Troop 2
During the later part of the 1950s, my dad and I were part of a Boy Scout Troop in Eagle Rock that did lots of backpacking and very little scouting. Once a year we did participate in an official Boy Scout activity called Camporee. This event was held at BSA Camp Bill Lane located at Tujunga River flood plane and drew scouts from all over Los Angeles County. Over a weekend, scout troops competed against each other in various events including some pioneering skills such as pitching a tent and starting a fire. Since the Camporee was the only time we ever tried our hand at this sort of thing we were in way over our heads.
The whole affair was kicked off with an opening ceremony that assembled all of the participating scouts in formation along with their scoutmasters. This was where the difference between us and them first became obvious. The other troops were in full uniform with all the trappings on display. Many of the scoutmasters were even wearing their official BSA short pants. Some of the scouts had so many merit badges they didn't all fit on their uniform shirts, so they wore them on a bandolero – like Alfonso Bedoya in The Treasure of Sierra Madre. As ironic as this sounds, he was the bandito who said the line, "Badges? What badges? I ain't gotta show you no stinking badges!"
The members of our troop wore mostly jeans and t-shirts. A few of our group had managed to find and wear either a uniform shirt or pants but no one sported a full uniform. Unlike the other troops we lacked a troop flag and a standard bearer; and our scoutmaster, Mr. Quackenbush, had neglected to shave.
The Boy Scouts of America had dispatched some of its senior staff to officiate the competitive events. They went about their duties in a serious and formal manner until it was our turn to pitch a tent. Although they tried their best to stay in character they soon fell victim to some world-class slapstick. The only breaks in their laughter came when it appeared we might injure ourselves.
The one event where we always did well was the rope climb. Scott was our ringer. He was the best rope climber on the high school gymnastics team. This is an event that was phased out of Olympic and all other gymnastic competitions in the 1960s. It is a shame as it was an amazing feat to watch. It gave you the sensation that you were witnessing the supernatural. The rope was 1.5 inches in width and was suspended vertically. The climber had to begin from a seated position and using only their hands (no legs or feet) pull themselves 25 feet up to touch a plate at the top of the rope. A normal human being can not manage to move even a fraction of an inch from the seated start position. The world record for this was 2.8 seconds. Scott's best time was 3.2 seconds. Every year at the Camporee when it was Scott's turn to climb the rope, a huge crowd would gather. Scott was the only opportunity we had to earn any respect on those weekends.
Their was one other event that offered a bright spot for our troop the last year we went to the Camporee. Handy and I had worked with flash cards for 2 weeks to memorize the international Morse code. Handy and I were both good at memorization and had it down cold. We were determined to blow everybody away in the semaphore competition.
In the semaphore competition each troop has 2 scouts as senders and 2 as receivers. The senders are positioned 80 yards away from the receivers. The senders use one scout to read the message and the other works a single orange flag to send each letter; dot to the right side and dash to the left. The receivers use one scout to interpret and read aloud each letter and the other writes down the letters received.
I was a sender and would signal with the flag. Handy was the receiver and would interpret my signal. We were given 90 seconds to transmit the message. Once we were in position, one of the officials handed me and my helper the message and started the timer. The message was:
Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party
I was way too worked up and began flashing and wrenching out each letter at a blinding pace. No one knew Morse code as well as Handy and I, but in hindsight it would have helped to practice transmitting a message with a flag prior to the competition. Handy described to me later that it looked like I was surrounded by a glowing orange aura like Our Lady of Fatima. He couldn't make out anything as it was all one big blur. No matter, about a third of the way through the message, the pole that held the orange flag could not longer withstand my furious movements and snapped in half.