As
they tied the Boy Scout handkerchief around my eyes I could smell the salt air
mixed with the dust of the backyard of the old Venice Scout House. With my eyes
blindfolded my senses buzzed. I could hear the sound of the lone engine of the “Venice
Short Line” that slowly chugged down West Washington Way and could also smell
Alan, who hadn't bothered to bathe or use deodorant in about a month, and fought
back against my urge to vomit. In this
initiation process, two Patrol Leaders spun me around trying to make me as
dizzy as possible before pointing me in the direction of the backdoor that finally
creaked open.
My
heart jumped with anticipation about the secret induction ceremony into the Venice
Boy Scout Troop 32. We were not the saints we had been years earlier.
All I was to them
was a toy, a thing to punch, or knock out, or electrocute, or bury, or shoot, or
embarrass in front of friends and to experiment with.
I lived in the same house, drove in the same
cars, but always felt like an outsider looking in.
I
hoped this Boy Scout thing would be different, like a new tribe – a brotherhood
where I might feel accepted and as though I belonged - crazy right? This is probably
the same thing “Squeaky” Fromme was thinking when she signed up for the Manson
Family.
My head was still spinning when the Junior Assistant Scout Master put a
dollar bill in my hand and whispered in my ear that I should not lose it, "at any
cost." Still reeling and off balance I
ran into the door jam and eventually stumbled into the scout house that was
dark and lit only by candles. Waiting inside were all the potential members of
my new tribe.
Walking
through the short, dark corridor and into the center of the dilapidated old
house on Washington Way (that had been purchased by the Venice Lions Club and giving
to our Troop), I could feel the intensity of those anxious, sweaty, smelly
boy scouts who had been just as eager as I was for this induction initiation. Before reaching my destination someone grabbed
the dollar bill out of my hand. I could smell the fiend and had every honorable
intention of getting the dollar back “at any cost” (but figured that socking the kid in the face who stole it was something that I had to deal with later).
The handkerchief was pulled off eyes and I stood stunned before a tribunal of Senior
Patrol Leaders and the two Scout Masters – Jim Serosi and Lyman Tapp as the
entire troop looked in. I don’t know why,
but I felt like one of those Christians in the coliseum getting ready to be
burned at the stake.
“Mark
Dahlin” said the skinny Scout master, “You were handed a dollar bill, were you
not?”
“Yes
sir,” I said nervously, yet with intense pinpointed eyes that I think might have frightened
him.
In an effort to bail out the other leader, the heavier Scout Master continued, “Where
is the dollar bill now, Mr. Dahlin? Will you produce it for us?”
Biting
my tongue and clenching my jaws, I had a couple options and I didn't want to
blow my chance of finally belonging. If I said I dropped it, it would be a lie. Did they want a liar in the
troop? Probably not! If I told the truth and said that someone stole it from me,
then it would be like ratting-out one of my new tribal members and who would
want a snitch to belong to this new brotherhood that I was so
desperate for.
At
home no one listened to me anyway, so blaming someone else was totally out of
the question. Besides, the dollar bill was given to me and it was my duty to
hang on to it. I had one job and I failed. I looked around the room at all the
solemn eyes that stared disapprovingly in my direction. I wanted in! I saw Steve Kissel, and Ronnie,
and James Humphries, and David Cockrell, and Phillip Aylala, and Chronister and
Dego, and Mark and Alan and Ray and had to figure a way to fix the mess I had
gotten myself into. Then I remembered the words, “At all cost.” Was that a challenge or permission to do
whatever it took? Maybe that’s what they
wanted, I thought? Maybe this whole thing
was a test and felt that this new tribe wanted to see what I was made of.
I
looked around at the “Pillsbury Doughboys” and the “Theodore Cleavers” and the “regular”
kids from regular families that hadn't been raised by a pack of wolves like I
had.
I looked at those soft kids who hadn't had to fight everyday and who hadn't been though the same crud I did… and did what any member of a Wolf Pack would
do among sheep. I smelled the stench of the kid who stole my dollar bill, grinned
at the two Scout Masters and hurled myself onto about six members of the
Flaming Arrow Patrol.
Down we went into a massive dog pile of flailing arms and legs. I had Ronnie around the neck in a choke hold and squeezed him until his fingers loosened the grimy grip he had on the coveted dollar bill. Phillip, a wrestler from the Venice High wrestling team, (who outweighed me by 50 pounds) was on my back and was unsuccessfully trying to peal me off of Ronnie.
Down we went into a massive dog pile of flailing arms and legs. I had Ronnie around the neck in a choke hold and squeezed him until his fingers loosened the grimy grip he had on the coveted dollar bill. Phillip, a wrestler from the Venice High wrestling team, (who outweighed me by 50 pounds) was on my back and was unsuccessfully trying to peal me off of Ronnie.
“At
any cost”
“At
any cost”
“At
any cost” …were the words that kept going through my head.
The
whole troop was on the floor fighting. It was a regular bar-room brawl. Yelling
and screaming and making threats to cancel the National Jamboree trip planned
for July, the Scout Masters and Senior Patrols Leaders pulled kids off one by
one until they got down to Ronnie and me.
Leaving
Ronnie’s limp body on the ground, I quickly stood my feet, straightened my
uniform, smiled at the two men in charge, saluted and said, “I believe this is
the dollar bill you guys are looking for.” Pleased
with myself. I smiled as though this was all in the course of ordinary business,
like it was straight out of the scout handbook or something.
It
took a tribunal, several phone calls to parents (and seeing that my dad was the
President of the Lions club and Troop treasurer), I was admitted to my new
clan. Pshaw I didn't get what all the
fuss was about…this was like just an ordinary day at my house. After all this was not your ordinary Boy Scout
Troop –this was a Boy Scout Troop from Venice California and a Boy Scout Troop that
was now infected by the youngest member of the Dahlin Wolf Pack.
Just
so you know, this long-held, sacred ‘rite of passage’ for Troop 32 was abandoned
and exchanged for something much different, more friendly and a little
tamer...JUST IN CASE another kid from Harding Avenue every decided to join the Troop.
Our dysFUNtional troop was now headed out of Venice and into the the Midwest!
Beware World!
Moon Landing and Diarrhea part I
