| War Canoes - Part 1 |
| The Royal Order of Siam |
| Frogs, Turtles & Snakes |
| Christmas in July - Part 1 |
| Camp Yells & Traditions |
| Wednesday Night Sing-along |
As I mentioned earlier, my dad had been a Boy Scout too. In fact, he grew up in Chicago so he went to Owasippe too. Only he stayed at camp Dan Beard. Dan Beard was America’s first council summer camp, founded in 1911. The council shut beard down following the summer just before I joined. Our troop scout had traditionally gone to Beard for years and I would have been at the same camp that my father went to had the Chicago Area Council not shut the camp down. So I ended up at Stuart, which is across Owasippe Lake (a.k.a. Crystal Lake on the maps). I actually think it was the thought of me following his scouting footsteps at camp that prompted my parents to have me join a Chicago Area Council troop instead of a Northwest Suburban Council troop out of Park Ridge, where I grew up. Edison Park, by the way, is actually within the Chicago City limits and the church was only three blocks away.
Every table in the dining hall has a waiter who arrives early to set the table with place settings and the food for the meal. The camp would ring the first bell and everyone would yell, "Waiters!" No mater where you were, if you were a waiter, you headed for the dining hall. My first turn came early Monday morning for breakfast. Our table was right next to the kitchen’s serving counter. I walked in that first morning a little bleary eyed to find a huge war canoe filled with steaming hot water between our table and the counter. This was my first encounter with a long-standing camp tradition, pranks.
The war canoe heist goes back to when there were three camps on Lake Owasippe. Besides Stuart and Camp Dan Beard, a third camp once sat upon it’s shore. Camp James West (West is the Best) was located on the western shore directly across from Stuart. Beard was between them on the northern shoreline. There were also a few private summer cottages on the lake between Beard and Stuart.
At one time, all three camps were in operation. They used to have water fairs with competition between the camps. The highlight was the war canoe races and battles. A war canoe is a 20 foot long wood and fiberglass canoe that can hold about a dozen scouts. Each camp had their own canoe, painted with a different color scheme.
My Dad told me about the battles. Two canoes would face each other from across the lake. A scout with a long pole with a padded end as a battering ram sat in the front. The canoes would then paddle towards each other at full steam. The idea was for the scout with the battering ram to try and knock the other canoe’s scouts into the water. Or even tip the entire canoe over, dumping them all into the drink.
Troops from each camp would battle troops from the other camps for that summer’s bragging rights. It must have been a sight to behold.
By the time I went to camp, the canoes were tired old war-horses well past their prime. Also, with Stuart and Beard closed, there wasn’t much left for Stuart’s canoe except to be put on display as an ancient artifact. And as the target for pranks, of course!
Our troop stayed at camp for two full weeks. Parents could come up and visit during the weekend in between. It’s a 300-mile drive to Owasippe so it’s a real long trip for a weekend. My folks, worried about how I’d fare on my first time away from home so long, made the journey. My Mom was disappointed that I wasn’t even a little bit homesick. It was her that ended up tearing up when it came time for them to leave.
Our troop held a campfire in our site for the parents on Saturday. The troop had bought a watermelon, a common reward at camp, from the camp as a treat and we prepared an agenda of skits and songs we had learned to entertain our guests.
At one point in the festivities, Jef, our Senior Patrol Leader, announced that it was time to induct all first time campers into the Royal Order of Siam. This has been a time-honored tradition at camp. All rookie scouts lined up in front of the fire on their knees and repeated the solemn chant after Jeff. "Awah. Tagu. Siam," bowing with our hands outstretched after each word.
"Awah. Tagu. Siam. Awah. Tagu. Siam. Awah. Tagu. Siam. A.what.agus.i.am."
We were instructed to repeat these words, over and over, until we found the true meaning of the phrase (Oh, what a goose I am.). At which point, we were to approach Jeff and whisper into his ear the meaning. Suddenly, Greg Wiekart, jumped up and approached Jeff. The meaning had come to him and he whispered it into Jeff’s ear. Unfortunately, his whisper was load enough for all to hear, "I want to goose your ass." The parents roared with laughter.
"Wrong." Greg was back in line. Pretty soon everyone figured it out. I was among the last, even with the "clue" Greg provided.
On of my favorite past times at camp was to go exploring to catch frogs and such. There was a small lake, probably closer to a pond, behind the campfire bowl, called Echo Lake. It got it’s name because anything you yelled out over the lake from the fire bowl would echo back, a trick often used at campfires.
Echo Lake was a shallow lake with lots of cattails and sassafras along the shore. There was something exciting about exploring along it’s shores. You usually walked under Prometheus, the wooden fire god that marked the entrance to the fire bowl, then on through the deserted seats and down the slope to the shoreline. You always felt that you were leaving camp even though you were never really that far away.
Echo Lake was a great place to catch Leopard Frogs, Eastern Painted Turtles, Hog Nose Snakes (a.k.a., Puff Adders), and the joy of every young herpetologist, Blue Racer Snakes. Blue Racers are among the most beautiful of all snakes. It’s white belly graduates to a turquoise blue on its flanks to a deep blue on its back. They were about three-foot long fully grown. And they were FAST, hence their name, Blue RACER!
I caught a Blue Racer once down by Echo Lake. I don’t recall if it was my first year, or my second or third. But I do remember holding this beautiful creature in my hands. It felt cool and muscular as it writhed about trying to escape my grasp.
I took it to the nature director to claim points for my troop in the nature contest. Snakes, especially Blue Racers, brought in the most points. The camp had a nature pond outside of the dining hall. It was full of frogs and turtles and a few Hog Nose snakes, but not Blue Racers. They were too large and strong to be held captive by the screened fence. Plus they are such efficient predators there might not be any frogs left in the pond by morning!
After noting my troop number for the contest points, the nature director told me to release the snake back were I caught it. I can still remember how fast it disappeared into the tall, dry grass by the lakeshore.
Our troop went to summer camp the same two weeks in July every year. I believe this was in part because of our Scoutmaster’s personal schedule. Mr. Weikart was a chemist and he owned or ran his own lab. He was basically our only leader. Although there were a few other fathers who would help consistently. Mr Meverdin was our Assistant Scoutmaster and was also on most trips. But Mr. Weikart selected the end of July every year because it was a slow time for his lab.
One of the great benefits of this schedule was that we were always at camp on July 25, which is Christmas in July. I'’ not sure where the tradition started but it’s a great one. Nowadays retailers have picked up on this theme for summer sales. But back when I was a scout, it was totally a camp event.
Every camp has its own yell. Stuart had:
"Super Camp Stuart. Hey! Super Camp Stuart. Hey! Super Camp Stuart. Hey! Bemo! Bemo! Bemo! Stuart has it together."
As a scout, we had no idea what "Bemo" stood for. As a staff councilor, I discovered the true tale. Or at least as true as handed down camp lore can be.
"Tiny" Norman, who was anything but tiny, worked many years at Owasippe as a truck driver. One year, before I was a camper, he drove the garbage truck. Stuart was his last stop and he often stayed to eat breakfast. The staff egged him onto the stage to lead a cheer one day. Not being a regular dining hall camper or staff, Tiny made up a new cheer on the spot. Bemo was the brand name of the loaves of bread siting on the table. Tiny spotted them and created a new cheer. The cheer evolved into a routine addition to the Camp Stuart yell over the summer. And then it quickly became a tradition. Some traditions start that way, quirky, nonsensical inside jokes among the staff.
Other traditions are steeped in the lore and the love of the camp. The Owasippe Lake Trilogy is one of those traditions. Scouts, scouters and staff become very attached to the camps they visit every year. Those that stayed at West, Beard and Stuart are no exception. The Chicago Area Council first closed Camp West then Camp Dan Beard. I don’t recall when West closed but Beard closed following the 1971 or 1972 season, just before I joined scouting.
The scouters and staff put up a huge organized attempt to persuade the council to keep Beard open. Mr Weikart was part of the organization. As a chemist, he conducted tests on water samples from Beard’s lakefront to counter claims that the outhouses where contaminating the lake. His and the other volunteers’ efforts where for naught as the council closed Beard and tore down it’s famed dining hall in spite of the common sentiment.
Even my dad was saddened, as he would recall stories from his youth about playing floor hockey on the smooth dining hall floor with a bar of soap. It really was a core to clean the floor, but the staff had turned the task into a game, which became a lifelong memory for my father. By the time I arrived as a camper, there was just an ugly scar where the dining hall and other buildings had once been.
The true reason the council closed Beard was money. Lake Owasippe was once the center of the reservation when there were just the three camps. But now it was on the outskirts of the reservation. That made it more expensive to operate. Also the land was closer to the city of Whitehall, which means higher taxes. That also makes the land more valuable for potential sales to developers. These same factors spelled doom for Camp Stuart.
I have found out that the council sold off this corner of the reservation. What a shame. Camp Dan Beard was opened in 1911, one year after the formation of the Boy Scout movement in America. It was the nations first scout camp. Owasippe still claims to be the oldest running scout camp in America. It’s disappointing that the actual site will be been converted into cabins and condos instead of standing as a proud symbol and tribute to America’s scouting program.
Anyway, back to the Owasippe Lake Trilogy. At the end of every sing along, which was a weekly occurrence, the evening would end with the same sequence of five songs; the trilogy, the Camp West, Camp Beard, and Camp Stuart songs, On the Crest of the Wave, and close with Owasippe Hymn.
The attachment to these places converted this arrangement into almost a solemn religious experience. The scouts didn’t grasp the subtle meanings, they just enjoyed the music and singing. But the long time scouters and camp staff felt a real twinge in their hearts whenever these songs are sung.
I remember returning to Chicago on a bus at the end of one season, either 1974 or 1976, after working at Owasippe all summer. As the bus approached the downtown area on the Dan Ryan expressway, someone started to sing the Owasippe Hymn. The regular raucous of a large group on a bus was quickly and quietly turned into beautiful music working as everyone joined in. We were still a ways from the council headquarters on 300 West Adams, where we to be dropped off, so we repeated the song again and again until we arrived. Saying goodbye to a season of friends and memories is tough. It’s especially tough when you do so on such a somber note.
Every Wednesday evening, we would gather in the dining hall for a sing-along. Most memorable at these events was Bill Lotter sitting up on stage with is squeeze-box. Bill knew every camp song on that accordion and his playing made it tough not to sing. I can still visualize him on stage, lit up by a red and a green flood lamp. I have a sense of closeness, even though they were held in a large dining hall full of scouts.
Bill was also a featured figure at Roll Call, a fact I would learn later when I became a staff man. Roll Call was when all of the older staff would head into Whitehall to a bar called the Afterdeck. They would spend the evening singing the same songs we sang in the camp, although some had slightly modified lyrics. The highlight of the evening was the roll call, when all of the staff would stand in turn and announce his or her name and the camp they were from. This is how the staff got to meet many of the peers from different camps.
And Bill Lotter and his squeeze-box was the focal point for every roll call. As he was for every sing-along I attended as a scout.
