As a Patrol
Leader in our Boy Scout Troop I had a favorite practical joke that I would trot
out on every new boy’s first backpack trip.
It was intended to build a little comradery in the patrol, teach a
little lesson, and mark the acceptance of the new boy into the patrol. Ultimately all the boys seemed to enjoy it,
though I must admit it wasn’t as well received by some of the parents or my
eldest brother.
Barry
particularly disliked this particular stunt.
It went something
like this:
The entire
patrol group (usually 6-8 boys ranging in age from 11 to 16) would gather
together early before the trip was to begin.
Whether it was a Friday night, or Saturday morning, each of the boys would
have to show up with all of his gear and proceed to empty the entire contents
of his backpack and pockets out for inspection.
The Assistant
Patrol Leader or I would look over all of the items, pick out any contraband
and make the boys hand it over to their parents (although the definition of
contraband was fairly loose most of the time as things like firecrackers,
playboy magazines, switchblade knives, throwing hawks, slingshots, and other
assorted items just never seemed to get out of the packs and onto the ground
for inspection).
Then the boy
would be issued his share of the patrol equipment and food to carry and he would
repack his belongings and load his backpack into one of the pickup trucks for transport
to the trailhead.
When we
arrived at the trailhead, each boy would shoulder his pack along with the rest
of the boys in the patrol and gathered together as a group, we would set off to
walk to whatever destination was planned, and on arrival we would set up our
patrol campsite slightly removed from any other patrol site or the adult area.
This was to
foster team spirit and identity.
So were the
hot rocks, at least after a fashion.
You see,
although the new boy didn’t have a clue what was going to happen, or even that
something was going to happen, after it was all over, he realized that he had shared
an experience with the rest of the patrol and that made him an “insider” and part
of the team.
After
setting up camp, the new boy would be included in all of the activities. He worked
on his advancement skills with us, swam when we swam, and fished when we fished. He had responsibilities like the other boys,
maybe firewood gathering, maybe dishwashing, or water hauling, but, just like
the rest of the team, his efforts were part of the critical support for the
weekend activity.
At the end
of the day, we would all sit around a roaring (often ragingly smoky) campfire
and tell stories, play with sticks in the fire, melt glass bottles, drip
burning plastic, joke with each other, and generally wear ourselves out until
it was impossible to keep our eyes open any longer.
Morning would
come, breakfast and the breakfast fire would pass, and it would be time to pack
up our sleeping bags, tents, and other gear for the walk back to the cars.
At this
point, I would call the whole team together just after the sleeping bags and
tents were rolled, and just before the gear was put back in backpacks.
Once
gathered, I would solemnly remind the assembled patrol about the “Outdoor Code”
and that we had to do our duty and be environmentally responsible. I would tell them that the ground and grass
was too dry to risk a wildland fire. And
that they were each going to have to carry a hot campfire rock home. Because leaving those hot rocks out there just
might cause a forest fire before they cooled down.
Of course, with
the exception of the new boy they had all been through this little sham, most
of them several times. They all knew
what was coming. They all knew what they
were supposed to do.
One or two would
half-heartedly object because the rocks were going to be heavy, but others would
shush them and select a hot rock, carrying it back to their pack area and
setting it down right next to the pack, get on with their packing. One by one every boy in the patrol would pick
up a warm, smoke-blackened rock and carry it off to their area for “packing”.
Sometimes
eagerly, sometimes hesitantly, at some point, the new boy would step forward
and gingerly pick up a filthy campfire rock to carry back to his pack. Most of them I am sure thought the rest of us
were nuts. Most of them were sure there
was no way that a rock was going to start a fire. But everyone else was doing it, and so the
new boy would too.
The “insiders”
would check and when the new boy was too focused to notice, they would just
roll their rock around the tree their pack was leaning up against, or under the
brush right next to it, and finish packing their stuff and tie down.
The new boy,
if he had second thoughts about this whole rock thing, would look around and
see some rocks by packs that were still being worked on, and no rocks by ones
that were packed, and so would mentally shrug, pick up his grimy, smoky, sooty,
warm rock and nestle it gently into the main section of his pack.
The trip
back to the cars was lighter, shorter, and easier; for everyone except the new
guy.
Now, I
wouldn’t want to be accused of disabusing you of any of your notions about how
principled Barry was back then in objecting to this stunt of mine. And I suspect he wouldn’t have minded it at
all, and would have found it pretty funny too, except…..
Barry was
the Senior Patrol Leader at the time and as such he was responsible for anything
that was seen as a “problem”. And
invariably whenever I pulled this stunt on a new kid, Barry got a Sunday night phone
call from an irate parent who found a sooty black rock in their son’s backpack.
Personally,
I think the parents were more embarrassed than mad. I mean come on. How would you feel if after spending 11 years
caring for, teaching, and nurturing flesh of your flesh, you found out there
was every probability that you still had 60 years of caring and nurturing ahead
of you.
I mean, be
honest.
If you found
a 15 pound sooty rock messing up the inside of your son’s backpack; and if when
you asked him why it was there he told you it was there to stop forest fires….you’d
be pretty sure he was never going to be able to be let out unattended, wouldn’t
you?
And that
surely would be enough to anger you and make you strike out at someone. After-all, admitting that your son had been
that foolish was tantamount to acknowledging that your seed was just a tad bit under-cooked.
You might be
surprised to know that solid rock cools off faster than parents do.
Be that as
it may, after both had some time to come back to normal temperature, many of
the father’s made a point of seeking me out and telling me that had been a
great lesson for their sons. Something that
would teach them to think for themselves and not buckle under peer pressure.
I’d like to
claim that had been my intent all along, but after all, the first point of the
Scout Law is Trustworthy, so I’ll just leave it right there.
© Copyright
2016, Marty Vandermolen
