Three Ducks In A Row — Image by kenne
” Get your ducks in a row” is an idiomatic expression that means to get organized or prepared, to make sure everything
is in order or arranged properly before proceeding with a task or plan. It suggests aligning all the necessary elements or details
neat and orderly to ensure that things go smoothly. The phrase is often figurative to encourage someone to get
their affairs in order or prepare thoroughly before taking action.”
Mountain Lake — Photo-Artistry by kenne
–Sri Ravi Shankar
White-lined Sphinx Moth — Image by kenne
Decatur Street In New Orleans (12/26/07) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The above is one of many photo-artistry creations from a photo first created in December 2007 from the photo below.
— kenne
Some things are more impressive in person than in mind.
Words and pictures of this English Gothic-designed campus are impressive, but none begin to share the dignity captured in design and preserved by time.
There, too, are the feelings gained only from walking among these buildings, which resemble old European castles. The sense of being watched, not by clandestine eyes but by proud eyes conveys the spirit and honor that captures the “Legacy of Promises Kept.”
In the early 1920s, my grandmother died, leaving behind her only son. It was not long after her death that my grandfather remarried, this time leaving little room for a young pubertal boy, Kenne Lawrence. So began Kenne’s years (1926-31) at St. John’s Military Academy. (Now St John’s Northwestern Military Academy.)
I know little of my grandfather, George Lawrence (G.L.), most of which I learned from others. As a young Scottish immigrant, he worked his way up from the bottom, becoming president of Truscon Laboratories, Inc. in Detroit, Michigan.
As a forceful, determined high-achiever, my grandfather was not a nurturing man but could provide the best for Kenne. Founder in 1884, St. John’s had already become a highly respected college prep school in Delafield, Wisconsin.
Plans for the young Kenne to attend St. John’s Military Academy may have begun long before his mother’s death. However, Dad either shared little of why he went to the Wisconsin prep school, or my memory needs to be reminded.
Either way, I have long realized that I know little of my father, especially before my birth in 1941. I remember his love of sports and entertainment. He was a musician and professional wrestler (“Car Barn” Turner). He would talk about being in school with the Hollywood film star Jack Carson; jazz musician Lex Golden and classmates who played in the NFL.
So, it’s not a surprise to learn more after having an opportunity to review yearbooks in the St. John’s alum office. A man quick to give others nicknames, I never knew he was “Scotty.” How appropriate, a golfer and son of a Scottish immigrant.
The 1931 yearbook listed his many honors and awards, such as captain of the golf team, most Soldier Cadet, Order of Merit, and Washington Parade. But the biggest surprise of all: Class Poet! My father never talked about writing or anything literary. Why?
The yearbook reads: “Oh My! The love man from Detroit. Besides being the class poet, he is a man of the world. Ask Dorothy.”
Any conclusions on my part would be complete speculation. Dad was married four times, the first in his early twenties. This marriage resulted in a daughter, who was later broken up by her parents. Was this Dorothy? Mother would know.
Mother was his second marriage, resulting in his only other children, Thomas Robert and myself. It’s not surprising that my father would be considered the “love man from Detroit” since I have always felt the phrase “wine, women, and song” best describes Dad.
Maybe someday we will know more about Scotty, the man, the lover, the musician, the man of the world, the poet. But then, this may be how he wanted it and should remain so. Having walked the grounds of St. John’s, feeling his spirit as he so poetically prophesized, “Our spirit shown is here to stay,” his poem may say all that needs to be known and, therefore remain forever in the dimly lit halls of St. John’s.
THE CLASS POEM
Fellow classmates the day is near,
When we shall part and go our ways,
And leave this school our pride and joy
Throughout our student boyhood days.
The vine-clad walls in which we’ve lived,
With our instructors four short years,
Will stand out in our memories,
As days of toil which we revere.
We’ve worked and prayed and played our best,
We ran our race to do or die,
Trying to equal if not surpass
The noble work of those gone by.
Our work is almost at an end,
And as we look back on the past
True St. John’s soldiers have we been,
Fighting and serving to the last.
Our classroom doors are closed now,
This time classmates we’re on our own,
Ready to face the world at wide,
In which we’re all about to roam.
With bodies sound and hearts so true,
And with a knowledge of the best,
We’re well equipped in all the things
Essential for our final test.
Our spirit shown is here to stay,
And our many years of friendship seem
Now that we are soon to part,
Like the happening in a dream.
Let’s give a cheer for old St. John’s
The school that made us what we are,
Farewell, dear teachers, one and all,
We’re leaving now, some near, some far.
— from “The Trumpeter”, 1931
Most of the above copy first appeared in a post on this blog on August 3, 2008. The posting generated several comments, one of which was a real surprise.
“I was thrilled to finally find out information regarding my father, Kenne Lawrence Turner. I knew that he attended St. John’s Academy with my uncle, Henry Russer. My mother was Dorothy. I was born in Chicago in 1933. I have always wanted to know about my father. My mother had told me that my father had remarried and had two sons, you and Robert. I would love for you to contact me.”
Sincerely,
Jean Carolyn Turner-Polston
Jean told me that Dorothy died at 52, having fallen asleep smoking a cigarette in bed. Jean and I exchanged emails and calls for about a year, and we planned to get together in Indiana. Then, the contacts stopped. Sometime later, I received an email from Jean’s granddaughter informing me that Jean had passed away. Dorothy had never remarried. Like Dad, she had a drinking problem. Dad was 52 when he died.
There’s a true love story here, with neither sadly living up to their parent’s expectations. This became even more apparent with the birth of Jean Carolyn in 1933.
Ornate Tree Lizard — Image by kenne
— kenne
Private Kenne L. Turner, St. John’s Acadamy Military In Wisconsin (Winter, 1927)
Who Was He?
Determining one’s own identity can, and often is, a lifelong process since the world is constantly
changing and needs, satisfactions, values, and expectations continue to evolve. Assuming this,
seeking the true identity of a parent can be daunting. Therefore, I remind myself daily that individual
and universal meaning is about gathering information, not to repress or overlook a single phenomenon.
To do so, we set up preferences, creating false expectations, therefore dooming ourselves to
ignorance or at least to a prison of doubt.
We may arrive at an answer that his identity is forever in process and that, at this moment, he is
more in the future than anything he was in the past. Therefore, our best answer to his identity is no
particular answer but stands open to reality. This is the true void to which we must ultimately come.
— kenne
Shining Through The Shadows — Image by kenne
— kenne
Arches National Park — Image by kenne
Wild Cotton Blossom — Image by kenne
— Wendell Berry
Bolivian Street Scene (08/24/19) — Image by kenne
— Evo Morales
Blue Dasher Dragonfly — Image by kenne
— Heinrich Heine
Corner Store Window, French Quarter — Image by kenne
Bee On Orange Blossom — Image by kenne
―
Eyespot Butterfly, Bolivian Amazon (09/19/19)– Image by kenne
