Scouting, and the Tattoo Merit Badge

Scouting, and the Tattoo Merit Badge

On one of my last summer regional Scout outings, our patrol was just going through the motions and enjoying ourselves. Each morning, all the various Troops would assemble their patrols at the flagpole for the raising of the colors and the day's announcements. 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 scattered around. And, perhaps, we might partake in the ultimate young 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, leaders announced that after the day’s competition was over and everyone had finished dinner that each patrol in the individual Troops could create a business and charge for the service. A scout could earn several Merit Badges by participating in this activity, and leaders would acknowledge especially worthy or creative endeavors at formation. 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, our patrol gathered in our large Army-style canvas tent. We all came in and shut the flap.
 
“Look what I got,” one scout said excitedly, and held forth a carton of Pall Mall cigarettes.

“Wow, where did you get that?” we all blurted out in unison, trying to keep our voices down.

"A truck came to deliver food, and there was a whole box of cartons that tipped over off the back of the truck. So I picked one up off the ground and took it.”
 
“Man, you got balls,” someone said.
 
“Yeah,” echoed the rest of us.
 
“OK, let's 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 kind of business to create. 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 in the patrol agreed; 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 “Tattoo Parlor”, to hang outside 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 in "the back room" if you so desired.
 
The other troops were creative if not mundane: 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 on sharpening. Scouts had cooking tents, knot tying tents, and others had first aid instruction. One group had thrown a large rope over a high branch and tied 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, and let everyone know 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 into the dark privacy of the tent and purchase a cigarette for a dime. Fires burned through the evening and into the night, and we had a constant stream of scouts coming to our parlor.
 
The following morning in formation, we found out just how many patrons had visited our parlor last evening. In the ranks stood scouts sporting 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, for here at the end of the gathering, parents were arriving to pick up their kids, only to find their children grotesquely “tattooed”. As for us, we stood with our pockets and scout-packs filled with the coins collected at our tattoo parlor the previous night.

That morning, I never heard any Scout Leader discuss the exercise of learning how the American free market system worked, nor did anyone commend us on our successful business.

I wondered if there was a Tattoo Merit Badge, a badge with a picture of a bloody fang or knife on it.