The Joy of Scouting, Summer Camp 1968

Ah, 1968, life was good and all was well. Common sense ruled the world, unless you considered the madness of the Vietnam War, civil rights unrest, and sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Our police forces looked more like Martin Milner and Kent McCord and less like the storm troopers from the video game Halo. The average country boy didn't feel it necessary to own a bazooka, the ole double barrel 12 gauge shotgun his grandpa left him was all the protection he needed.

But do you think an eleven year old kid dwelled on these weighty issues? I think not!
The foremost thing on my mind? Summer camp!

Yes, indeed!

Camp Attakapas! What boy could resist a stay at a place with a name attributed to a ferocious tribe of cannibalistic Indians? Interesting facts

School was out for the summer and I looked forward to a week without parental supervision, and a chance to be away from my four sisters! I was the only boy. I think my mom looked forward to my absence more than I, because she didn't flinch when I nagged her to take me to the sporting goods store for camping supplies.

We loaded a buggy with, flashlight batteries, bug spray, sunscreen, a new swimming suit, uniform shorts, tee shirts, etc. You know, all the paraphernalia a boy would need for a fun filled week at scout camp. Oh yeah, Mom picked out some new underwear too. Her policy? Never be caught in public with a hole in your drawers, you might be involved in an accident and embarrass the family if you arrived DOA at the hospital.

The big day arrived and we all met in the Methodist church parking lot. My dad brought our station wagon and we loaded four other boys and stowed their gear in the spacious rear cargo area. Everybody whose parents weren't part of the car pool said good bye. Five embarrassing minutes of kisses and hugs and threats of retribution if word of misbehavior found its way home, and we were off!

My mom stayed busy for the next hour and a half trying to keep the noise in the back seat at a level that wouldn't annoy my father too much. We arrived at our camping area and unloaded our gear amongst neat rows of army surplus tents with wooden platforms for floors and two cots with stained cloth mattresses. Mr. DC assigned us our quarters and we gathered up our gear to unpack and settle in.

About to walk away, Mr. DC said, "Hold up you," indicating me, "I need to check your gear for gunpowder."

If you'd like to know why he singled me out you can read about it here. Link

After this embarrassing violation of my civil rights he let me continue unpacking.

If you've ever been to summer camp, you will know that every boy works on some kind of craft project that he can enter into a contest.

Winners are awarded a prize at the final closing ceremony a week later. My friend Tom and I knew this and, as soon as we were squared away, raced to the commissary to buy our kits before the best ones sold out.

There was any number of items to choose from, plastic braiding that could be platted into a necklace with a wooden arrow head pendant. There were leather scout book covers you could sew together, and a selection of real indian style moccasins. The pieces were sewn together with sinew. They also had these little blocks of wood to carve into a neckerchief slide.

Tom wanted a carving kit and decided on the Indian's head versus the Eagle's head.

I was undecided, on account of the carving set included a razor knife and the moccasin kit a wicked long needle.

I hadn't noticed a M.A.S.H. unit anywhere on the place.

While I pondered whether a stab wound was more survivable than a slashing injury I heard the clerk offer Tom a discount on a box of adhesive bandages.

"Moccasins for me!" I decided.

We cooked our standard "foil packs" that evening because the mess hall didn't open for business until breakfast the next morning. I managed to save about half a slice of potato and the end off a carrot that I failed to cut thin enough to become charcoal.

We told ghost stories until Taps and crawled into the sac to be fresh for classed the next day.

Along about 2AM or so, the most dreadful noise awoke about half the camp. On further investigation we discovered the sound coming from Mr. DC. He had drifted off and started to snore.

Now let me tell you, if any there had been profit in it, Mr. DC could file for an IPO, become chairman of the board and name his own salary!

He was gifted! Yes sir, I doubt there was another person within miles with his ability.

About 6AM the sound of Reveille blasted from load speakers. These were strategically hung among the pine trees. .

I vowed that if I ever found out who that kid playing the bugle was I was going to give him such fat lip he'd have to take up the cymbals.

We gathered at the mess hall for breakfast and had to stand outside doing cheers the were deemed worthy enough to enter.

I was hungry, on account of the ants had gotten to my moon pie and that sliver of potato and burnt piece of carrot was long forgotten.

Finally we were ushered inside and feasted on powdered eggs, cold grits, and rubbery bacon.

I hurried to my first class, Archery, eager to show off my William Tell skills. I was disappoint, because when I arrived, there wasn't a bow in site.

We were taught how to fletched an arrow. So, we glued feathers on a long dowel rod that we had to carry around with us the rest of the day.

I met Tom on the way to my next class and he stopped to show me the progress of his carving.

His kit included a block of tulip wood that someone had rubber stamped the outline of an indian chief on. The trick was to take that razor knife and remove all the parts not indian and eventually you would have a nice neckerchief slide.

He was making fair progress with it too, but I noticed the bandaged finger on his left hand.

I made my way to First Aid class.

In 1968 every boy scout required a merit badge in First Aid. They said it was because of the valuable life saving knowledge when out and about in public.

They couldn't blow smoke up my shorts, no sir! I allowed it was because they sold craft kits to kids with razor knives and sharp needles in them.

I tell you, the attorneys in 1968 must have been asleep! I could recognize an opportunity when I saw one. There was a fortune to be made, right here, in product liability lawsuits!

I vowed to keep it quiet and be the first to take advantage of the situation after graduating from law school about ten years from now! Yes sir!

I met up with Tom again at lunch. He had bandages on the first three fingers of his left hand but I didn't say anything, he was my friend and I didn't want to embarrass him. His neckerchief slide resembled a lump of clay more than Chief Sitting Bull.

For lunch, we had a salisbury steak that must have come bulk and frozen, some potatoes made from dehydrated flakes, and some mushy green peas. I was glad to get them, I must say, camp made me hungry.

We washed this down with a concoction that we fondly referred to as Bug Juice . This was a watered down powdered drink fortified with enough sugar to see us well on our way down the road to diabetes.

That night, I got started on my moccasin kit. I must have stabbed myself in the palm three times with that vicious needle. I finished the first shoe faster than I thought but had to take it apart again, because I came to the last stitch and there was an extra hole!

The next day I wore it to Archery class. I felt a bit disappointed because we had to fiddle around making bow strings all morning. I wanted to shoot something!

Limping down the hill, on account of I had a moccasin on one foot and a high topped sneaker on the other, I met up with Tom. "What's up?" he asked. "Not too much," I replied.

He inquired about the new fashion in footwear, and I explained that I planned on taking a seat on the back row in First Aid so I could work on the other. I pulled the thing from my back pocket and showed him my progress.

"Hey, do you think you could loan me a quarter? I'm kinda short on cash and I need to buy a new box of bandages?"

The fella at the commissary only gave him a break on the first box. That guy had a racket going!

We worked out the details of the loan, and I gave him a discount on the interest rate. I handed over the 25 cents, then limped on down the hill.

On the way down I discovered, quite by accident, that if you were walking across a hill with the sneaker on the downhill side it worked to your advantage because it compensated for the difference in elevation.

I don't care how much bug spray your mom outfits you with, if you go to camp you are going to get bitten. I had a lot of experience with this because I was in the woods every chance I got.

I started out using the repellant religiously but I went to swimming class one day and forgot my bug spray. An hour in the water washed me clean and I became vulnerable.

That evening I discovered a chigger had taken up residence in my armpit. If you aren't from the south and have never been acquainted with these invisible little demons, I'm here to tell you, you don't want them as neighbors.

They don't come alone, they send out an invitation to the rest of the family and before you know it the whole tribe moves in!

They aren't content with your armpit either. They are partial to the tropical zones and brother, when they get into the warm areas, it is hard to evict them! This causes no end of embarrassment for mothers because when a thing itches, a boy is going to scratch it, and he doesn't care if he's attending Catechism either!

The next day, I ran into Tom again ,and this time he was whittling away at that chunk of wood.

"Hey, Tom, I thought you were right handed," I said. He was holding that block in his right hand and chipping away at it with his left.

"I am," he says, "but I'm practicing on becoming ambidextrous." Uh, huh his fingers were sore!

The next time we crossed paths I don't think he had a finger on either hand that didn't have tape on it. He told me he got disgusted and gave up on the whittling and tossed it away. I felt relieved, he wasn't sure if his tetanus booster was current.

I entered my moccasins in the competition and won first prize!

I received one of those treacherous carving kits! An indian head too! I gave it to Tom, on account of I thought he might want to give it another try.

I didn't let on when I saw him toss it in the trash on the way out of the council arena.

Thanks for reading my tale folks! It's based on real events but dressed up to make it more attractive.

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And as always,

CARRY ON!

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