My scoutmaster was blind. A really nice guy. His specialty was fishing. My
"Hitler" was at home and was called father.

Our troop was in Brooktondale, NY. About 9 miles east of Ithaca, NY. We met at the
community center which had been built on the site of the two-room school where I
attended first grade.

I had difficulty adjusting to the other scouts, I was pretty much an an_l
perfectionist legalist... wanting to adhere to the rules. The other scouts were a
bit more rowdy, mostly farm kids. They were into smoking cigarettes, talking about
goosing girls & drinking cheap beer. I was out of scouts before I caught on. I
also messed up with the other scouts because I was a lousy baseball player and
read books.

One guy, who I looked up to a lot received a presidential medal of honor
posthumously for diving into a pool benath a local waterfall to try to save two
kids from drowning. He saved one and drowned himself. He was an expert marksman.
His father worked on the county road crew. Another kid had his brother shot and
killed for siphoning gas out of a tractor. He was a bitter scout. There was
another kid that was not very bright but always found himself in leadership
positions. The rumor was that his mother had married his father because the father
owned a nice car, a Buick I believe. Something about the marriage faltering
because they had bought a new car.

Ed Bentley was the poorest kid in the troop. They hung him upside down over the
toilet one meeting. Ed in later life turned to drugs and being too hip and we
shared several weird afternoons together. He is the only person I have ever known
that owned a real jackass. On one campout he threw an axe at this hardass guy
Charlie and the head landed in a pine tree a foot from Charlie's face and two feet
from my face. I was more amazed than anything else and considered his throwingg
accuracy of more interest than the freaking adults. When I go home & see Ed it is
always a pleasant hello.

Mike Bailey, a black guy in a rural setting, next to Bill Jorgensen, was probably
my best friend in the troop. Mike was into music and carried his radio around all
over, this was before boom boxes. I used to write poems about Mike. I liked most
the fact that all kinds of shit would be going on around us and Ed just sort of
kept going on his own wavelength. I think he ended up a dishwasher.

Most of our assistant scoutmasters worked or taught at Cornell. I met the Gibian
brothers in scouts. At camp they stood up for me when the son of the local car
dealer decided to beat me to a pulp. I have remained friends with the Gibians
since, and Mark Gibian, a metals sculptor, lives and works in the neighborhood of
Apple's shop in Brooklyn. The knots still come in handy. I was heavy into
pioneering and was involved in building towers and monkey bridges. For one of my
son's troops I built a miniature monkee bridge that was correct in all knots and
lashings. I think they ended up throwing it away.

Mike Devonshire wrote:

> At our troop (when I was a Scout) the Assistant Scout Masters had a 50%
> turnaround rate annually due to the Scout Master, who we kids all called
>
> By the way, I still have my pioneering merit badge book which I refer to
> whenever I need a particular knot for some obscure task I have to perform.

--
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