Conclusion: The Psycho Revenge and the Unluckiest Man Alive

Have you ever seen cockroaches scurry around at night after turning the lights on and watched the mad, frantic dash for cover before they were squished by the giant shoe?  That's exactly what we looked like - only different. We were wearing underwear and had tribal markings duct-taped across our naked upper torsos scrambling for cover in our tents.

Seriously, though the duct tape- was the personification of cool!

After the snakes had been let loose in the tents of the other Boy Scouts, we scurried like those cockroaches- only with chonies on - back to our tents, and pretended to be like other normal Boy Scouts.  Ray and Alan had used an entire half roll of the duct-tape on Cockrell - securely fastening his underwear to his stomach. The last thing they wanted was Cockrell running around naked. We giggled in anticipation and then hit each other and shushed each other and giggled and hit and shushed each other in the thrill of anticipation that couldn't be contained.  

Then it happened!

1:37am: "The screech that was heard around the world."
                   
One 14-year-old from Troop 34 screamed like a 10-year-old girl on the drop of a roller coaster when the snake slithered across his face in the middle of the night (or like that lady in the shower scene of Psycho).

This acted as the ALARM and was exactly what we had hoped for. The terrified screaming woke everyone up at Camp Slauson (everyone, expect for us of course). This was when one of the girls from the Santa Monica Troop also discovered the garter snake that had nestled in between two of them (Did I say "one of the girls"? - darn it, I meant one of boys).

Oh well, Panic ensued. Chaos! Mayhem! When the girls oops boys began shooting out through the flaps like cannonballs, they caught the rope, which the recon-team had tied 4 inches above the ground in snare like fashion. Not only, did the stealth rope trip the first kid out, but it also pulled the tent poles along with them - collapsing the tent and trapping the other kids inside.

Perfect and utter pandemonium - couldn't have worked out any better.  Boys fighting inside the shrouds, that had now covered them in pitch blackness, were frantically trying to claw their way out. The death-shrouds were in a tug-of-war match - anchored to a foot of the stupid troglodytes on the outside who were crawling in the dirt thinking that a Zombie had him by the ankle (which was only the rope he had tripped over and on the way out and was now tangled up in).

Santa Monica - same thing.

Beverly Hills - they just started crying thinking it was a Zombie Apocalypse and paid no attention to the empty rolls of duct-tape and pieces of rope lying in their otherwise, pristine camp.

Thank goodness the noise was so loud that our Scout Masters couldn't hear our laughter.  And on cue, this was when we went into our Oscar award winning act. We emerged from tents screaming and running around as if we were casualties of the same prank. We carefully collapsed a couple of the poles when everyone was out of their tents to make it look like we had been victimized as well, by the troop we had framed. ONLY!


Only, on the way out of his tent, Ray FORGOT!

 Ray forgot that we had tied ropes to the front poles of our tents in a ruse that had caught the poor guy right across the ankle (the unluckiest and the luckiest person alive). Down he went with a thud!  Our Troop 32 cabin was on a hill. Down Ray rolled! Bouncing from one dirt terraced step to another - pulling the tent behind. Poor "unlucky" Ray was sure to die. There was no way he could live through this.


Then  WHAM- Ray shot up into the air like an animal in a hunter's snare.

When setting up the tent, Ray had decided to take a shortcut and tie-off the top peak of his tent to a tree branch. Rolling down the hill to his sure death the branch stopped the tent which suspended the "luckiest-man-alive" in mid air.






Ray proved to be the perfect cover up! There was no way Troop 32 could have been involved in the greatest Boy Scout caper of all time, placing blame squarely on Troop 33 from Beverly Hills.

The laughter we had at Ray, who was precariously dangling from the branch - covered the laughter we couldn't contain at the snitches...the cake-eaters and (as Jeffery Lennon called them) the bottle-feeders from the other three troops.

Unfortunate Bridge Crossing

Branch Cracking

Truck Smashing

Ray Skewering.

Arms and Legs Flailing

Markie D Singing

Cockrell mooning

And Little Wiener Cooing.

Some Kids applauding

Cake-eaters snitching

Tribunal meeting

And Jeffery Seething

Payback Brewing

A Plan Ensuing

Paraphernalia Gathering

And Snipe-Hunt Pursuing.

Snakes Slithering

Boys who need Mothering

Zombies Reaching

And Death-Shrouds Smothering.

Venice Scheming

Mar Vista Bleeding

Santa Monica Weeping

And Beverly Hills Pouting.

Ray Dangling

Our Kids Laughing

Jeffery Proclaiming...

              ...The best Boy Scout Outing! 

You think I jest! But, 96.34% of this story is absolutely true.

Just find Jeffery and ask him yourself. He would tell you, "No Reserve. No Retreat. No Regrets"

To me, it was just another lousy day in paradise on Harding avenue. And that's just the way it was... until the next true of adventure of Markie D and growing up on the best street and the best city in the world.

Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters and 20 Intoxicated Rats!

We had an excuse in the back of the Boy Scout truck for being crazy. We had been freely inhaling carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, nitrogen and other hydro-carbons that got belched out of the tailpipe of the old moving van that blew over the half barn-doors filling the prison space we inhabited for the duration of the slow moving - hour and a half drive to Camp Slauson. BUT, the guys in front - the two Scout Masters and Pinky Parlett had no excuse for what was going to happen next. Mr. Tapp was a novice in driving the horrendous beast - this was his "solo" checkout flight - per say!

(Picture above of "boy scout" truck in background with dent over driver side)

We already looked ridiculous pulling into campground!  We didn't care. We liked being different! We like to proudly say we are from VENICE to every other smug Boy Scout in the Boy Scout Universe (you know - the other regular kids who were actually there to learn something and to do something constructive).  We had our plans, which did not include anything to do with merit badges nor anything  remotely considered constructive.

                                     (pictured above- regular kids from Troop 34 pictured at camp Slauson)

Since my over-achieving Eagle Scout brother, Kurt, had left the troop last year and went away to Humboldt State University where he went into rigorous training to become a full fledged hippie, we were not about to let small details like merit badges and rank advancement get in the way of having fun.

In the meantime, Ray Vandenmark, who had been to Slauson a billion times, had his face pressed up against one of the two porthole windows that had been cut in front of our cargo compartment, (one either side of the cab), when Mr. Tapp was faced with the decision of crossing over the creek bridge to take the back route up to our Troop 32 cabin or to take the road most traveled that would put us below the cabin on main road.

Pausing, to contemplate the decision - wondering what direction to take... Ray began screaming into the glass window not to cross over the bridge!  His screams became the fuel for a chant the rest of us intoxicated kids in the back which only made the noisy arrival of Troop 32 even more inglorious and obvious to every camper within 16 miles (give or take 15 miles).
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
                             "Don't cross the bridge"
Louder and louder the cacophony grew as Kissel began pounding on a bucket while Mosquito Bait and Cockrell pounded on the inside walls of the converted moving van, like drums beating in unison to our new song!

We had reason... We were drugged  - but Tapp chose the bridge. Pinky was too large and was squeezed in so tight - that he had his arms pinned between Mr. Tapp and Mr. Sarosi - rendering him powerless to grab the wheel in order to prevent Tapp from driving the oxidized, blue monster over the creaky, wooden bridge.

There could be no greater entrance like ours, with boys at full octave - blaring off key,  "Don't cross the bridge," buckets pounding, walls resounding the thuds of enthusiastic fist like the beating of African drums... Ray screaming and bridge squealing in protest under the load.          

Venice had made it's way to Topanga - and everyone knew it!

Headlong with confidence, without heeding the wisdom of the 20-drugged-rats making noise in the back to the contrary - Tapp drove "boldly where no man has gone before."

In one final gasp Ray screamed at the top of his lungs before ducking to take cover...

...went the sound of a branch shattering the window where Ray (a mere nano-second) previously had been watching the awful event unfold before his very eyes.  Ray, was both, the most unlucky person alive and the most lucky! Somehow he had escaped death more times than me, but was like a magnet for near-death experiences without needing any help from older brothers. He did this all by himself and didn't need anyone else to shove him in hampers, bury him in pits, dangle him out of windows, tie him to trees, throw him over cliffs or electrocute him - like I had been privileged at the hands of my older brothers.

In an explosive crunch of twisting metal, the low hanging branch crushed the top driver-side of our juvenile delinquent containment box (other-wise known as"Scout Bus"). The branch shot through the window and slid along the flesh of Ray's back - under his uniform shirt that subsequently dangled him in mid air as though he was a large piece of meat on a Sish-Kabob!

Arms flailing and feet kicking, Ray dangled as the impaled truck was pinned between the large oak and the old bridge... the snakes had gotten away in the chaos while all of the other normal Boy Scouts on the planet watched in horror at our arrival.




So far, this is turning out to be just the kind of trip that Jeffery Lennon is going to love!  He was tired of being normal and wanted a dose of "Dahlin" to spice his life up, and believe me, he was going to get his share of "crazy"this weekend in the Santa Monica Mountains.

Just saying!

Seeing that we were stuck on the bridge, I climbed out on top of the scout bus and began an "air-guitar" rendition of the new Simon and Garfunkel song, "Like a Bridge over Troubled Waters"

Next time: "The White Angels"


  
   
                         

Where we Buried the Body

(Continued from the last post about the hippie we murdered and from the post before that about my sex education).


Anyway, running away from the Kingdom Hall on West Washington Blvd, I was very concerned about becoming emotionally attached to my captures. This is something that happens to Swedes don't ya know... There is no name for it yet, but trust me in the couple years it will be a diagnosed syndrome named after something Swedish - maybe after me or maybe after a city in Sweden like Stockholm!   Just saying!



Afraid of having positive feelings and have empathy towards our kidnappers - I didn't look back and ran straight up the street to the Troop 32 Boy Scout house followed closely behind by Tommy and Jeffery!

There we met up with the likes of Ray Vandenmark and Alan Scout, who were the two Senior Patrol Leaders on the infamous "Boy Scouts from Venice" raid on the National Jamboree in which we nearly killed that nerd kid, Bill Gates, from Seattle and were forever banished from returning to a Jamboree. Anyway, all the same hoodlums who were on that 1969, "fighting-cage-on-wheels," "diarrhea-revenge" road-trip were all there. It was a pretty derelict group and I had earned everyone's respect by fighting my way to the top (Special forces training, care of all of gnarly fights with my big brothers - thank you very much Wolf Pack!).

The grungiest kids were from the  "Golden Triangle" area of Venice whose parents were pretty persnickety by thinking they were better than those of us north of Washington Blvd as though they had somehow been annexed into the new Marina Del Rey. Even though they wrote Marina Del Rey on their outgoing mail - it was still 90291 and they still had Venice DNA, despite how much they pretended to be "Beverly Hills yacht owners."  Even though Steve Kissel was from that area - he was pretty cool and didn't smell as bad as some of the other kids.

Anyway, we get to the troop meeting late when the patrols were already outside in the backyard for the group activity.  I don't know what they did for the group activity over at Mar Vista Troop 34...(if I had to guess) probably something a whole lot tamer and a whole lot cleaner than what we were used to - crocheting maybe..hehehe.  We assembled out back in the dirt lot of the small property that was located between West Washington Boulevard and Washington Way (confusing right... "Sheeze" I guess someone ran out of names when they were naming all the streets in Venice) for a game of "Steal the Bacon."  This was a universal Boy Scout tradition...however, THIS WAS VENICE!  This was not like the normal kind of Steal the Bacon they played over in Mar Vista or in Beverly Hills or in little Billy Gates' troop in suburbia Seattle...  NO... this was knock down and drag out.

I loved it; it was Viking style.  Like something that took place on regular basis in our front yard (only with kids closer to my age).
                         









However, poor Tommy had the wet spot on his jeans and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, as soon as he got dragged across the dirt yard a couple times, it collected dirt that acted like a beacon - a neon sign in Vegas that said "Look, I Pee'd my Pants!"



The boys mercilessly "stop-drop-and-rolled" poor Tommy. When he got home, I got called in to testify about jumping off of metaphoric ten-story-roof and how I shouldn't have encouraged him to jump.







I did want to tell Mrs. Blaser that the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Pope and the Catholics should all be proud... but that might led to having explain about the hippie we might have killed, so I kept my mouth shout about the railroad tracks, the pennies, the guitar...about the Kingdom Hall incident and just said,  "Yes, ma'am!"  afraid that she would ask us to show where we buried the body.

Jeffery kind of liked the thrill of the whole thing and wanted some more...He signed up to go to Camp Slauson in Malibu next week with us and decided to help me with my big plans of payback for Chewbacca. I warned him in advance by asking how he did with snakes and dead things. He said he wasn't sure, but wanted to give it a try. They run a tight ship over at Bob and Jeanette Lennon's house, but Jeffery sneaked over and that is when we put into play       "PLAN: X Y Z!"