By Norman Cain, July 18, 2014 — During the fall of 1967, when I was a cadet at the United States Army military police school at Fort Gordon, Georgia, at least 70% of the training consisted of classroom instruction. One day, a 2nd L.t., who was teaching a civics class told the class: “Martin Luther King is a communist, an enemy of the United States of America.” Believing that he was not aware who Reverend King was and what he stood for, I immediately arose from my desk, stood at attention, and sharply saluted the L.t. Then I began to speak. “Sir, with all due respect,” I said, “Reverend King is not a communist. He is just trying to get the rights that the Negroes are entitled to.” No one said anything. There was silence. After a while, the L.t. proceeding with his lecture. I assume that my statement had been respected.
Several days after the preceding incident, I was assigned to Kitchen Patrol or K.P. Now, this was unusual because I had already served my required one time on K.P. I surmised that the company was short-handed, I was wrong. My being assigned to extra K.P. wasn’t just for a day. I was assigned to K.P. for ten straight days. I was awakened at 4:30 am. I reported to the kitchen at 6 am. I peeled potatoes, and sliced onions, shucked corn, and made salads, washed dishes and mopped floors, and did a variety of other tedious tasks until at least 9 pm. For sixteen hours a day, I had to toil unmercifully. And if that was not enough, I had to endure the harassment of the mess sergeants.
For ten days, I missed military police training. My superiors refused to give me make-up work for my missed classes. It never dawned upon me that saying Dr. Martin Luther King was not a communist was the cause of the dilemma that I was experiencing.
I was dismissed from my K.P. duties the day of the final examination. Although I had missed ten days of instruction, I felt that I had, at least, barely passed the test. However, I was mistaken. I was informed that out of the 300 cadets in my class, I had ranked 298 on the final exam.
I had flunked out of military police school. I was devastated. I did not know what the future held for me. I was worried. Several days after the test, I was informed that the company commander wanted to see me. I had something else to worry about.
Attempting to maintain my composure, I entered the company office. Inwardly shaking, I faced and saluted the captain, a tall lean wirily individual who was quite the dandy. His boots were brilliantly shined and his pants were sharply tailored and pressed. He, unlike the other personnel, wore a battle helmet and carried a swagger stick (tip down). He drove throughout the post in a red convertible that always contained an attractive blond. He was meticulous, not vain. He was likable, a trait that most commissioned and non-commissioned officers lacked.
“Private Cain,” he barked in an unfamiliar hostile voice. “Are you trying some trick?” He stared me down. I could read anger in his eyes. This was not the likable and cool company commander that I had grown to know.
“No sir.” I answered, wondering what he meant by assuming that I was trying to be tricky.
“You got the second-lowest score on the final examination.” By his tone, I knew he wanted a verbal response.
“Yes, sir,” was all I could think of to say. I was literally shaken up inside.
“I think you are trying some kind of trick and I am going to get to the bottom of what you are trying to do.” He said, “When you first got here, I recruited you for officer’s training school, explained to you that there were too few black officers in the Army. You said that you were going to sign up, but you didn’t. I didn’t give you a command but I thought we had a gentlemen’s agreement. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Sir,” I said, “When the recruiting officer opened the door and saw me, he slammed the door in my face.” The captain’s stern look softened for a second.
“What about this low test score of yours?” he asked. “You finished college, was in graduate school part-time, taught school, and was accepted by the Peace Corp. How could you flunk the final examination?”
“Sir, I did not go to classes for ten straight days.”
“What, why?” he asked. By the tone of his voice, I could tell he was astonished.
“I was on K.P. for ten days,” I answered.
“You were on K.P. for ten days?”
“Yes.” At that point, the captain called for the first sergeant, who was directly responsible for the “day-to-day” activities of the recruits to come into the main office. When he arrived, the captain directed him to stand at attention. The captain began to spiel x-rated language to the first sergeant. He definitely let the sergeant know that he had been irresponsible in the performance of his duties. Finally, the captain dismissed the first sergeant. He then told me that I still had to respect the first sergeant, and he assured me that I would be sent to another company for three weeks and thereby, be able to fulfill graduation requirements. He sincerely wished me luck.
When I completed the three additional weeks, I was told that I had received the second-highest grade on the final examination. Perhaps I never flunked the first examination. Perhaps I had received the highest score in the class on the second examination. Only the army personnel involved knew. My troubles, which started when I proclaimed that Reverend Martin Luther King was not a communist did not end with my graduating from the military police academy. Seemingly, my pay records mysteriously disappeared and for my first six months in Panama, my permanent duty station, I was not paid.
I survived by depleting the $400.00 I had saved in Philadelphia’s Continental Bank. To say the least, my experience in military school was prejudiced to the core. It was initiated by my defending Dr. Martin Luther King, something I have no regrets for doing something I will always do; He gave his life for his dream of unity and freedom.