Becoming a Man
Excerpt from Cliff Lloyd’s book
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It was a beautiful mid-October weekend. The trees were turning full color and the sky was a clear ocean blue. Upstate New York’s beautiful Indian summer days were in full swing. This was going to be that exciting scouting trip I had been waiting for all summer. Mom is not the camping type, having grown up in Rockville Center on Long Island. Dad certainly wouldn’t ever consider roughing it.
I packed based on what weather I viewed out my window. Socks, underwear, shorts and a shirt or two. None of us thought to pay attention to the weather forecast, it was so nice. I had an official Boy Scout green cotton sleeping bag, canteen and flashlight. At about three, they drove me to the campsite in rural Circleville, about a 20 mile trip. I was dropped off with the rest of the scouts and I waved goodbye.
It was a nice locale with a main cabin, a bunch of lean-tos for sleeping, and outhouses for necessary duty. Alongside flowed a small river that was running seasonably low. We all gathered at the main cabin and had a sandwich lunch, chips and Kool-Aid. The scout masters let us roam the grounds until it started getting dark.
I noticed some brewskies were unloaded as we arrived. That definitely fell into the realm of survival gear for the adults. There were about 20 of us in all including the three scout masters. All of my obnoxious adversaries from school were there, but they all kept to the program. As the day waned, we helped build two separate camp fires. The men had brought all of the materials for making Smores. As the fires settled in, we prepared a bunch of those and chowed them down.
Our close proximity to the fires had masked the fact that the air had gotten considerably colder. Obviously a cold weather front had subtly moved through. Being near the river added to the chill of the damp air. It was cold enough that I could see my breath. Each scout set up his sleeping bag on a lean-to and we prepared to settle in for the night.
The men escaped to the cabin. It had really cooled down. There was no sense taking any clothes off. In fact, I kept on the light jacket I had come with and anything else I could slip on. I squiggled into the flimsy cotton bag and tried as hard as I could to get warm. I struggled for a long time to snuggle in and get some sleep. I had no luck at all. It was about 11:00 by then, my best guess. No one there, except maybe a few that had some upgraded bags or heavy clothing, were sleeping.
We were truly in the roughing it survival mode. Hours went by and there was no relief. It was the first and probably the last time I considered sleeping with another male. But that’s all I would have needed to get further disdain from my mean peers. It was the longest night of my short life, to that point. Dawn could not have come soon enough. In the early morning, there was frost on the cabin roof. Along the stream, small puddles had a thin covering of ice over them.
As it turned out, a number of boys, unbeknownst to us, had slipped into the masters’ cabin in the middle of the night. They had the luxury of warming up and sleeping by the roaring fire. It was cruel to hear about that, but now the day had begun. The men did make a warm and hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs so that got us up to speed
We started the day with a quick hike along the river. Then a few football games in the meadow. We found several “cow chips” and tried a few throws with them. Most of these activities were left unsupervised. I don’t know what the men were doing. Maybe they went back to town for some grub. As I was throwing a football around, I was confronted by my classmate hooligans again.
“Hey Chooch, want to eat a cow chip?” Murray blurted.
“Hey Jensen, the next time I ask you to give me the answers on a test, do it !” Mike said.
“No way man, it ain’t going to happen, maybe you might learn something!” I boldly replied.
“Hey guys, I think we need to teach him a lesson.” belched Murray.
Just then, all three came up to my face, grabbed me and pushed me down. They piled on top of me and pushed my face into the ugly dirt and dust.
“Eat dirt and run, eat dirt and run Chooch! What a pussy you are!” Murray spat.
these bison in Wyoming (Tim Forkes)
The next few seconds are a transitional moment in my life. The adrenalin from unbridled anger welled up through every cell in my body. It was my first experience with real “blind anger.” What happened next was an out of body experience. I started pushing, kicking and punching everything within my reach. Arms, legs, faces, crotches. I pushed those bitches off of me like the “Hulk.” Jumping up I saw shock and fear in their faces. I grabbed hair, ears and any appendage I could get my hands on. I kicked, punched and jumped on everyone within ten feet.
I was screaming at the top of my lungs like a banshee. I had no idea what I said, but it wasn’t pretty. I was, for the first time in my life, releasing my inner anger on them. I didn’t know I had all of this buried inside. I took one, two, three at a time. In a cloud of dust, Mr. Currier grabbed me and as much as he could, restrained me.
“It’s cool Sam, it”s okay, I saw the whole thing. Calm down man.”
At least five had blood somewhere, mostly from lips or a nose. They didn’t know what hit them, nor at that point did I. It was a case of helpful temporary insanity. They took me into the cabin, where I had a special dinner with the men only. Later, they herded the rest of the boys into the cabin, with the warm fire blazing through the night, we slept peacefully on the floor. In the morning not a word was said about the fight and the victims avoided me. No one could look me in the eye that day. We took a hike, cleaned up the campsite and packed up.
Mr. Currier lived a block or two away from my house and he had told my parents he would drop me off after the trip. He, Chuck and I, loaded up into his one bench seated 50’s Chevy pickup. Chuck rode shotgun, while I was next to the door. On our way back, very little was said. As Mr. Currier took a right turn by my Liberty Street Elementary school, the door beside me suddenly blew open and rudely dumped me into the street. The car following us screeched to a stop about two feet from my head. Mr. Currier stomped on his brakes about 10 feet ahead and ran in terror to help me.
“Oh my God Sam, are you okay?”
“I think so.” I moaned while I took an accounting of my body parts.
Other than the shock of it and a few scrapes, I was fine Mr. Currier lost a few years on that event. When I got home, he soft peddled the accident to my mom and left. After about an hour of conversation between her and I, the decision to quit scouts was made. Dad told me to toughen up as I would have expected. Ironically, about six years later, I had a class with Mr. Currier’s daughter, Peggy. She was a tall, pretty brunette, one year older than me. We had nice discussions in class and I think she liked me as a friend. One day she didn’t show, then another and another. I finally asked Mrs. House where she had been.
“Sam, it’s very sad but her father passed away from a heart attack suddenly.”
I was shocked and sad for Peggy, but most of all I prayed that the event that day didn’t contribute to that. I felt so bad for her and her family. I bought the single “I’ll Be There” by the Four Tops and I had every intention of bringing that to her with a card. I never did and I’m sorry for that. As for the ugly gang, they never again said a word to me. In fact, when I would walk by them in the hall, they would take a step or two back. Insanity can come in handy at times. I grew larger, taller and more athletic. That was the last time anyone took advantage of my quiet demeanor.
