figure approaching from way down at the south goal.
Closer inspection revealed that it was our freshman headmaster. After
being introduced to us by Mr. Howes, our band instructor, Mr. Kemper
said, “Boys, I don’t know a thing about band music, but
I do know how to march … and you don’t!” He then proceeded
to be our marching instructor for the rest of the fall term. We learned
to step off with our left foot, to dress our ranks, to countermarch
on the left foot, to do an about face, and to hit the yard markers
together with our left foot. Was he successful? The Phillipian thought
so; they ran the following headline in the 1949 graduation issue:
“Blue Band Best in History,” which the paper attributed
in part to “Mr. Kemper’s coaching.”
After graduation, a reception was held behind Mr. Kemper’s home,
Phelps House. When I came over to him to say goodbye, he hugged me
and said, “Stay with the band at Dartmouth. You can help them.”
I have always suspected he had seen the “Big Green” march.
Though I expected I would never see Mr. Kemper again, I was wrong.
The next year I was in the infirmary at Dartmouth, seriously ill.
Outside there was a blizzard blowing snow with gale-force winds. At
11:05 a.m. I heard the door of my ward open. When I looked I was stunned
to see my Andover headmaster coming toward me. He explained that he
had come to Hanover on admissions business, and, upon asking where
I was, discovered I was very sick. He sat by my bed for more than
an hour comforting me when he could have gotten ahead of the storm
by driving back to Andover an hour and a half earlier.
The years passed and Mr. Kemper contracted cancer. I sent him encouraging
get-well notes as well as one of my books. Finally, it was obvious
that the end was near. The last letter I sent to him ended with, “All
my life I have always tried to make my left foot hit the line.”
I think he understood my tribute to him. |
| Donald
Carpenter Goss is a retired advertising executive and is the author
of several books and articles. |
Do
you have an interesting memory of a favorite Andover teacher or a
campus anecdote to share?
Please send your account, no more than 750 words in length, to Paula
Trespas at the Andover Bulletin. |
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