Every event that takes place in this narrative actually happened at some point. It did not all happen on the same day or in the same order, and most of the names have been changed. In general, it is meant to give an overall feel of how the National Jamboree went for me.
Basically, this is part of the story that I would like to tell everyone who has casually asked me "How was your summer?" or "How did the Jamboree go?"
It was getting late in the day, almost ten at night. The sun had gone down a while ago, but there was still enough light from the streetlights on the nearby roads to make out our troop's new dome tents, the old canvas tents of the troop behind us, and the figures of the few Scouts still up at this hour. It had been over a hundred degrees today, and felt like it was still in the upper nineties.
"Hey, Leep, we're headed for the showers. You comin' with?" asks Dan, the most senior of the youth leaders in our troop.
"Yeah, just give me a second to grab my stuff," I reply.
I headed over to my tent. Inside the "door," between the mosquito screen and the opaque sheet of plastic, was a paper with my name and position: Nick Leep, Scribe. I smiled inwardly: the Scribe is supposed to be one of the busiest members of the troop: he is supposed to sign his troop up for special activities, pass out anything that needs to be distributed to all members of a troop, and collect all information that needs to be recorded. What do I do? I ask myself: I pass out mail and lunch money. Our Scoutmaster, Mr. Bona, takes care of everything else without even asking for help.
I open the zipper and go inside my tent. To my left, I see the various possessions of Josh Crayne, my tent partner and the Quartermaster for our troop. Like me, he has a dark blue five-gallon bucket (for holding fragile gear during transport), a lightweight fleece sleeping bag, a narrow foam pad, light bed sheets, and a very large duffel bag for storing ten days' worth of clothing and supplies. The tent isn't too disorganized yet, but there are a couple Scouting-related "Class B uniform" T-shirts lying about, in addition to the official BSA olive drab shorts and socks worn by everyone at the Jamboree. Unlike me, Josh has brought a deck of playing cards and contacts. I have a small chess set, an extra pair of glasses, and several glasses cases.
I start gathering the things I will need in the shower; my compact toiletry kit, a change of clothes, and my towel and washcloth. I take off my shoes and socks, and put on my sandals. On my way out of the tent, I grab my flashlight, recalling several things that had happened last night.
That first day had been very hectic. We had arrived at Fort A.P. Hill Virginia with enough time to start setting up our campsite before lunch. We had just spent four days in Washington, D.C., and I was getting to know some of the Scouts very well. Many of them were relatively young, only twelve or thirteen years old, and some had never been away from home for longer than a weekend before. Two of them in particular, Richie and Tim, had been coping with serious homesickness.
Tim was about twelve. He was about four feet six inches tall, and seemed very skinny. He had bright orange hair, lots of freckles, and glasses. I had talked with him earlier, because he was signed up to write a newspaper article about the Jamboree for a newspaper back home. That evening, as I walked towards one of our picnic tables, I noticed that he was upset.
Mr. Bona was sitting next to him. "What's wrong, Tim?" he asked.
"I guess I'm just not having very much Fun, and I miss home" replied Tim.
"Well, what did you do all day?" inquired Mr. Bona.
"I just hung around camp all day. I didn't do much," said Tim.
"Well, that's the problem," said Mr. Bona, "You should have gone out and done something. What are you doing tomorrow?"
"I don't know," said Tim.
"I have an idea," I said. "Tomorrow morning, some of us are going to Scuba. Do you want to come with? I've been hearing how much fun it is for the past four years."
"Sure," Tim replied.
At that point, further conversation was cut off. A commotion of medium volume was in progress behind our campsite, and it was proceeding to move directly towards where we were holding our conversation.
Apparently Matt, one of the other Scouts in our troop, had been running in the dark. He had tripped in a hole and twisted his ankle. When I saw the crowd of Scouts and adults carrying him towards the picnic table, I decided that I could best help him by staying out of the way. Before too long, officials from the nearest medical center were there, and they took Matt to the hospital. He had badly sprained his ankle, and would not be back until the next afternoon.
This recollection came back as I pick up my flashlight and exit my tent. Now it seems like a good idea to use my flashlight and watch where I am going. I walk over to where Dan, Josh, and Tony, the other three of the "Key Four" youth leaders, are waiting for me. "I'm ready," I say.
"Let's go," says Dan.
As we walk out the back of our campsite, I shine my flashlight over the nice straight rows of brand new tents. They are Eureka Tetragon Nine tents, and being rated to "sleep four adults" they have plenty of room for two Scouts with gear. I look over toward the tents of the Hawk Patrol, the group of scouts whom I had eaten breakfast with this morning. As I walk past their tents, I remember the events of this morning.
"Nick, we're going to Scuba, right? I'm ready," said Tim.
"Sure, just hold on a second," I replied.
Dan was busy talking with the scoutmasters, so I went over to talk to Tony.
"Tony, Tim and I are headed to Scuba. You guys coming?"
"No, Josh and I are going to wait for Dan."
"Well, I gotta go now. See you later," I said. I walked back over to Tim, and said, "Okay, let's go."
Scuba was one of the most popular attractions at the National Jamboree, and one of the things which had drawn me to the jamboree in the first place. Our council was lucky enough to have a campsite relatively near Scuba, so Tim and I did not have to walk to far to get there. Even though we were so close, though, there was already a long line by the time we got there.
Everything at the National Jamboree was set up in such a way that it could stand a lot of use for about two weeks, and then be taken down. Scuba was no exception. Three large, four-foot deep pools had been set up alongside the main road and filled with chlorinated pool water. One of the large, heavy canvas Army tents found all over the Jamboree area was set up in front to store the lockers where visitors kept their gear and the various equipment used by the Scuba program itself. Visitors waited in line before reaching a front desk to get a locker, then waited in another line to get to the pools. Underneath the green canvas canopy, shoeless visitors walked through the second line, gingerly avoiding the small, sharp pieces of gravel occasionally strewn over the light tan soil. At this point, the grass underneath the canopy was still alive in most places, and was not trampled to badly. At the end of the line, visitors were admitted into one of the three pools, where they were given instructions on how to scuba dive. After a time, they were allowed to go into the water and dive for about ten minutes.
By the time this process was over for Tim and I, it was almost time for lunch. However, instead of going straight to the kiosk where we could get lunch, we decided to go to the nearby archery range. New visitors had to go through an instruction session inside another one of the large Army tents. Large hay bales were set up about fifty feet back from the firing line. Each scout used a brand new bow, a new model combining the evenness of traditional, single-stringed recurve bows and the strength of the multi-stringed compound bow. These brand-new bows had two pulleys: a circular one at the bottom about two or three inches in diameter, and a spiral-shaped one at the top going from two to four inches in diameter. The bows were very easy to pull, and had a lot of power for their size. All of the bows were fiberglass of a single color, either red or yellow.
After we were done at the archery range, Tim and I went to the lunch kiosk. This was yet another large Army tent, set up at the intersection of two major streets. On the first day, all Jamboree participants had been given ten colorful plastic lunch tickets. Each of these had a date and the words "kiosk lunch" printed on one side, along with a bright solid color such as purple or orange. To get our lunches, we turned these in to a person behind a counter, and he handed us our bagged lunches. On the counter next to our lunches, we picked up tickets from yesterday's lunch to take home as souvenirs. We decided to eat lunch back at camp, so we started walking that direction.
The lunches were ice cold, because they had been stored and delivered in a refrigerated truck. Inside a clear plastic bag was our lunch, consisting of a turkey sandwich, a bag of Cheetos, a juice box, a granola bar, an apple, packets of mayonnaise and mustard, and a spork and napkin.
I was glad to sit down when we got back to the campsite, because I had been walking all day so far, and it was about one-thirty in the afternoon. However, I was still cleaning up the last of my lunch when Mr. Bona walked up to me with a load of packages and letters. "Mister Scribe, I have a job for you," he said, "It's time to pass out the mail."
Parents had been advised to start sending letters and packages to their sons several days before the Jamboree actually began, because it took that long to get there. A majority of the scouts in our troop had received mail of some kind; I was surprised to find that even I had received a letter.
Not to long later, I noticed that Richie was upset. Little Richard was one of the youngest scouts from our council. He must have been only eleven or twelve. He seemed very short, although he had grown a couple inches since the first time I had met him. He had very light skin, hair that was so light of a blond that it could be called white, and teeth that weren't quite coming in straight. He still had a higher-pitched voice, and overall he just seemed very small.
"What's wrong, Richie?" I asked, "you seem upset."
"Nothing, nothing at all" he sobbed.
"Do you want to talk about it? Come on, why don't we sit down over here," I suggested. The answer was clear already. He was homesick, and feeling pretty bad.
"I got a letter from my family today. It made me upset," he said.
"Well, what did they tell you that made you so upset?" I inquired.
"Nothing really, just that they are having Fun, and that they all miss me."
"Oh. Have you ever been away from home this long before?"
"No. I'm just really sad, because my little brother and sister said they really miss me, and so do my mom and my dad and my pet dog. They even sent me some candy." (I really like candy, but that wasn't the point at the time).
"They said they really miss you, and that's what made you upset? Well, I'm sure they wouldn't write to you saying that they were having even more fun without you around. Besides, they're just trying to make you feel good by telling you how much they like you. They wouldn't want you to be sad about this, would they?"
"No, they wouldn't," he sniffled. "But I just feel bad that my family miss me so much."
"Well, let me tell you a story about myself. Believe it or not, I was once your age (at this point I'm starting to feel old, remembering how many "old people" have told me stories that start the exact same way). I went to my first week-long summer camp. It was a lot of fun, but I got really homesick, too. However, after I got home, I realized that I had had the most fun of my entire life, and before I knew it, I was volunteering to work at camps for two weeks at a time with people that I barely even knew. After you go home, you'll learn how much fun you had, and your brother and sister will learn how much they learned by having to go for two weeks without seeing you. Before you know it, you'll be in high school getting ready for college. I can hardly believe how far I've gotten, myself. Now, how are you feeling now?"
"I feel a lot better. Thanks," he said.
I made sure he had plans for the afternoon, ate the candy he gave me, and then set off to be sure that everything else was in order in the campsite.
The four of us are now on our way to the showerhouse. We walk over the many bumps and protrusions in the hard soil. A path is just starting to be trampled down in the grass along our path. I shine my light in front of me, looking out for holes, as I am hit with another memory from my day (ouch).
Matt, the scout who twisted his ankle, had returned to our campsite that afternoon. I was tired from walking around all morning, so I sat down at the picnic table nearest to where he was sitting, fully planning to not move again until dinner..
"Hi, Matt. How bad is the ankle?"
"Well, I have to go around with a cast and crutches for now, but I might get it off later in the week."
"I know you got back earlier in the afternoon. What have you done today?" I asked.
"Nothing much, just hung around camp."
"Why? There's plenty to do around here!"
"Well, nobody has wanted to go with me, and we can't go anywhere without a buddy, especially me."
I started summoning my reserved energy, and stood up. "Well, I'll go with you. Where do you want to go?"
We spent the afternoon exploring the local "Action Center," an area where staff from our region offered various activities, such as climbing, shooting, biking, and several interesting activities from the pioneer and frontier days (of course, since Matt had a cast on his ankle, we couldn't do some of the activities, but since he and I ended up hanging out together for most of the rest of the week, we ended up going back to them later, after he got his cast off).
On our way out, we made sure to fill up our water bottles, because it was very hot outside. In fact, just the day before, one of our Scoutmasters had passed out from dehydration and heat exhaustion. Fortunately, he was all right.
Matt told me all about how he had seen his dad, who was on the medical staff in the Army hospital where he ended up, and how on his way back to camp, he saw the majority of the Jamboree from the air-conditioned comfort of one of the many brand new GM vehicles in use at the Jamboree. I told him about the fantastic lightning storm that he had missed. We made it back to the campsite just in time for him to help his patrol prepare dinner and for me to meet with the other leaders in our troop.
We reach the showerhouse and go inside. It is not very busy, since it is almost ten thirty at night, and everyone is supposed to be sleeping. We had decided to wait this long because we didn't want to deal with the crowds. The water that comes out of the showers is very cold, and since our stalls were all relatively close, we can all here the others shiver and yell about how freezing cold the water is. It is good, though, because even this late at night the temperature is still in the mid-nineties.
I finish up as quickly as I can, put on my clean clothes, exit my shower stall, and head towards the campsite. I look up, and see a few stars peering through. I wait up for my friends, and on the way back I once more think back to earlier in the day.
Dan came up to me not long after dinner. "Leep, man, I kind of feel bad. We've been going off without you, even though you're one of us, and I don't want you to feel excluded."
"That's okay. This morning, I had to leave before you, and we didn't have a chance to meet up again all day," I replied.
"Anyway, I know that you've been hanging out with the kids all day, and I want you to know that I appreciate your work," he said.
"It's no problem," I answered. I then went to call home with my cell phone, one of the few which actually could get a good signal (Verizon Wireless had set up towers on the Army base).
By the time we get back into the campsite, we are already sweating profusely. We say goodnight, and Josh and I go into our tent. We both get ready for bed, and talk for a couple minutes. "So how'd your day go?" Josh inquires.
"Eh, pretty well, overall," I say, "I had fun." But I am really thinking of one final thing that happened during the evening to make my day perfect.
I called home for the second time since arriving at Fort A.P. Hill. My mom answers the phone at the other end.
"Hi, mom. We're having lots of Fun here. How are things going at home?"
"Just about usual. We just had dinner. Oh, and guess what?" said my mom.
"What?" I ask.
"Mr. Appel quit as your band director. You're going to get a new one again."
"Yyyyeeeeeeessssss!!!!!!!!" (I was very excited.)