Now as older teenagers, my brothers were developing into grown men. Kent, the oldest, made his mark by developing a reputation as a hood in school. They called him “Org.” I don’t exactly know where that came from. He was tall with an athletic build, and had a cool aura about him. Kent didn’t seem to care what you thought of him, and would just as soon punch you in the face than look at you. I don’t recall him being particularly tough at home, because Dad pretty much held the reins there. Kent was suspended several time for blowing up toilets and smoking in the boy’s room. His friend Rick Streed would dare Kent to do stupid stuff. Kent was into cigarettes, booze, and a variety of drugs. He also loved hot cars and music. As his reputation grew, so did his Afro.
I remember one of his friend’s brothers, Mark Syers, who was also a close friend of Brad’s, publicly razzed Kent in the high school hallways. Kent took him outside and beat him up in front of the whole school. In another example, Kent was hosting a beer party at our house. It was packed. Dad had asked Kent not to touch his Budweiser beer. One guy, Dennis Coleman, took one of my Dad’s beers from the refrigerator and started drinking it. Kent was furious! Another guy, Steve Childs, ran up to Kent and pleaded with him to allow him to beat Dennis up. Kent nodded okay, as the kid was significantly smaller that him. So right outside my house Steve beat up Dennis and sent him home with his tail between his legs. When my father got home he found a MIller High Life can in place of the Budweiser can in his six-pack. No biggy. Fast forward 40 years … Rick, Mark, and Steve have all passed away, while Kent, who wouldn’t hurt a fly nowadays, enjoys peaceful days in California. He has a grown son Robert Orton III. How things change after high school.
marcorton8853 
I knew of Kent when I met Marc, but his reputation was not a good one. He was very quiet and his demeanor and stories of his escapades made him a bit overwhelming or scary to me. Kent’s high school behavior and reputation was the reason why Marc and I almost weren’t. It was my older sister, Hollyann, who stepped in and defended Marc to my worried parents, since she was friends with Marc and knew him well, assuring my parents that Marc was “nothing like his brother.” The first time I met Kent, face-to-face in Marc’s house was terrifying. Marc was playing his drums for me in his room, not knowing that Kent, who worked nights, was sleeping just down the hall. Kent threw open Marc’s bedroom door, and stood…tall and ominous…in the doorway, his huge Afro slightly flattened on one side and his eyes still groggy from sleep. He stared at Marc for a long second and then grabbed a handful of drum sticks. He didn’t even acknowledge that I was in the room. Marc started to beg forgiveness as Kent said, “Don’t. Ever. Wake. Me. Up. Again.” Every word spoken was punctuated by a drum stick being hurled at Marc’s head with lightning speed as Marc sat, prisoned behind his kit, up against the wall, trying to dodge the sticks that were being fired at his head. Then Kent just turned and left. Marc never played again without first checking to see if Kent was sleeping! Postscript: everyone grew up and Kent and I became friends. If you met Kent now, you would see no trace of the “ORG” he used to be. He is quiet and sweet, polite and kind. And the Afro is long gone.
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