Whatever Happened to Ernest January?

Friday, June 24, 2005

Thursday had been quite interesting. It was, after all, one of the best days of the year. However, it began with Collette taking a phone call at the church office from a woman (she thought it was a woman, at least), who needed help fixing her truck, paying her electric bill, and purchasing false teeth. Collette was highly suspicious, but passed “her” information on anyway.

And after work, in the blistering heat, it was off to the S-F Scout Ranch, (all 5200 acres of it), for the OA ceremony. It was, indeed, a highlight of the year. On the way, the Hobcoggins (minus Wally Hobcoggin, Sr.) and Dulcinea, joined the rest of the Snicketts in the green slug. Each of the four youngest had arranged the back seat to their comfort, including one to two pillows per person with other essentials such as toy tanks, Magnadoodles, and Catchphrase.

“Linnea,” Collette had asked her before the van even left the driveway, “why are you bringing this chainsaw?”

“I pretend it’s a gun,” she said, being a loyal member of Francis’ Boy’s Club.

Dad, however, removed the plastic chainsaw before the trip began.

Carrie was quite nervous, dressed fashionably and cool in jeans, flat black shoes, a silver/gold metallic belt, white tank, silver stick earrings, and her silver blond hair pulled back in a high pony tail. She brought her green Brazil jacket for later use.

They had all been discussing in the kitchen while waiting for the others to arrive, about the likelihood of Ernest January being present at the camp.

“He won’t be there,” Dad said.

“Don’t say that,” Carrie got her embarrassed smile. “He’s such a great Boy Scout. Except now he’s a man.”

Dad just got his smile lines and tried to be grumpy.

“Actually,” OLeif cut in unceremoniously, “if he is at the Scout camp, he’s a man with no life.”

“Oh!” Carrie gasped. “How can you say that?”

And so after a good hour and a half on the road, they pulled into Farmington for ten pizzas while the four kids slapped at each other in the back seat and yakked each other’s ears off, causing chaos in general. And Collette quizzed Carrie from her history flashcards for her CLEP exam Saturday morning. This was briefly interrupted from time to time with a:

“What if he’s not there?”

“How’s my make-up?”

“Do I have carrot eyes?”

Carrot eyes were eyes with too much green eye shadow next to a new tan, which inevitably made the skin look more orange than usual. But her eyes were fine, her make-up was fine, and she was lovely as always. Collette hoped they might see once again – the bright blue handkerchief and startling blue eyes of Ernest January – for Carrie-Bri’s sake. And of course, one would have to know the history behind this before understanding, but that story was for another time…

Meanwhile, Collette tried to calm the noise in the back seat by reading a chapter of Nancy Drew to the four hoodlums.

“Look!” Carrie cried out, listening to her headphones, “a Grecian steakhouse.”

There were always novelties out in the boonies such as that. And there were other such nonsensical things to discuss amongst the travelers. Francis and Chester were deeply involved in talking about some annoying girls, who they thought were quite similar in their annoying properties.

“Well, this girl,” Chester was saying, “always says, ‘I was born in Spain and I’m Swedish. And Johnny Appleseed planted the tree in my front yard.’”

“Does she have blond hair and greenish eyes?” Francis was asking. “Because this other girl does.”

“Yeah, she had blond hair.”

“And is she scared of water?”

“I don’t know…”

Then they discussed the age-old question of whether or not hot pink was a girl-color or both a girl and boy-color.

Meanwhile, the moms were discussing more grown-up things such as how Wally Hobcoggin Sr., sneaked his gun into Six Flags in the baby stroller without being caught. (He was a policeman.) And of how Mom saved a little boy who had wandered off a mile from home while his sixteen or seventeen year-old brother was watching him.

But finally, they had arrived at Camp Sakima. The old familiar woods and totem poles greeted them, the sun shining at the same slant through the trees, the smell of the Boy Scouts… Joe, Curly, and Wally were all at the Camp entrance to great the great slug. And after hellos and hugs and such, the troop managed to gather all the chairs, pizzas, and drinks and head back to the campsite.

Carrie was quite disappointed to hear from Joe that Ernest was at summer school and would not be attending.

“What is he going to summer school for?” She asked, concerned. “Why does he want to finish school so quickly? I bet he wants to get married or something.”

And yet, there was always next year, and they were at Boy Scout camp anyway. This was usually enough to perk Carrie’s spirits.

At the camp, they were enthusiastically shown pictures of a Japanese garden Joe had arranged down by the lake. They were shown pictures as a herd of Boy Scouts, no doubt, had already managed to trample the creation. There were also pictures of their sand castle dubbed “Tubby” from the sand-castle building contest. The winner would be announced on Friday, with the mile-swim meet.

They also saw Joe’s tent, complete with mini rubber swimming pool, a wonderful addition he had added for the new Scouting year. There was also a tarp-closed tent where hung three or four sleeping hammocks tied from the same tree. With all the hammocks hanging in such a way, the arrangement had a pin-wheel image. Joe’s hammock was a Brazil hammock, looking almost of thin rubber and bright apple red.

Meanwhile, someone was singing “Oh Where is My Hairbrush” from another site. Carrie and Collette looked at each other and laughed; it was almost like coming home for a few hours, it was so typical and familiar.

Meanwhile, Joe had been up to some creative activities.

“Guess what Mom?” He began, looking quite handsome and sharp for having been at Scout Camp all week. “I got some of the leaders to bring me back a pack of mochas when they went to Wal-Mart. I paid five bucks for it. I drank one myself. And then I had an auction and sold off all the rest. I sold one for six dollars. I made fifteen altogether.”

“Sweet,” OLeif said. “I would so do that.”

Apparently cold drinks were a valuable commodity that year. But then again, weren’t they every year?

Then they were once again taken across the floating bridge stretching a length of the twenty-eight acre lake. Camp Famous Eagle was nearby with the other two camps. There was the buddy board check-out list for swimming, the sweat lodge, the bonfires… Joe’s troop had constructed the huge bonfire for that night’s ceremony.

But all too soon, the tour was ended, and it was time to set up the chairs, watch the Boy Scouts shuffle around in preparation on the other side of the lake before walking over, and to participate in the as-always-stupid-but-hilariously-entertaining Boy Scout pre-ceremony skits.

And as the sun began to set, the lake became very quiet. Hardly a sound was heard in the woods as the fireflies glowed and the bats began to fly across the lake. The smudge-pots were lit on the opposite shore, and the Boy Scouts filed out silently, heads bowed, arms folded, in a perfectly silent line. Those who already had received OA, stood behind the other Scouts. Once the entire group was lined motionless across the other bank, the Indians arrived to chant the OA, the great bonfire was lit, and three braves slipped silently across the waters in a canoe. The great chief spoke as they glided to the other bank. And then the part they had all been waiting for, commenced.

With a hard slap to his own chest, each brave cried:

“You have been chosen!”

…as he ran along the bank with his great torch.

And then the flaming arrow was shot across the lake as the last Scout was chosen, and the Indians ran off with their torches across the bridge, another brave chanting in the canoe upon the lake.

It was a ceremony that was legendary, a great ceremony that was almost enchanting, in a manly way, of course. It was almost a secret society and Collette loved to watch it every year.

By the end, Curly had been added to the number of OAs in Troop 975, and they were escorted silently to the next ceremony. Joe walked Curly down to the next outpost, where he would sleep under the stars. Then Joe returned with his new LAD light and they all ate dump cake and watermelon at camp. It was always an indescribable experience to attend an OA ceremony. Collette could never quite put her finger on it, but she was never more proud whenever she saw Dad or Joe walk silently in that line across the lake.