Date: Sat, 10 Feb 1996 03:02:25 -0500
From: "Patrick O'Shea (a/k/a Crusader
Rabbit)"<crabbit@ispchannel.com>
Subject: Spoofing Ceremonies...
There have been several mailing from brothers who have been discussing skits regarding our ceremonies and the like. Many of you feel that this is not appropriate while others don't see the harm. While the feelings may be mixed, sometimes the truth, as they say, is stranger than fiction... or in this case... funnier than fiction.
One Thursday evening during summer in the late sixties, while I was on camp staff, we prepared to conduct a tap-out at visitor's campfire. These events were usually run by staff members with assistance from brothers who were in camp with their troops or posts for the week. I had served many times in these ceremonies... from torch bearer to chief of the fire. But on this particular night, my girlfriend had come down from college to visit me, and naturally I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible (all you former camp staff members will understand...).
I had just returned to my seat next to her after helping the camp program director lead one of those infamous campfire songs designed to get everybody singing. I believe it was a combination of the music from "Ghost Riders in the Sky" and the lyrics to "My Bonnie"... at any rate... our leadership was fantastic and I sat down to a big round of applause for my efforts... and a rather nice kiss from Karen! Our camp director took over and set the stage for the arrival of the chief of the fire who would spin the legend of Uncas and the Deleware Indians and fire the burning arrow into the night sky as a signal that all was ready to receive the sacred band of wariors who may or may not ask some of our number to join the ranks of the OA.
The chief of the fire that night was a member of my dining hall staff... and his girl friend from high school was in the audience that night. I guess he wanted to dazzle her with his theatrics, for his speech that night was down right exciting! As he bade the crowd to "keep silent less these warriors pass us by..." he took "the arrow" and bow from his torch bearer. Laying the arrow, which had four sparklers carefully attached to it, across the bow and placing the knotch on the bow string, he walked to one of the roaring fires. The "arrow" was ignited and the crowd "ahhhhhhh-ed" with reverent anticipation. He moved in between the two fires and faced away from the crowd... looking out across the Tennessee River from the point of land where the campfire area was constructed.
As per the usual routine, earlier that evening, staff members in their indian costumes launched several canoes from the aquatics area as the dusk of evening turned into the dark of night. Each canoe held three warriors... two to paddle and a third to hold their torches. They would carefully and quietly paddle out of the cove and into the river, past the campfire, to take their station off the point where they would wait for the signal... the signal that would bid them to come and seek out new members for their band. When the signal was displayed, the center member of each canoe would light the torches and the canoes would suddenly seem to appear from nowhere and start making their slow, but deliberate journey to the shore line just below the rim of the camp fire stage. There they would come ashore and circle around the audience... torch bearers creating a circle of light around the spectators and the tap-out team moving down to the fire to exchange greetings with the chief who had summoned them. From there they would proceed through the seated group of campers and parents to look for those "worthy to wear the arrow". But that was the procedure every Thursday Night during camp. I myself had played both roles with my usual dramatic style, impressing my girlfriend when she was there... or maybe some camper's older sister if she wasn't. But tonight, I was just another Scout, perhaps standing out a little more than most and the same as others... others who wore the red arrows on their whiter-than-white sashes across their shoulders... brothers in spirit to the warriors present and past. But tonight... things would be different... and none of us there would have guessed that this tap-out would be unlike any ever held at camp. So back to the chief of the fire... facing out across the river... looking for a glint of moonlight flashing quickly against the side of several canoes. Once he spots these canoes, he would draw back the bow and send the flaming arrow into the night sky ahead of the canoes... and that was the signal to light torches and proceed into shore. Yes... that was the routine... tried and tested... from many years of summer camps and campers... but NOT tonight. Tonight would be different! For tonight, staff member Bob Brown (not his real name... you want me to get sued?..) would skip the campfire so that he could take his girlfriend on a "moonlight canoe ride" and perhaps inspire "flames" of his own! Yes, Bob was paddling quietly too... so as not to be noticed by the camp director, one of the dictrict scout executives that took turns heading up the staff during the summer. Bob was quiet and as he cleared the cove and started out into the river... he pointed out the campfire to his sweetheart. Yes, Bob was quiet and no one ever suspected that he was there... just as he'd planned.
The moon did not fail to strike the water... and the Grumman Canoe Bob occupied did not fail to give off a momentary flash of light across the water... a flash that was witnessed by only one person... a person whom tonight would turn into a legend of his own. As he pulled back the bow, perhaps he was thinking of impressing his girlfriend with his strength... perhaps he was filled with the spirits of many warriors who gazed down upon this event from the next life... maybe he was "mindful of our high traditions"... but whatever he was... he didn't realize that the flash of the canoe was further to the south than usual. Whatever filled his mind did not allow space or time to wonder why the guys weren't farther out into the channel and further north on the river. No, he pulled back the bow with the determination of a man with a mission... and he aimed to the north of the flash and he released the flaming arrow into the night sky... to signal those special warriors who would suddenly appear from nowhere.
As the arrow left the bow and proceeded skyward... the only sounds were the low roar of the campfires... the breeze that was building in the towering pines and the "whhhoossssh" of the arrow into the night. Yes, silence was the watch word of all present... as their eyes followed the trajectory of that burning signal... following it as it started it's decent into the slow moving current of the river... and watching with reverent silence as the arrow decended downward... ever faster... ever glowing brighter from the rush of pure air against it flames... and finally reaching the end of it's journey... a journey that terminated into the middle of a group of surprised indian warriors who suddenly tried to leap every way at once... into the water... into each other and illuminated all the while by the torches that had been lighted only seconds earlier.
The screams and shouts would not have been understandable to the Deleware Indians... nor the Creeks or Cheerokee. The words were loud and short and occasionally "spicy" as torches, paddles, canoes and warriors became a whirlwind of disaster that now floated upon the waters of the Tennessee River. Yes, the signal had been given and "received"... and the warriors did come ashore... minus a few feathers and breechcloths and looking very wet and angry... but not without being mindful of their mission... a mission that went forward as they stalked the rows of seated campers, aided by flashlights held by several surprised and snickering staff members... myself included! The choosen few were found and acknowledged before their peers and led away from the campfire... and as the last of the warriors passed me by... the only new sound to the night was the "squish-squish-squish" of wet Boy Scout Moccasins moving off into the night.
So, as I stated, you might try to poke humor at ourselves and our ceremonies... but you'll never be able to produce an event that fathers still tell their sons today...
YiCS*,
Patrick O'Shea
|| _\\\\\_____|\____|\\\ || || ///// |/ |/// || *(Yours in Continued Service) -----------------------0-------