Kent was working on putting his life stories down on paper. We thought you might enjoy reading a few. These are unedited, in Kent's own words as he wrote them. 

My Most interesting Ride

My pathway from High School Graduation to enlistment in the US Air Force spanned about a year and carried a few very interesting adventures…..one of which we will crawl into after we set the Backdrop….

I grew up and lived in the San Francisco Bay Area. The Viet Nam era was in full swing and approaching it’s last few of years of mayhem …..Center Stage was shared by Anti-war protests vs the National Guard, the political sparks and upheaval of the Chicago Seven, an enormous abundance of drugs, sex and Rock-N-Roll, Sonny Barger and the Hell’s Angels, Huey Newton, Bobby Seale and the Black Panthers were all in full swing, and.

So, during the late 60s and early70s, the National Military Draft adopted the Lottery method (numbers 1 through 365) for recruitment selection. The idea was fairly simple… if your ‘draft number’ was high, your odds of being drafted into the US Army where fairly low. If your draft number was low, your odds of being drafted were darn near cemented.

One fine day, while enjoying a robust Southern California adventure, my draft notice arrived at my Dad’s house. Dad got in touch to inform me my draft number was ‘63’…a number way too low for comfort!! It was time to identify and evaluate my options…..immediately! Prior to that startling news, I pretty much lived in denial regarding the US Army and the hostile jungles of Viet Nam, Cambodia, Laos….etc. I did not have a problem serving my country, yet being drafted into the Army with orders to Southeast Asia looming, or moving to Canada to avoid getting drafted proved unworkable options.

So…. After a lot of thought and sober research, I determined the US Air Force was for me. As it turned out, in so many ways, the AF was the perfect choice…. I loved my 6 years….more to follow on that topic in a later tale…

At one point, In fairly short order, I needed to get up to the Bay Area to get the enlistment MOS exams and paperwork underway. My car was up North and I was down basking on the Orange County beaches. In those years, in a pinch, hitchhiking was an acceptable mode of transportation that proved efficient, cheap and most interesting. So off I go…hitchhiking to Dad’s house.

Typically, when a car pulls over to offer a ride, on approach, the vehicle will slow down a bit, the driver has a look, and makes a snap judgement… stop, or continue on. Roughly halfway between Los Angeles and Walnut Creek (home) California, my initial 200 mile ride heading ended….He was turning to head West while I was continuing North. I then found myself along a quiet highway in a very rural agricultural area of Central California, with my thumb ready to solicit my next ride. When it seemed the traffic was unusually light and I was in for a bit of a quiet wait in the early afternoon sun, everything changed.

So, after a few quiet moments, I see an older Volkswagen MicroBus coming my way. Instead of slowing for a better look to gain an intuitive impression….and either stop or keep driving, this VW bus took a different approach. About 50 yards short of where I was standing, the driver coasted off the highway on to the shoulder, then, slowed to a stop. The driver then began to inch the bus toward me. A couple of times the bus stopped for a long moment, then continued to creep forward. Ok, let’s pause for a moment and evaluate my position …

Rural highway. Acutely minimal traffic heading both North and South. Seemingly empty highway. Me and the slowly approaching VW Bus… Have you ever had that experience where you intuitively know you may be in a very precarious or dangerous situation? This for me was that moment.

Ok, I’m back. After I felt like an impromptu game of ‘Cat and Mouse (me being the Mouse) was sure to ensue…..I am now facing West and the microbus is four or five feet away. The windshield is tinted such that it is difficult to obtain a clear view of the driver and front passenger. The Bus continues to inch forward and stops as I am now facing the sliding door on the passenger’s side. The side windows of the bus are tinted to a near opaque black. Then, after a fairly brief moment, the door slides open.

The door open, here is what I see… four Black Panthers in full dress…black leather coat, military-esque ribbons, black berets, dark glasses, and combat boots. All four were motionless and looking intently at me. The middle bench seat was missing. So one member was sitting in the far back seat of the van, flanked by a couple duffel bags and some assorted gear….only room for one. Another member was sitting on the floor with a duel bongo drum, leaning up against the far side of the van. That left the driver (who, years later, I looked up and Identified to be a very prominent B.P.leader named Elbert Howard, but was known by all as ‘Big Man’)… and the front passenger…and then, there was me…standing 1 foot away from the open door and their grasp.

So sensing danger and after what seemed to be an endless moment, the driver asked, “Where are you going?” Prior to that question, I seriously flirted with the notion of just running away….where? No idea. There really wasn’t a vast array of options. So, I said, with a chest beating profusely…. “North”. After another pause, He said, “So are we….Would you like to get in and close the door?” I didn’t feel giving this offer a lot of thought to assess the pros and cons a viable move. So….I got in, slid the door shut, sat on the floor and leaned up against the closed door.

Once we were on the road, the driver, Elbert adjusted his rearview mirror such that he could stare at me and keep the micro bus nicely in the middle of his lane. The other three practiced on me, their ‘Non-verbal Intimidation exercises. Not a word was spoken…..then the member across from me…the one with the bongos began a slow, eerie tap rhythm on his drums…..the thought this was an official Black Panther death march crossed my mind. I was sure the pronounced silent tension in the air was most enjoyable to these purposed travelers, However, this white kid of 18 years old…in worn jeans, first addition ‘New Balance’ running shoes and a ‘Cold Blood’ concert T-shirt, may reflect all the elements hard-core Black Panthers found annoying. The deafening silence (and of course the slow thump of the bongos) gave light to the thought that they may kill me and/or throw me out of the bus at 50 miles an hour….just because. I realized at that pinpoint in time, I had to do something. Here goes….

Wait! Let’s note that during and after High School. The ‘drugs, sex and the Nation’s hottest rock bands were in high supply in the Berkeley parks, U.C.campus and head shops. The Oakland based Black Panther activities and conflicts always made for interesting conversation….Huey Newton (Founder), Eldridge Clever, and Bobby Seale, big time activists were always in the news.

Ok, Here goes…. With blood pressure and adrenaline shooting out my nose, I cleared my throat and said, “ I recently heard Mr. Newton was having a lot of trouble with your ‘Feed the Kids daily program’. And he is in a big scrape with the Oakland mayor…” Suddenly, that was it!! They all started talking among themselves about that issue, then on to a few other related topics…..to the point, they completely forgot about me and maybe even thoughts of tossing me out of the bus.

So for the next hour, everything seemed to settle down a bit. Then, Elbert pulled into a gas station across the street from a Jack in the Box burger spa. So, with their eyes off me, the four of them filled the tank, got some food, hit the bathrooms and, walked back to the VW MicroBus. As for me, noting the mood and ominous tone of the ride had softened somewhat, …..I cleaned the windshield and, feeling a welcome void of fear and total discomfort, was the last one in. I closed the sliding door, took my place on the floor, and off we went! Again, I sat across from the member with the bongos (which stayed silent for the remainder of the trip…yay…no Death March).

As we got within an hour to an hour and a half from Oakland and Berkeley, Elbert observed me for a moment, then asked me where I wanted to get dropped? That was an interesting question. Where I wanted to go was my Dad’s house in Walnut Creek, which was a tiny detour off the route to Oakland. Because Walnut Creek was considered White Collar/Upper-Middle Class, and probably represented much of what really pissed off the Black Panther Movement….. I replied with, ‘Telegraph Ave. ’People’s Park or anywhere in the Berkeley area…I can easily walk’. So, once we came though Emeryville and turned up on Telegraph Ave., Elbert pulled over to the curb. I opened the door, thanked the decorated foursome and ….got out,

Then the member of the opposite side of the floor got up and took the handle of the sliding door….and before he closed it, he lifted his left forearm with outward facing clenched fist(a sign of Black Solidarity). With a humorous crooked smile, he said proudly, “Black Power.” And with that, he slid the door closed. As I stood and watched Elbert pull back into traffic,,,head up Telegraph Anvenue and soon turn out of sight, I rewound the day in my head…. I was exhausted… I felt I could find a spot under a tree and sleep for a week.

Kent was working on putting his life stories down on paper. We thought you might enjoy reading a few. These are unedited, in Kent's own words as he wrote them. 

Air Force Boot Camp

I graduated from High School in 1970. From the ages of 13 to 18, My Dad was away on business quite a bit and feared trouble would find me if I was left idle. He was probably right. We lived in the small Bedroom town of Lafayette. Dad faithfully bought his gas and all car services at Bob Nagy’s Richfield service station which was about 5 miles from home.

At age 13, I remember at the onset of the Summer ….. we dropped into Bob’s for a fill up. While I waited in the car, Dad went and had a conversation with Bob…..He inquired to see if Bob would put his son Kent (me) to work … and Dad actually offered to pay Bob for any expenses he might incur to take me on. Bob liked me, hired me and refused Dad’s offer to reimburse him. That Summer job turned into a 5 year employment…Summers, after school and weekends. Bob had three daughters who he loved dearly, but apparently would of liked the idea of having a son….many great stories came out of those years. I worked efficiently and enjoyed Bob’s friends and loyal customers very much. I not only had an income, but as time went by….. I eventually gained a girlfriend and a car! In those years, I bought and sold three cars and a motorcycle. Stories of interest during that era lay ahead.

So… I graduated from High School in 1970. As I talked about in a previous chapter, I found myself in a potentially miserable situation. If I didn’t alter the direction of my path soon, my low lottery draft number would soon deliver me into the arms of the U.S. Army while the Viet Nam conflict was still in full swing.…the fate and flavor of that particular brand of Military was less than appealing. Here again, I had to do something soon. In order to hold off the inevitable for as long as possible, I left my job and my girlfriend……and moved from the S.F. Bay Area, and submitted a new address in Orange County…. When the Draft Board sent me a new notice in Southern CA….I thought it a good idea to head back to the Bay Area. Little did I realize, the Draft Board wasn’t as distracted by my ‘Cat and Mouse’ game plan as I thought. Receipt of my Draft Notice was within arm’s reach.

So….in short order I packed up, ready to head back up North the following morning. Serendipity decided to step in. That evening, a few of my friends thought it a good idea to throw me a ‘See You Back Here Soon’ farewell party. The evening was off to a good start….pizza, beer& weed…most of the essentials. Early on that evening, Jeff, the brother of one of our friends, joined us…he was a Staff Sergeant in the Air Force and arrived in A.F. fatigues. Jeff was one of those guys people liked immediately. Given my upcoming Draft Board dilemma, I had a lot of questions and began an Air Force centric conversation that went well into the night. Jeff loved the Air Force, and revealed much with his description of his then first 6 years of his Air Force career. He answered all my questions on an array of topics and painted a most positive enthusiastic picture of Air Force life, the vast list of career choices that will be open to me….the opportunities and adventures which lay ahead…. And even described what to expect at Boot Camp! My mind was made up. That next morning, I began my trip back up to the Bay Area and…. And an Air Force recruiting office.

So, I arrived at my father’s house that evening. The next morning, I left Dad’s house and drove to the closest recruiting office in Oakland. I signed up, went through an hour or so of aptitude testing….they presented to me a fairly sizeable list of MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) options. Apparently, I slid into the Air Force just in time….. just missing the grip of the U.S. Army’s Draft Notice.

I was very fortunate. Recall my most timely meeting with Staff Sgt Jeff. He addressed all of my questions, imparted to me the knowledge, clues and psychology behind the military ways of breaking down and rebuilding young recruits. Included in Jeff’s adaptation of ‘The First Few Days of Boot Camp’ was how to handle and even enjoy the whole ‘first few days’ ordeal. So, the day before Dad dropped me at the Oakland Air Force Induction Center, I paid a visit to a local barber shop with a request to shave off every hair on my head. Knowing this act would not let the Air Force enjoy that particular humiliation.

For many young recruits, the initial shock of Boot Camp…starting with the disorienting arrival at Lackland AFB at around 1am. It was planned panic and chaos…drill instructors were in rare form…yelling, intimidating and causing total temporary regret on the part of the several ‘newbees’ in our group we came to know as Flight223.

My first step was to beat them to the punch. These were the early 70’s where long hair was most prevalent in my age group. Jeff explained how, with pleasure, on day #2, your Drill Instructors marched our the entire flight223 to a long line of smiling barbers to let the sheering begin. Each new Airman walked away in shock as a big part of their previous identity lay on the barber’s floor.

As for the rest of my class mates, a choked back tear and inner trauma prevailed for more than a few of my new teammates.

Here was an Air Force scenario and crux of the story that played out at 4:30 to 5am every morning….

As Flt #223 again, consisting of around 33 recruits, were happily sleeping in their beds, two or three drill sergeants would crash open the barracks’ doors and began screaming as if ‘all hell’ was breaking loose! At that moment, being ripped out of a sound, well deserved slumber…the troops had only 20 to 30 minutes to…. Make their bed (perfectly), get a shave and a shower, get dressed, ALL stand at attention in front of your newly made bed, meet approval and be ready to fall into formation and march to breakfast. The difficulty was the morning ritual was nearly impossible. For 30+ Airmen, there were only 10 showers and 8 sinks. Everyone had to endure that challenge. If one of the drill sergeants found ‘dust bunnies’ under the bed, or a sloppy imperfection in the bed you just made, they would, with serious smiles, lift and turn the bed over….thus adding to the already stressful routine. The ‘turning over’ of a few beds seemingly proved a good team-building exercise. If the gentlemen in flt223 wished to get to breakfast and actually have time to finish their most important meal of the day, they had to work together to reassemble the abused beds, collect the strewn contents of a couple of lockers and insure the floors were clean and void of any dust under the beds. I observed this morning delight and began thinking…..

Ok….having a job from age 12 through high school, I learned how to get up early and always be on time. So..within a few days of the chaotic morning ritual, I figured out how I could maneuver within this scenario and remain quite calm and enjoy the ride. So, here is how it went….

First, I alerted my brain to wake up at or close to 4:30am every morning (my Dad and older brother had that talent, so I guess it got passed on to me). So then, immediately awake, while everyone else were comatose I was up and headed to the quiet empty showers…. I would shave, brush my teeth, and enjoy a wonderful hot shower…. Void of the chaos of 30 airmen tripping over one another to get their morning business done. Then, off to my next step. Upon a random inspection, A clean and well organized locker was a ‘must have, else, at the hands of a drill instructor, it’s contents could go sailing through the air in any direction… hence, before I went to bed the night before, I ensured my locker appeared clean and well organized.

To complete my well orchestrated Morning routine, (remember, everyone else is sleeping soundly, except me) with a pronounced element of stealth, I would QUIETLY make my bed, ensure my locker was immaculate, and be fully dressed and ready for breakfast , and the day ahead….all of this before the crashing, hostile disturbance burst though the barrack’s doorway.

So! Leaving the showers, wrapped in a towel, I next began making my bed….to perfection. Part of that bed-making procedure was to check and remove any ‘dust bunnies’ that may be residing under the bed….to the drill sergeants, dust bunnies under the bed apparently constituted a high crime.. It did not take me long to recognize the best way to achieve a perfectly made bed, the key element of my morning ritual, was to be executed from under the bed…yes, under the bed! There, laying under the bed I could pull down and stretch taught the fringes of the sheets and blankets, first the head down to the middle of the bed, then, deftly spin around so my head was under the foot of the bed to tighten up the mid to the foot of the bed. Also (this is where it gets a little weird)…. Remember I am still only wrapped in a bath towel…..which, as it turned out proved helpful in collecting the dust bunnies from under the bed. Each morning, this bizarre bed making technique rendered the very zenith….the apex….. the Holy Grail of the ‘perfectly made military bed!’

Ok….this story gets better. So, at this point, I am showered and squeaky clean, my bed and locker, beyond perfect…. and then dressed in five minutes….I am ready to roll… while everyone else is still sleeping. Remember my ability to program my brain to wake up at or closely around a designated time? Well… I have the other side of that unique trait….I typically can fall asleep within 15 to 20 seconds…… So! There I am…showered, dressed, my model bed in order and 10 to 20 minutes away from the ‘WakeUp Brigade’. Being that it is still early and dark, fully dressed, I laid down, face up on the dust-free floor, slid back under my bed and, immediately dozed off. Once I hear Sgt. Ragland and his ‘sleep terrorists’ approach the Barracks doorway, I immediately slip out from under the bed, stand up and sit down in the chair next to my locker….and with a still and innocuous presence, I watched the morning circus begin.

Basic Training at Lackland, TX was 7 weeks long. Somewhere around week 3 or 4, the morning drama/trauma subsided somewhat, yet, I performed my well &&^ without fail. That extra 10 to 20 minutes of sleep was heaven. The Sleep Terrorists no doubt took notice of this peculiar Airman Tompkins, fully dressed, with some sort of PhD in bed-making. Not to feel left out…on one or two occasions, they would find some minor offense and reason to ‘jump into my lunch bucket’ and bark at me…. All part of the Basic Training program.

Overall, USAF Boot Camp was a wonderful experience. I believe for all of us in flt233, we were able to bond many friendships, experience work and grow as part of a team, witness and develop our own inner strengths, and areas needing attention., we were given the opportunity to look in the mirror and witness our growth and a new sense of confidence.

Very sad to hear this Bev. And also very happy you had this wonderful fella to share all those adventures with, what a life you two made.  Love you

Dar & Ken

My condolences to Kent's family. I first met Kent when [ I was young in The Auto Industry and started out selling cars and I came across this guy who is so very happy and positive and his orah was just so inviting and captivating. I just could not get enough of him. He would carry around this wand. and I promise you that he put all of his customers and friends and coworkers under this powerful positive spell and you could only fall in love with this guy. ] I wanted what he had, so  we would often hang out together, and I would listen to him and watch him and learn from this wonderful  Man  “Kento”

He Opened my eyes and let me know that I need to create a show with my customers and shared with me so many tips and let me watch him while he was with customers and listen to him ,He gave me a  gift, and that gift is being able to create wonderful marketable experiences with all my customers and family and friends.

Might I  ad, he made some of the most amazing ties which I have so many of them and I wear them every opportunity that I can…

This is very powerful and impactful. Individual  He will most certainly be missed by many. May you rest in peace, the magical magician, Kento Tompkins.

To our dear friend Kent, who could easily light up any room you entered with your larger-than-life personality.  The world has gotten a little bit dim with your passing, but it will always be the brightest in our memories.  

It’s not goodbye, but we’ll see you soon.