I wondered why Claire was smiling as she looked through our e-mail. She laughed and explained that a friend of ours, an academic official at a Christian university where I've taught a couple of courses over the years, was asking for individuals who have had experiences with the Boy Scouts to describe them. She turned and asked me, "Do you dare tell him yours?"I started laughing too because in my oh-so-brief tenure as a Scout, two disasters stand out quite vividly. Now, be assured that I do not lay any blame for these fiascoes at the feet of my Scoutmasters -- they were eminently trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent fellows -- for sure. But then again, there are limits to what even the best mentors can accomplish when forced to work with real numskulls.
The first memorable moment came when my troop went up into the Colorado mountains to learn some outdoorsman skills, play a wide-ranging game of "Capture the Flag", and cook our own dinner. We were also supposed to fill our canteens from the stream at the foot of the hill for our evening's repast. Always on the lookout for an unconventional way of getting things done (especially if it was easier), I opted to open the spigot on a water tank at the south end of the building. Cool...at least until I took a big swig of the stuff to wash down my baked potato. I had filled my canteen with gasoline! I thought I was gonna' die and was only somewhat relieved to find out I wasn't. Goodness; I smelled and tasted like a refinery for a couple of weeks. The only positive (looking back on the affair) was that I was never again tempted to sneak any of my Dad's cigarettes for I was afraid that as soon as I "lit up", I really would!
The other disaster happened, I think, on the very next outing we went on. My troop (#448 -- why I remember that when I can't remember the names of neighbors, teachers or cousins, I'll never know) visited a place we called "Paradise Valley" where we planned to spend a whole weekend camping out. I can't remember clearly but I think our Troop consisted of had four or five different patrols. I was one of the members of the Panther Patrol which, it turned out, represented what would be the "rogues gallery" of our neighborhood. Yes, one of the Panthers would eventually spend a successful career in law enforcement, but I know at least three of us would end up traveling on the other side of the law. It was but a foreshadowing of things to come that the weekend didn't work out very well.
First of all, the Panthers were denied their choice spot of a campsite because the Beaver Patrol (our troop's elite corps, comprised of older and more serious Scouts) was given rights to the spot by our Scout leaders. Feeling wronged, we decided on revenge and that night we used our little shovels to dig a trench from the stream straight into the Beaver Patrol's tent. After witnessing some pretty satisfying results (our only real success of the weekend), we were named as the culprits. Who else? We were scolded, shamed, properly punished and warned that we had only one more chance. We agreed.
But, like I hinted earlier, there are some boneheads that just aren't cut out for the Scouting life. We behaved ourselves pretty well the next day but that evening spelled doom. First of all, we were taught how to make a contraption from logs we cut up that would reflect our campfire's heat back into our tent. Neat idea -- but ours burnt up. Three times.
Next, we got to cutting up a little while making dinner and somehow I managed to brand Jimmy D_____ with a hot wiener. Ouch! But it really was an accident...Scout's honor. After all, Jimmy lived across the street from me back in the city. Who cared that he used to wear a nylon hose over his head (weighted with a bar of soap in the toe, no less) in order to train his hair to lay down a bit? He was still my buddy so, Jimmy played the good Scout about the whole business and didn't rat me out. What's a flaming hot dog between pals?
The comedic complications of the camping trip weren't over for the troubled Panther Patrol, however. That night, it rained. Hard. And plenty. And while the other patrols stayed dry and warm, our guys did not. We thought we had done everything right but it seems that we had not only pitched our camp on a slope, but we hadn't secured the tent close against the ground. Thus, when the water came down, it came under our tent and ran beneath the polyethylene "sheets" we had lain under our sleeping bags. Before we knew it, the water had carried two of us down to the creek as nicely as if we were playing on a Slip n' Slide.
That was the last straw for our Scout leaders and, if I remember correctly, most of the Panther Patrol was dismissed from Scout duty -- permanently. In fact, what I heard later may be true; namely, that our names and photos were distributed to the national B.S.A. with the warning, "Under no circumstances should a troop undertake to make Scouts out of these rascals. They are a serious danger, both to others and to themselves."
But before you conclude that the Boy Scout lore and training I received in my short jaunt was wasted, let me finish my Scout memoirs with this observation. Ever since that time, I have been careful to never, ever let go of a sharp object (like a hatchet) until the person I'm handing it to tells me "Thank you" or gives some other acknowledgment that he does, in fact, have control of the object. It was my mentors from Troop 448 that stressed that important bit of advice and it stuck.
Even numskulls can learn a thing or two.
And that letter to the Christian university official? I sent it, telling him these same stories. Whether or not he ever used my testimony or not, (bless his heart) he was just too polite to say.
