Scouting, and the Tattoo Merit Badge

I have recently been ruminating about my time in scouting, the things I learned in those years, and the things I took away from the experience. In hindsight, I see that it played an important role in shaping my future. From 1972 through 2005, my avocational life centered on camping and hiking, and discovering the various areas where I found myself living.
 
It began in Cub Scouts, a couple of non-descript years spent in a ‘Den’ with craft making and learning the basics of the paramilitary life: uniforms, oaths, salutes, and secret codes. From there I graduated to the Boy Scouts, Troop 152 at the Bowers Elementary School in Manchester, Connecticut. That would have been 4th grade, around 1960. Many of my friends were members, and I enjoyed my time there. I learned many new skills with the Scouts, and I was introduced to many ‘firsts’. I saw my first male erection in the Boy Scouts, and learned what masturbation was, and I learned the multiple slang words that pertained to every part of the male and female anatomy, and the name of every fluid and secretion that one would care to know. I learned the joys of high-impact camping, how to camp in an area and leave it looking like a Pacific atoll that the Marines had just stormed.
 
I learned many woodsman skills as well, but many of those skills would be discounted in the future with the advent of low-impact camping, and a new ethic of respect for the wilderness. We were not practicing a “leave no trace” style of camping. Nevertheless, I had many great experiences during those years.
 
In the winter, we went to Camp Pioneer, where there were small cabins with bunk beds and fireplaces in each. Closer to home was Camp Johnson in Bolton Notch, just outside of Manchester. This was a three season wooded area owned by the Boy Scouts and we would camp and visit it quite often  There was a remote ledge that was the senior scouts territory, they always made their camp there and stories of the goings-on there were legendary, they were passed down through the generations of scouts at Troop 152. One right of passage was to sneak out of camp at night and make your way down to the railroad tracks in Bolton Notch. Once there you would work your way in the dark over to the Manchester Drive-In Theater and sneak in through the fence. Such were the requirements of sleeping on the ledge with the older in-crowd.
 
Occasionally there would be a Jamboree, a kind of gathering of the regional Boy Scout Troops. These gatherings would have competitions in various skill areas, and after a long weekend of camping and competing, a Troop would be crowned champion. We never did well in these competitions, we would go up against wealthy Troops with many scouts in them, and some of these kids would be wearing swashes festooned with Merit Badges and other awards for scouting accomplishments. These were the future Eagle Scouts.
 
Around 1962 the Troop disbanded because its membership rolls had dwindled. A few others and I transferred to Troop 3, which met in the American Legion Hall closer to the center of town. What I found there was a group like myself, scouting neer-do-wells and nascent questioners of authority. I was welcomed into the senior go-their-own-way platoon with open arms. We were not going to be Eagle Scouts, this group, but we participated in many things together during my last three years in scouting, and created some great memories.
 
In the summer of 1964, our troop went to the World’s Fair in New York City. Uniforms were required, so I wore my green scout shorts, short-sleeved shirt with rank and insignia, red scarf, and 8-inch black engineer boots, the boots with high heels and a silver buckle with one strap that the bikers wore. I must have been a sight.
 
On my last summer regional outing in 1965, I and the rest of the group were just going through the motions and enjoying ourselves. At morning formation, all of the various Troops would assemble in shorts at the flagpole for morning formation. Then everyone would head off to various competitions and events. Some units built elaborate suspension bridges, some had map reading and orienteering matches. Serious scouts were working on their Eagle Scout awards. Many were pursuing swimming, hiking, and canoeing. You could also use the small sailboats at the lake. We enjoyed these activities ourselves, but we were also looking to meet some new friends, especially at the many night campfires that were around. And, perhaps, we might partake in the ultimate teenage act of rebellion at the time, sneak a cigarette. As the week went by, things were building up to the big finale, and the naming of the lucky Troop that would be awarded a guidon for their Troop’s flagpole.
 
One morning at formation, it was announced that after the day’s competition was over and everyone had finished dinner, the individual Troops and platoons could create a business and charge for the service. There were several Merit Badges that could be earned with this activity, and creative endeavors would be acknowledged. Everyone was urged to keep their efforts secret until evening, let word of mouth advertising and the market place decide what was popular. After the regular announcements, we broke formation and most of us headed for the canoes and sailboats.
 
After lunch, a member of our platoon called us all together in our large Army-style canvas tent. We all came in and shut the flap.
 
“Look what I got,” he said excitedly, and held forth a carton of Pall Mall cigarettes.
 
“Wow, where did you get that,” we all asked in some sort of unison, trying to keep our voices down.

“A truck came to deliver food, and there was a whole box of cartons sitting out open in the back of the truck. So I took one.”
 
“Man, you got balls!”
 
“Yeah!”
 
“OK, hide ‘em,” someone else said. “Let’s wait for dark”
 
So we buried the swag beneath our gear and went out for the afternoon. Returning for dinner, we walked around and talked about what we could do for the evening. We saw a counselor who was doing various arts and crafts and asked him if he had anything we could use for the evening. He gave us a box containing some small vials of paints and brushes, and a dozen or so felt-tipped indelible ink magic-markers of various colors. We stood in a circle talking it over and looking occasionally into the box. There were a few suggestions that nobody liked, then someone said, “Let’s have a tattoo parlor.” That was it! Everyone voiced their assent. This would be so cool.
 
One asked, “Do you think anyone will come?”
 
“We’ll find out. Remember, no hints to anybody.”
 
We scrounged up some wood and made a table, over which we suspended a lantern. We made a sign with the paint and brushes that said in large letters “Troop 3 Tattoo Parlor”, this we would hang out by the table.
 
After dinner, we retreated to the parlor, where we gave each other tattoos in black, blue, and red. Snakes, embedded knives, hearts with the letters MOM in them, bullet holes dripping blood, and more. Then leaving two to mind the store, the rest of us set out to see what others were doing and to advertise our shop. And, aside from procuring a reasonably priced tattoo, you might be able to buy a cigarette or two if you so desired.
 
There were lemonade stands, candy stores, and a theater that had a wide tent door as a stage. There were exhibitions on knife and axe handling and sharpening, cooking tents, knot tying, and others with first aid instruction. One group had thrown a large rope over a high branch and made a seat on the bottom. For a dime, you could sit on the seat and ten scouts would quickly pull you up thirty feet in the air. We showed off our artwork and told our story, where we could be found.
 
As darkness fell, the small enclaves took on a life of their own. At our shop, we had a waiting line at the tattoo table, and afterwards, you could go in the tent for a more secret transaction. Fires burned through the evening and into the night, we met many people at our “shop”.
 
We found out how many we had met the following morning. At the morning formation, the ranks were filled with arms, legs and faces that displayed crudely drawn images of every description. There were plenty of snakes with tongues and fangs, bloody representations of every description, knives, wounds, and bodies. I found out later how mad some troop leaders were, here at the end of the gathering some parents would be showing up to pick up their kids, only to find their children grotesquely “tattooed”. As for us, our pockets and packs were filled with coins. That morning, I never heard anyone of authority discuss the exercise in learning about the American free market, nor did anyone commend us on our successful business.
 
I wondered if there was a tattooing Merit Badge, or a badge with a picture of a bloody fang or knife on it.