ART MERIT BADGE

Jack Baker was a counselor for Art Merit Badge and he was coming down to Irondale one weekend to visit the troop. Art Merit Badge was not something you'd normally do in a camp environment but it was an opportunity to pick up another badge.

We were all concerned that when it came time for our review with Jack that we wouldn't have
what was needed. And there was some trepidation about trying to slide our way though
with Jack on Art Merit Badge.

But he agreed to meet us all one afternoon and we went prepared to answer the question and
do the demonstrations.

And he surprised us all by saying,

And he began to describe art as a way of life with examples such as:

And he went through vignette after vignette of what art was when it comes to life:

So there was more to art than just painting and, of course, no one had a greater appreciation for the artistic things in life than Jack Baker -- at least from a Scouting perspective.

Because he saw life that way...
...in the way he dressed and the way he handled people... and the way he did his artwork and designed his flags and badges.

And he never asked us a question about what we had done to prepare for the merit badge.

But instead he took just a couple of hours to share with us a larger perspective of art.

You kind of walked away from one of those things trying to realize that what you had just experienced was something that would probably never happen again and you tried to remember it all in your mind because it was worth a lot even though you may have been very young at the time.

And that was Jack Baker.

CREME DE LA CREME

There was even a creme de la creme within the Troop.
A club. You got in if you measured high enough up the
walking stick. Invitation only. Only if you had the
skills, the spirit -- and some clue about cool. You didn't
have to have it yet. You just had to want it -- they would
kind of wrap it around you and you'd grow into it.

They named this older group the Bakers, after the founder
of the Troop, and we were like nothing else in the whole of
the Boy Scouts of America.

In uniform, in demeanor, in swagger."

The look was immediate and distinctive. Levi jeans and white T-shirts -- somewhere after James Dean (but not much after), and long before "the 60's." But the magic, the power came from a Levi Jacket, preferably washed beyond blue, with a blue NATO patch on the left shoulder.

-- Tim Arnold

BEAR WALKS

Sometime in the mid 1950's, we picked up a large bearskin rug.
It was very impressive and we used to decorate the headquarters at
summer camp. You see it in many of our slides and it formed a great
backdrop for our annual formal Baker group photo.
 
Then some one got the great idea to play a prank on the camp.
We called it a "Bear Walk."

We would dress up our largest Scout -- Paul Harrington at the
time --in the rug and station him at night time along a particularly
dark spot in the pathway. Then when Scouts were returning to their
campsite, alone or in twos, he would amble out growling. The Scouts
would fly back to their campsite screaming about the bear. After
several nights and several troops, the camp staff would be alerted.

Of course, they would solemnly pronounce to the entire camp that
there were "NO bears in camp".

But the kids would know because they saw it.

And we knew. And laughed. And never told anyone. And the camp staff
never found out.

It became an annual event until, I guess, the rug ended up in shreds
or someone called a halt to it.

There is, indeed, something noble about a beret. If simplicity equals elegance, then the beret is certainly the most elegant of all toppers.

While frequently worn by artists and art aficionados, is really quite a masculine piece of headgear. Why else would it be the distinguishing part of the uniforms of the world's most elite military units such as the French paratroops, the Russian 'black berets', British SAS Commandos, and the US Special Forces.

A marine drill instructor once volunteered how much he admired the British Royal Marines he'd once fought alongside in Korea because they went into combat wearing berets instead of steel helmets.

In the fall of 1953 -- long before it was adopted by the US Army's Green Berets -- the Baker beret was started by Tom Barnes getting the idea while he was away at DePauw University.

The first ones were unlined, of the French style, and black in color. With the red 17 patch sewn on it, they could be very very striking.

It really became the "dress" hat as opposed to the outdoors or camping, broad-brimmed Any Hat. However, one of the original rules was that it was not to be worn with the Scout uniform. This rule was not only difficult to enforce but was eventually forgotten over time -- or just plain ignored.

Right after he purchased Nawakwa, Verne had a small two room
house moved to the camp and faced with half round planking to
look like a log cabin. It served the troop well.

Then, when Farmer Pauline had the opportunity to get electricity
for his farm, VOB graciously granted permission for the REA to
cut a path through the camp for the necessary electrical lines
and poles. Verne was very specific about where it was to be cut,
even marking it on a map on the agreement.

The REA missed the mark -- substantially.

On one of the weekends after the work was begun, Verne scheduled
a weekend at the camp with several Scouts -- Ken Underwood, Irwin
Albrecht, and Alex Smith among them.

As he drove into the camp, Verne bitterly showed them where the
REA had cut their swathe through the woods -- the wrong path
unfortunately.

As we approached the cabin area, we could see what appeared to be
a campfire in the area.

Arriving at the cabin, we were shocked to discover that it was
GONE -- burned to the ground with several small remaining fires
burning about.

As we disembarked from the Jeep, Verne began to laugh hysterically;
continuously; almost uncontrollably. We were all absolutely
convinced that we had a crazy man on our hands.

Turns out Verne had learned of the fire earlier and had driven out
the previous Wednesday to see for himself.

Although, he said that he was just laughing at our shock;
to this day, we have still never been convinced otherwise.

CAVALRY CHARGES
(two recollections)

At summer camp my last year as SPL, we would march to meals at the dining hall and, as always, take our designated position at the rear of the Parade Grounds.

This was not so bad because we could still get there a little late and make our entrance.

However, because of the geography of our location, this also resulted in our being the last to enter the dining hall to eat. Not being first was uncomfortable enough for a Seventeener but being last -- all the time -- was absolutely unacceptable.

During the week, I would get repeated requests to march straight across the parade grounds instead of following in line behind the other troops. This could get us to the dining hall ahead of the others. I said I would consider it for the next meal and then would, once again, renege when the time came.

The frustration level mounted -- and by tantalizing the troop this way, it grew.

Finally, at the last meal, I enlisted Fred Eppenberger and his bugle, and when the request came as it always did, I released the troop, and a surprised group of Seventeeners raced across the field while Fred sounded "Charge" on the bugle.

The camp was stunned and a new tradition was born.

But the last day was always reserved for another tradition in the long line that was Troop 17.
Each troop was to march in orderly fashion to the mess hall, as we had done every day, every meal.

But not this time.

About half way through the usual litany of announcements from the camp leader, our Senior Patrol Leader wheeled an about face to us and signaled our bugler. Usually the only bugler in the whole camp. And the bugler, who would also one day graduate Harvard with honors, put horn to lips and let it rip.

Charge!

And we did. Broke ranks and ran like Hell to the mess hall!

I have no idea where everybody's thrill came from. But it came. With an eruption.

I guess guys were sacking quarterbacks, or chasing the homecoming queen, or running from the cops. But we ran. It always pissed off the entire camp -- and not one of us gave a shit.

We were Troop 17, and absolutely nobody screwed with us."

TICKET SALES

One year, when the Troop was particularly desperate for canvas,
Dave Barnes took charge of a campaign to raise money through the
sale of Scout Circus (or Merit Badge Show) tickets. The Council
gave out a generous commission to the troop for each ticket sold
-- and prizes to top selling Scouts.

In addition to the prizes that the Council awarded, the Troop
offered a 22 caliber rifle to it's top seller.

At each Wednesday night troop meeting, Dave would hold selling
classes and have a "Show N Tell" complete with status charts to
stimulate sales. It was a very intense campaign and when it was
over, XVII outsold every Scout Troop, Cub Pack, and Explorer Post
in the St. Louis Council and every Scout in the Troop sold at
least fifteen tickets.

One Scout, Jon Neely, crippled with a hunched back, was particularly
energetic and was the sales leader from the beginning -- selling
over a couple of hundred tickets door-to-door.

He wanted that rifle.

As the end of the campaign approached, Lewis Hagerman was the only
Scout even close to Jon. Then in the last two weeks, he surged into
first place with the help of his father who used them at an auction
where he worked.

Although everyone felt that Jon should have been declared the
winner since he did it all himself -- the hard way -- nonetheless,
Lewis got the rifle.

One of the most unique events in Baker history, was the first (and only) holiday visit to "Club 17."

At about midnight, after one of the early Baker reunions, in the early sixties, all of the Bakers piled into several cars and headed downtown to the slightly seedy night club area near where Busch Stadium now stands.

One of the night clubs/bars there was called "Club 17" and featured a large sign above the door in bright neon script.

Pulling up in front of the bar, everyone hopped out of the cars and stationed themselves -- in full uniform --in front of the sign.

A couple of the Bakers, blocked traffic and Dick Barnes, camera in hand, stood in the middle of the street and snapped a photo of the group.

Then everyone hopped back into the cars and drove off -- leaving a number of bystanders somewhat bewildered.

At times some of Verne's rules and practices seemed very peculiar
to us. They must have had a logic all their own.

One was that if you heard three shots fired (by VOB, of course)
in rapid succession, you were to hurry back to the headquarters
immediately.

At Nawakwa, more than once, when you had made that long trek down
the hill to the creek and were enjoying a hot summer afternoon's
reward swimming in the creek, you'd hear the shots.

Jumping out of the water, you'd hurriedly dress, climb back UP
that Gawd awful vertical hill, and race to the cabin -- out of
breath -- where Verne would be staring at his watch, timing us.
He would inform us of how many minutes and seconds it took us to
respond. Then after announcing that it was a drill, he would
allow us to go back down.

I guess Verne never heard of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf!"

After seeing a performance of the Berlin Honor Guard drill team (an elite Army Afro-American unit), SPL Bill Shoop decided he wanted to create a drill team for Troop XVII.

Then when a Scout Executive remembered seeing the troop march at summer camp, he asked Verne to perform solo for the second act the 195l Scout Circus and a drill team of 17 Seventeeners, 14-18 years of age, marching "four by four" was put together.

Apparantly, that was the first time that a single scout troop was on the entire floor by themselves in a St. Louis Scout Circus.

A major concern was the noise which, it was feared, would not allow the marching Scouts to hear their commands. The solution was to drill using a whistle -- not only very practical but having a very dramatic effect.

To most eleven-year olds, a pocket knife was a new and dangerous experience; and then the sheath knife -- almost a miniature sword. It conjured up all kinds of fantasies and images for a youngster. Then he graduated to an axe -- the pioneer tool and surrogate symbol of manhood.

In Seventeen, guns, rifles & pistols were the weapons of choice for the growing teenager with which to become acquainted and grow comfortable.

However, the ultimate experience, for the Baker was DYNAMITE.

Nothing could match the exhilaration of it's explosions -- the tension surrounding placing the blasting cap, packing the dynamite, connecting the wires, and then setting it off.

Dynamite was used at the camp to clear stumps, create geysers in the creek and, yes, for mischief.

VOBjr loves to tell the story of the time Tom Barnes challenged him to a shooting match with pistols at the land. Tom told Verne that he didn't think he could hit a tin can some distance away. Unknown to Verne, Tom had packed the can with dynamite, and when Verne's bullet struck the can, it exploded. Verne was, obviously, quite shaken but it was just another Tom Barnes prank.

Dynamite was one of those truly unique XVII experiences.

Tom placed the dynamite in the can and we all were notified about it and told to keep a distance ... except Verne. Tom, using his Army 45, hit his can on the 1st try. Verne using his silver S&W Colt shot once. Whether he hit the can or not wasn't known - VOB may have hit the can in the wrong place or the 38 slug didn't set the dynamite off. Tom then said, "you didn't hit it." Verne, in disbelief, fired again and got the surprise of his life!

For a long period of time, one of the older Bakers, Tom Wilson, had been unusually hard on Bill Klamon.

After enough of this, Bill decided to get even -- in his own subtle way.

At summer camp, Bill began to lace Tom's food with small quantities of Ex-Lax. Just enough to discomfort him but not enough to be noticed or to cause him any injury.

Everyone was aware of the prank -- except Tom.

Each day, Tom became more and more "regular." His trips came more often. And they lasted longer. Tom had the constitution of a battleship -- never sick or anything. And so, of course, he was quite puzzled by his new condition. And each of his trips to the latrine were well noted by everyone in camp. And a topic of conversation by everyone -- Tom included.

This went on all week -- to Tom's great discomfort and everyone else's amusement.

At the end of the week, Bill revealed the problem to Tom.

Tom was a good sport, laughed, and never retaliated.

Despite official opinion, campfires are one of the least favorite events at summer camp or a camporee -- and certainly so for the Seventeeners.

But XVII possessed, undoubtedly the most spectacular and mysterious of campfire stunts -- the troop tradition of fire-eating.

 It began in the late fifties when Alex Smith brought it back after a week at a YMCA camp and it has been passed down exclusively among the Bakers ever since then.

 Although this special skill would get lost from time-to-time, older Bakers would, then, again train a new generation in the skill to carry on.

 While it certainly has an element of risk, it is really more awe inspiring than dangerous -- requiring more courage than skill.

 For a while the act was perfected with flame balls and it would be put on at campfires and for other Troops and Cub Packs.

 A truly unique XVII show.

Making a fire with a bow and arrow was, unquestionably, the toughest Scouting skill.

Flint & steel was simple and quick in comparison. Friction required strength, finesse, and endurance to accomplish.

We had become quite accomplished with flint & steel but were relatively adequate with friction. But NO ONE else in other troops would even attempt it. That's how tough it was.

One year we decided to have a race between the two methods at a Court of Honor. We knew who would win but thought the demonstration would be interesting for both the parents and the Scouts. Steve Madison's patrol was to do flint & steel; the Moose, friction.

Patrol Leader Larry Weidle, Jack Buck, and Don Hardwick made an immense bow (about five feet long) and approached the project very scientifically. They dried their tinder out in the stove beforehand to make sure no moisture was present. Then they kept it in an air-tight container until the start. They applied the same care to the spindle and fire pit. Jack and Don worked the bow from each end and Larry handled pressure on the spindle.

Flint and Steel was completed in the normal 4 to 5 seconds. No surprise. The question was whether the Moose Patrol could even get a flame. It would be the ultimate embarrassment in front of everyone.

Friction took twenty seconds. An all-time record -- for the Troop or anybody else. A truly incredible feat.

Andy and I came down to Irondale one summer for the weekend and got down there while everybody was at the council fire.

While we were sitting there in the shelter -- waiting -- we looked out in the woods and saw something glowing and couldn't figure out what it was.

When we turned our flashlight on it, it went away. Then we turn our flashlight off, our eyes adjusted to the dark again, and we looked and could see this stuff glowing. So we went out into the woods and found this tree that had rotted away and the mold was phosphorescent.

So we decided to gather up all this phosphorescent mold and we smeared it inside all the tents.

When the kids came back from the council fire, they had their flashlights on and were getting ready to go to bed. With their flashlights on, of course, they couldn't see the mold.

Then when they turned out their flashlights and their eyes adjusted to the dark and you started hearing,

They'd turn their flashlights on it and you could see the lights moving around inside the tents and, of course, the glow would disappear. Before long the whole camp was a buzz with all these scouts saying,

And it was the phosphorescent mold.

In all my camping years, I'd only seen that once.

Up until about the early or mid-1950's, we used to go to summer camp on the train. We would start out from Union Station and when we arrived at Irondale, we'd assemble in the hot dusty area in front of the freight platform. The camp would then send a large truck into which we would throw all our gear to be hauled to the camp. But we had to hoof it from there.

Then we would march through town to camp. It would be Sunday and it seemed like a big event for the town folk to sit on their porches and storefronts and watch the parade of Scouts as they marched by. Not a lot of excitement there, I guess, and the Scouts provided a weekly show for them. We looked forward to it though and felt that they did also.

As the years went by, troops would go to camp in cars, trucks and busses. But we still continued the tradition of marching through town. It was our show. Most often it was quite hot! Wool uniforms and all in the August heat.

One year when Dave Taylor returned from military school, we marched to a drum which he played. The Asst SPL carried the guidon, and we really looked quite smart. Would have done any of the the service academies proud.

Even if the audience was small, we still felt we had to dress up and do it right. By then, the audience had really shifted from the town to the camp staff. But it was important to us.

"In Troop Seventeen, the big event of the year is summer camp. Everyone looks forward to it. Many Scouts came back from out of town to go to camp with the troop -- ala Denny Swaine, Ralph Beckwith, Don Fritz, Ryan Dugger...

We would go the last week of camp towards the end of the summer. Those were the days when the school schedules permitted it. That allowed many of the older Scouts to get jobs and quit them at the end of the summer in time for camp just before school.

And the camp staff looked forward to Seventeen's arrival. There was always breathed a breath of fresh air into a long summer for them. And the large number of older boys in Seventeen help create a competitive environment between them.

Well one year we realized that the only time we lost our identity as a unit was in the swim pool, so Jim Landau came up with the idea that we would all wear red tank trunks. Troop 17 would stand out and be recognized at the pool also.

Bad timing! The swim staff laid in wait.

The swim director was a guy named John Belt who had been in charge of the pool for several years. He had blond hair and a body-builders physique. He did, however, have a high-pitched squeaky voice which was much out of character with his Adonis build. Anyway, he and his staff had outfitted themselves in Levi Jackets and paraded around the pool in them mimicking the Bakers and harassing our younger Scouts who were easily identified in their red tank suits.

This went on for several days and we seemed powerless to counteract it.

Some of the more hot-headed Bakers wanted to destroy the buddy board, throw dye into the pool, or some other act of vandalism to get even. So we held a meeting and hatched out a plan.

Thursday morning in the dining hall after breakfast, we sounded out a bell.

Tink, tink, tink. And the place grew quiet. Then Jim Landau jumped up on the table (a no! no!) wearing only a swimsuit and a Levi Jacket and proceeded to announce -- in a very high pitched squeaky falsetto voice -- "buddy check" "buddy check."

Then he flung off his jacket and the troop proceeded to do the mandatory buddy check count -- One Two Three Four etc.. With each count Jim would assume a different and exaggerated muscle beach body-builders pose.

At the conclusion, he further mimicked the swim director and directed the scouts "back into the water."

Well the whole dining hall broke out in wildly derisive laughter -- except one embarrassed swim director who sat red-faced in the corner.

But after that, off came the Levi jackets, our Scouts ceased being harassed, and John Belt didn't return as pool director the following year.

MARCHING

"Troop 17 marched with the rhythm of a homecoming parade.
Everywhere. Only with much more discipline and timing.
Orchestrated to the sing-song cadence bark of the Senior
Patrol Leader, we'd go shoulder-to-shoulder, 10 to 20 years
old, the two miles in from Irondale to Summer Camp one
dusty day each July. Sometimes kicked on by our drummer,
always pulling the townsfolk out of their kitchens and off
their porches for the annual 10-minute commotion from those
Scouts from St. Louis.

You could feel the swagger as you went. So could they."

MEL SONGS
(one of several)

Recollections of a late 1950s camporee extracted from a letter to Tom Barnes, then in the USAF:

"... Friday night, with the sky looking as bad as it did, I made the Scouts dig "super-ditches" around their tents -- rain was in the forecast.

We had those kind of marine tents that don't have front flaps -- you're supposed to button two tents together,
so we had four Scouts in a tent. That night it rained and it was fierce -- one of the worst we've ever had.
I SLEPT THROUGH THE WHOLE THING but Smith and Klamon got up and helped the guys in the end tent from getting wet.

By morning the rain had stopped and we got up and ate breakfast. Every troop out there had gotten wet -- except us. Everyone was dry including the six tenderfeet.

Later that morning while the boys were working on the camporee, Ken, Irwin, Alex, and Mike looked over the other Midland District campsites. Troops pulled out continually all day. I have seen muddy campsites before but these were the worst -- ask anyone who saw them. The campsite next to us -- the troop Wilson is working with -- hadn't ditched their tents because they had floors in them and there was at least ONE INCH of MUD on the floor of every one of them. They were lucky -- some just packed up their personal gear and left leaving their tents out there because it was almost impossible to take them back with them. I swear I have NEVER seen so much mud in a campsite as I did that day.

Headquarters shut down at noon and the camporee was called off.

It drizzled again that afternoon with the sum coming out at about 4:30. By five-thirty, only three Midland District troops were left -- us, Troop 30 (Larry Joseph's troop) and another troop... 3?? Troop 3?? had bought at least 30 bales of hay to dry out their campsite and it looked like -- well you couldn't see the ground. We, of course, were the only Midland troop sleeping on the ground, the rest had cots. Troop 30 came out pretty good -- there are a lot of older boys in that troop but I don't think they would have made it without their cots.

Nawakwa is an Iroquois Indian name meaning:

One troop meeting in late 1950 or early 1951, VOB brought a book of Indian names to the troop meeting and read several that were being considered. Nawakwa was one of the options. No one knows (or remembers) who or how it was selected (or voted on) but "Nawakwa" was chosen as the official camp name.

Verne made a sincere and diligent effort (for years regularly and consistently correcting anyone caught not using "Nawakwa") to get everyone to use it but, somehow, it never quite caught on for everyday usage.

It was always called, by everyone, simply -- "The Land!"

The Beetle Bailey cartoon strip inspired this one.

Tom Barnes had recalled a newspaper cartoon in which someone made a bet that all the soldiers could all sit on one chair -- impossible! But Beetle won using a trick that we decided to try one year while waiting outside the central dining hall.

One Scout sits on the chair, then the next Scout sat on his lap, the third on the second, etc. etc. in a chain... theoretically forever.

It worked resulting in a lot of pictures, amazed stares and some satisfied curiosity.

At the end, as is usually the case, someone pushed the "caterpillar" over with everyone rolling on the ground laughing.

PATROL MEETING

You know I think back to the camporees -- sleeping in those PUP TENTS.
Tiny little things. Got them from the Marine Corps in the early 1950s. You had to button them together before you could even set them up. All lined up in a row... precision aligned... stretched taught... all guylines even.

Years ago we used to dig ditches around them to guide the water away in wet weather. And your feet or the end of the sleeping bag would frequently creep outside. You had to be a real camper to manage in one of those tents... staying on the ground cloth... packing your gear out of the way... changing inside during the nite or wet weather... keeping your gear inside. And if you would just touch the canvas, they would spring a leak.

And the other troops would look on in wonder. They had those expensive huge wall or circular tents -- with sewn in floors. And troop trucks, busses to which they retreated during bad weather. WE had to tough it out on the ground. And, you know, when it rained -- as it did almost every year on those spring camporees -- we were, somehow, the driest. Don't know how it happened but it always did.

One year (1957 or so) it rained so hard that Beaumont turned into a mud-swamp. They called off the camporee. But Seventeen was DRY. In fact not a Scout was wet. Truly a miracle. All the other troops packed up and left -- wet and cold -- but Seventeen stayed over until Sunday when the sun finally came out and we had a super day -- by ourselves. We beat the weather and outlasted every other Midland District troop that year.

THAT had to be camping at its best!

When a Seventeener became a Patrol Leader, he receives a certain amount of privilege, authority, and prestige.

Along with this goes his first tools of discipline -- the ability to order push-ups as punishment.

"Take five" is a tradition in the troop as old as anyone can remember, and one that each new Patrol Leader seems to relish.

While its disciplinary benefits are questionable and its effects essentially harmless -- perhaps even minimally physically helpful, the Scouts never seem to resent it -- in fact, as often as not, they seem to provoke this minimal discipline -- a small price to pay for a minor insubordination.

But to the Patrol Leader it is an all important element of his authority and position.

(Post Exchange or Trading Post)

R.H.I.P.

"Rank has its privileges" (abbreviated to RHIP), a term of
military derivation, was an overworked phrase that captured a lot
of the essence of the operation.

It meant that those in authority by virtue of their time in service
and their exalted position had earned special privileges that the
younger Scouts had not yet earned but could only aspire to;
and work towards that day when he could reap similar rewards.

XVII created many "perks" to go along with the offices.

They didn't have to be big things either -- the point was that some
had and some didn't. Those little things sometimes that meant a lot.
For example, sodas at summer camp in a cooler for the patrol leaders
and above. Front seat in the Jeep. Staying up later. The extra
donut. No waiter duty. Sleeping in the mess hall or Baker area.
Falling in front of the line instead of having to shuffle at the end.
First choice of tent site. Not having to "report your presence" upon
entering the leaders area. etc. etc.

It also had its symbols. The red garter tabs being one of the first.
The Baker uniform. The Baker tent. That special blue neckerchief in
the nineteen forties.

The system was designed so that every youngster would wish and work
for the day when he could take his place among the elite. It was the carrot.

Frequently, though, they had to be reminded of the commensurate
responsibilities that went along with their offices. But that was
part of leadership. Part of growing up. Of learning leadership.

When S-Bar-F first opened in 1966, it was a new experience for everyone involved -- both the Troop and the Camp.

Patrol cooking and its ramifications were a most traumatic change.

One new feature was that everything had to be carried by foot into the campsite. No cars! Even worse -- NO JEEP! Too much traffic on the new narrow roads.

So the Scouts had to pack in their own gear and troop equipment was to be moved by Trek Cart. To a troop who carried a ton of superfluous baggage to their big summer camp happening, this was a new and unwelcome burden.

To get around the shortage of trek carts, Dick Barnes constructed one which looked much like a Chinese rickshaw -- lighter and faster than the official camp-issue ones.

We even bought some Chinese coolie hats to round out the image.

Then during the week we'd put a chair on it and haul some Troop officers around the camp. Like tourists or some colonial governor.

A rather strange sight for a Scout camp -- but yet another example of Seventeen's light-hearted approach to camp life.

THE SHOE SCRAMBLE

For some reason one-year a Scout had to leave camp late Friday night, and Ken Underwood and I drove him back to St. Louis. By the time we returned to camp, it was well after taps and everyone was asleep and the campsite was quiet. Since the Scout's shoes were all arranged neatly at the foot of their tents, Ken and I proceeded to gather them up, shuffle them, tie them together and string them from the campsite flagpole.

The ones without shoestrings, we stuffed paper into the toes of some -- kind of like "short-sheeting" a shoe.

We also pulled a few of the leaders shoes -- those that we could reach from the outside from pavilion since the creaking floor inside would give us away.

Then, realizing that we would be identified as the culprits, we took our sleeping bags and went down the trail to sleep at a vacant pavilion there -- so that we could sleep undisturbed when the discovery was made in the morning.

At reveille, the prank was quickly discovered but not quickly remedied since there were many similar shoes and they were strewn all over the ground after someone had climbed the flagpole to cut them down.

Mass confusion. Arguments over which shoes belonged to whom. Some just couldn't understand why their foot would not fit into some of their shoes. But it eventually worked itself out although there were still "shoe swaps" well into the afternoon.

Retribution time! Some scouts noticed that a couple of the leader's shoes had not been hung up on the flagpole and surmised that they were the perpetrators and began to do something. We couldn't tell from where we were (or remember now) but could hear the rebellion and commotion going on.

As time for breakfast at the mess hall arrived, the scouts had settled down a little and marched out of camp down the path past the vacant pavilion -- not noticing us asleep inside.

Ken and I then headed down also -- the troop assumed that we had just arrived back from St. Louis -- and the scouts told us their tale.

But after breakfast, we revealed ourselves as the culprits.

Today a 60 mile ride down an Interstate Highway in an automobile is a comfortable and relatively quick trip.

Not so the 60 mile Jeep ride to the land which took about two hours and was travelled mostly over hilly two lane highways with the last 13 miles over gravel and mud country roads -- AND, in the winter, the Jeep was cold and drafty.

So the halfway oasis of the Southern Aire Restaurant in Wentzville was a welcome respite.

The initial impetus for the stop was probably VOBs love of eating and flirting with the waitresses but was looked forward to by the Scouts also. And, of course, the restaurant workers knew the Scouts who stopped in every weekend for a hamburger, ice cream, or breakfast.

At conclusion of a meal, a game of shuffling checks was frequently played. All the individual meal checks would be thrown into the center of the table, shuffled, and re-dealt to the diners. You would have to pay your newly dealt check.

Somehow though...
it always seemed to be played whenever yours was a small check.

SUMMER CAMP

"Camp Irondale, every summer, was the perennial proof of
what Troop 17 was all about. One week of the essence.

We were always challenged beyond any norm.
And we never failed. Ever.

We were the brightest, the roughest, the most disciplined.
We passed every test, we met every challenge.
Won every contest.

We also were the biggest wiseasses
and had the most fun."

SWIM MEETS

Competitive swim meets are a traditional Friday afternoon summer camp activity. The troop usually does well and over the years numerous Seventeeners have distinguished themselves with outstanding performances -- e.g. Andy Lindquist... Don Fritz. The following is a recollection by Jack Taylor, Eagle Scout and Patrol Leader of the Eagle Patrol.

"Dave Barnes was one of the most physically fit young men I ever knew in my life. He ran with my duffel bag (which I could barely pick up) all the way from our campsite to the train station, probably about two miles. I couldn't keep up with him carrying nothing.

"My first year at Irondale, ... the camp had a swim meet. The pool was a Spring-feed graveled bottom, cement walled, pond which was always frigid cold. We were doing pretty well, probably in 2^nd or 3^rd place. One of the last events was underwater swimming. The pool was not clear but rather kind of muddy.

"Dave Barnes was (Seventeen's) entry in the underwater swim. Dave was one of the last, if not the last, to swim.

"Dave was underwater so long every one though he drowned. He swam the entire length and part way back. We couldn't see him underwater but you could see him turn at the far wall.

"Dave set a record swimming about 3 times as far as anyone else and won the meet for Seventeen"

THE OA TAPOUT

Without a doubt, the most impressive ceremony in Scouting
(or perhaps anywhere else for that matter) is the Order of the Arrow Tapout.

I understand that they don't use it anymore -- what with liability
concerns and insurance problems. But for the many years that it
was used, it was the highlight of the camp week.

The settings for the ceremony were always the most dramatic
possible -- the perimeter of the large parade ground at Irondale;
standing across the dam of the lake at Lion's Den; the edge of
the lake at SBarF.

The first impression you had was walking from council ring --
single-file, in silence. Everything was sooo quiet... except for
the monotonous thumping of an Indian drum in the distance. And
all you could see was the sky and the long winding line of Scouts
ahead of you and the silhouettes of older Scouts to the side
visible only because of their white sashes.

The SOUNDS were eery -- the Indian singing off in the woods...
the arrow being ignited high in the large Oak tree... the swoosh
of the arrow as it flew towards the wood pile to ignite the
fire... the paddling of the canoes as they eased through the
water on the lake at Lion's Den... the torch as it went by...
the twirl of the torch when the Indian reversed his run... the
thud when someone was tapped...

the HEAT of the torch as it passed... the breeze from the
runner...

Every footstep you heard behind you left you wondering...
could it be me? Even if you knew you were not going to get it,
the Indian could make a MISTAKE!!!

And when he comes to that sudden, abrupt halt in front of you --
and stared at you with that warpaint across his cheeks... your
stomach dropped and you braced yourself for the hit... and then
he taps the Scout next to you!!!

Then, after it was over you would walk back to the campsite -- in
silence.

And finally there came the mystery of finding out who was
missing. Who was actually tapped out and would not be sleeping
in their bed that night.

For a young Scout, it was a most exhilarating experience.

"THOSE UNIFORMS"

"We dressed it up good too. Army surplus, military pleated
wool long-sleeved blouse and shorts, year round. With
English knee socks and red garter tabs, and St. Louis
orange Threadneedle Street wing-tipped shoes. A perfectly
flat state-trooper hat with a rank pin. And real U.S.
Army-type ribbons made especially for Troop 17, along with
a tightly-rolled blue-on-red neckerchief and a bright,
white lanyard with just the right swoop into the left
breast pocket."

TROOP FALL IN

Getting back to camp four or five hours later they discovered a note attached to the trunk lid in a very distinctive lettering. You guessed it, Vern had stopped by and it seems he didn't share the same humor as the three of us as to the contents of the trunk. His note, in big bold felt tip pen, to the effect told us to take the trunk some miles from camp and dispose of it -- V. O. B. Jr. We were just happy he hadn't discovered what had gone on the night before.