Kassie's Column Revisited: I walked the hallowed grounds of Montford Point...
Originally published May 20, 2022
*Writer’s note - Today is Montford Point Marine Day. Designated by the US Senate in 2010, the day “recognizes the work of the Montford Point Marine Association in honoring the legacy and history of the U.S. Marine Corps and in ensuring that the sense of duty shared by the Montford Point Marines is passed along to future generations.” August 26, 2022 marks 80 years since the first Black Marine arrived at Montford Point. As the proud granddaughter of a Montford Point Marine, I’m committed to sharing their story, raising awareness and doing my part to ensure all Montford Point Marines are awarded the Congressional Gold Medal they’ve earned. And deserve.
At the end of April, my mama and I made a special trip. We went to a place we’ve desired to travel to for years but never put plans in place to follow through. There was a strong desire to get to this place after a special ceremony took place in 2019. Then COVID came and we hunkered down at home.
On Saturday, April 30, we arrived at the gates of Camp Lejeune. I haven’t my mama how she felt as we drove past the military police. Wanna know how I felt? Anxious. Giddy. Awestruck. We were headed to the part of the base where my granddaddy received his training in the mid-1940s.
See, my granddaddy LM Lockhart was a Montford Point Marine. In December 1943, he was drafted into the United States Marine Corps and was sent to Camp Lejeune for training. In 1941, President Franklin Roosevelt signed an executive order ending racial discrimination in the military. The first Black Marine arrived at the base on August 26, 1942.
The late Cpl. LM Lockhart (back row, second from left) served in the United States Marine Corps during Jim Crow. {Contributed photo/The Lockhart Family Archives}
Although the armed forces were required to accept Black men, the country was still knee deep in segregation. From 1942 until 1949, Black Marines were trained at a segregated base camp adjacent to Camp Lejeune called Montford Point. Since there were no Black officers, their teaching was administered by White leadership.
After serving in the Pacific during World War II, my granddaddy was honorably discharged in May of 1946. Upon meeting my grandma, he settled into life in Lexington where he remained until his death in 2008. A year prior, my mama found out via a documentary she was watching that he was a Montford Point Marine. When she questioned him about it, he said yeah and went back to doing what he was doing – probably watching “shoot ‘em ups” or playing Sol(itaire).
When Congress unanimously agreed to award the Montford Point Marines with the Congressional Gold Medal in 2011, I was elated. I was sad as well. I wished my granddaddy would’ve been alive to receive his medal from President Barack Obama. Through research and persistence, I was able to surprise my family and close friends of the family with a program on June 5, 2019, where my granddaddy was awarded his earned medal posthumously.
Yes, that’s the ceremony I referenced earlier. And yes, that’s the reason we now had a strong desire to go Montford Point (now knows as Camp Johnson). We wanted to walk the ground my granddaddy and the thousands of other barrier breakers walked.
When my foot pressed down onto the first blade of grass I’d encountered at Camp Johnson, the tears were instant. I do words but trying to describe the feeling that engulfed is impossible. This was hallowed ground on which I was walking. These were the grounds where men decided that no matter how hard their superiors tried, they might bend but they wouldn’t break. These were the grounds where men who were considered unequal to their superiors uplifted and encouraged one another in the stern, cold face of adversity. These were the grounds where their superiors chastised and belittled them simply because of the color of their skin. Blood, sweat and tears had literally been engrained into these grounds.
It was overwhelming.
As I walked around slowly, I wondered what the superiors said to my granddaddy while he was there. I wondered how he was treated. I wondered who his friends were. I wondered what he must’ve thought about daily as he was being instructed on how to survive war. I wondered if he ever had good times while he was there. I wondered if he thought about the magnitude of what he was accomplishing.
The Montford Point Marine Museum is in the building that was once the chow hall. It had been damaged in 2018 by Hurricane Florence. Ma and I specifically picked this weekend to travel to the base because there was a celebration for the grand re-opening. People from all over the country converged on Camp Johnson to rejoice in this momentous occasion. Members from various chapters of the National Montford Point Marine Association were in attendance. There was a crew there from ABC that was working on a documentary for Hulu about the famed trailblazers.
My granddaddy and my grandma, Margie. {Contributed photo/The Lockhart Family Archives}
Other than being on the actual grounds, the thing I anticipated the most was meeting living Montford Point Marines. Other than my granddaddy, I’d never met one. I can now say I’ve met five in my lifetime! And yes, I cried. Since receiving his medal, I’ve gained a better understanding of what these men endured and overcame which has only heighted my reverence and respect. To see seven of them being honored, catered to and uplifted was breathtaking. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
You may be wondering what does this have to do with our free, hyperlocal news approach. Well, let me tell you why I wrote this. There are trailblazers and icons all around us, living in this county. In our quest to constantly be moving from one thing to the next, we often don’t take time to sit and talk with our elders about their experiences. And if the elder is Black, it shouldn’t be hard to understand why they haven’t freely offered us a TED talk to share their story. It’s often painful and in an effort to move forward, it’s suppressed.
For the 26 years of my life that my granddaddy was living, I talked to him almost daily. We talked about a little bit of everything. The one subject matter that rarely entered the conversation was about his time in the Marines. Of course, I had no idea that I was being reared by world history. Had I known, I would’ve asked more questions. I also know that doesn’t mean he would’ve answered them but at least he would’ve known I was on a mission to preserve his legacy. And theirs.
I’ve got more work to do.
