| Yorkville - I |
| Tent Stretcher |
| Initiation |
Later that spring, I attended my first weekend campout, which happened to be a District Camporee as well. It was held at Camp Yorkville in Yorkville, Illinois, a far southwest suburb of Chicago. The two most memorable events of this trip was being sent out for a "tent stretcher" and the rookie initiation.
Every rookie has to go through this cleverly crafted ruse. If it rains of the tents are particularly wet from the morning dew, the senior scouts will send the rookies off looking for a tent stretcher "so we can dry the tents." Or sometimes it’s a left-handed monkey wrench or a jar or elbow grease and, if it’s dark out, the infamous snipe hunt. None of these treasures exits of course. It’s just a ruse to play on unsuspecting and naive rookie scouts.
I already knew that none of these existed. I think I must have heard my dad reminiscing with his friends at some point in time. My dad had been a Boy Scout too. I started to object, but one of the older scouts shushed me so I played along. Off we trudged, from campsite to campsite, asking each troop if they had a tent stretcher we could borrow. Of course, none of the brought their with them this trip. But they were sure they remember seeing one at the next troop’s campsite. This continued from troop to troop until we had visited every single troop attending the camporee.
We returned empty handed but that didn’t bother the older scouts, who were rolling with laughter at our fruitless trek.
I do remember at a subsequent camporee, I can’t recall which one, where we (I was an older scout by then) sent a group of rookies out for a tent stretcher. An hour later they returned with one. It seemed that a Scoutmaster from a site on the far side of the campground pointed them towards an old, heavy, rain-sodden picnic table. It took them over a half-hour to lug it all the way back to our camp. They were quite dejected when we explained we no longer needed it as the tents had sufficient dried already on their own.
Now searching high and low for a tent stretcher is all part of the fun and games, but rookie initiation was a serious concern for me. The older scouts were definitely up to something. They were whispering amongst themselves all Friday evening and all day Saturday. You would only catch little bits of information. I did know they were going to initiate the rookies and it was going to happen after the awards campfire Saturday night.
I did my best to prepare. I sat a far away from the older scouts as I could. As soon as they dismissed the troops, I took off running for the field. I had no particular place in mind as long as it was away from them. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I stopped when I was about a half mile from campfire and about the same distance from our camp.
It was late and dark, so I decided to loop back around the tree line and work my way back to our campsite. Maybe I could manage to sneak into my tent without them noticing.
I worked my way along the tree line in the dark, as I had forgotten my flashlight in my pack. I figured I was getting close when I suddenly heard someone calling my name. It sounded like one of the older scouts. So I dropped to the ground and laid still. In a few seconds a couple pairs of shoes walked right by me by only a few feet. They never even noticed I was there! I was sure it was Joe Puletta and another senior scout.
As soon as they were a reasonable distance past me, I make my break. Bam! Right into Mr. Weikart. I will never forget the steely green eyes bearing down at me. "Where have you been!"
I later found out that Mr. Weikart had two reasons to be upset. One, a rookie scout under his charge, me, had taken off for the woods alone at night. And, two, his eldest son, Jeff, was the real target of the "initiation." The senior scouts grabbed him after the campfire and tied him up in the KYBO (keep your bowels open, a.k.a., outhouse). They had stripped him down to his underwear and covered him in shaving cream. In a way, I was fortunate as their prank diffused his anger towards me and placed the target of his ire on them.
It’s interesting though, years latter, as an Order of the Arrow Ordeal Candidate, I would end up sleeping under the stars near the tree line I was following that night.
