Softball at Camp

The setting for the old ball field was beautiful because it was in the middle of the woods. There were trees surrounding the whole field and it became easy to forget that there was any civilization at all. The aesthetic was wasted on the boys, however, whether they were campers or counselors, because all that they wanted to do was to smack the tar out of the baseball. As with almost anything that has to do with boys, they wanted to show off how masculine they were and if they struck out while at the plate, or if the ball that they hit was a lob and easily caught, then it was a loss of honor for them. And being boys, they had to razz their friends if they made a mistake or struck out. The jeers began before the first pitch and the good natured jabs continued well after the game ended.

The problem with playing baseball is that it is incredibly fun if you are at bat or are pitching but for the rest of the players there is an awful lot of waiting around. The campers became bored instantly. If they were in the outfield then they would lose themselves by staring or the grass or by studying the woods to try and figure out if there were monsters or wildcats hiding in there. If their team was at bat then they would immediately forget the order in which they were on deck so the chiefs had to continually remind them of when they were supposed to go to the plate. When the team was on the offense then they had to line up behind the fence but the close proximity to each other meant that there were often arguments which sometimes led to pushing and even fists. Whoever invented baseball probably didn’t have preteens in mind when he came up with the rules.

Some of the campers played club baseball at home and they were really good. The old ball field was not set up for professionals and the older campers often hit the ball into the woods that lined the field. If this happened then play would have to stop and the outfielders would fan out to find the ball. Sometimes this took awhile and members of both teams became restless. The counselors became the umpires during the baseball games and George, who was an umpire, came up with the idea that if a baseball was hit into the woods then it became an automatic out. This rule resulted in constant complaining by the semi-professional ball players but it was just camp ball and it was silly to take it too seriously.

Zolo usually had the oldest campers. It infuriated him when Danny didn’t take the game seriously. When he was the pitcher he would lob the ball or throw it wide right so that the older campers had a hard time hitting it. When Zolo complained, Danny would yell out, “Oh Waaa! You cry like a baby!” This only made Zolo angrier as he was filled with righteous indignation. The two chiefs would not talk to each other for days after playing a game together.

Danny also loved to get under the skin of the batter. When they complained about his lobbing the ball, Danny would simply reply with “tough titties!” The more they complained, the more they encouraged Danny. He openly taunted the batter by calling the a “booger eating, slack jawed, sloping forehead, knuckle dragging, moron.” The campers in Polk’s tribe could as old as fourteen or even fifteen and they didn’t like the trash talk of Danny. All that they wanted to do was to smack the ball into the woods, regardless of the penalty. Danny continued to lob the ball and when the campers complained he called them “turkey turds.” Certainly, this was not the way that the game was played back in Knoxville.
While Danny pitched, his whole tribe of sixteen campers played outfield. Not only did they have to deal with the boredom, the sweat bees where everywhere and they had to continually swat them away. Sometimes a camper would kick up his legs, fling his arms in the air, and let out a cry when he was bit. Danny was genuinely unsympathetic. “Pay attention you bunch of candies,” he yelled at them. The opponents were always “turkey turds” while his own team were always “candies.” Each time a new boy came to the plate, Danny turned to his tribe in the outfield and yell, “Sing it, chorus!” And all of the members of the Creek tribe would yell “Batter! Batter! Swing batter!” It was all great fun, except for Zolo who fumed in frustration, and Danny knew that when the campers went back to school in the fall they would call their friends “turkey turds” and “candies.”

Never one to miss the chance to make a dollar, Fr. Jubal Early sold ice cream bars to the campers as they walked past the refrigerator at the back of the mess hall on the way to the ball field. It didn’t matter if the campers ate it fast or slow because they always ended of with goo all over their hands before they even made it out to the field. They complained bitterly that they wanted to wash their hands but the nearest latrine was a long way off so they remained sticky. In a rare admission that he had made a mistake, Fr. Early stopped selling ice cream after his first two years as director.

Wrestling at Camp

 “The Great Wrestling Match” became part of the Camp Van Dorn lore.  It only happened once because it caused so much physical pain but it was such an event that not a day went by that the wrestling match wasn’t mentioned.

   The whole thing began when Polk brought his weight set out to camp so that he could lift during rest period or at night.  As a group, the counselors were very competitive and by midsummer they had grown tired of taking out their aggression on board games and cards.  They had to make room for something more physical because the testosterone had to find an outlet and lifting weights fit the bill.  Of course, the boys had to challenge each other by lifting more weights and by doing more reps.  Fr. Early initially laughed at Polk for bringing out his weights because he thought no one would use them but, when it became obvious that not only Polk but half of the other counselors were really into lifting, Padre had to admit that he was wrong.  The true surprise was when Franklin, or Wimp, embraced lifting weights with a passion.  He was tired of being called a “candy” because he was physically weak.  While it was true that he couldn’t lift nearly the same amount of weights that Polk and Scott could lift, Franklin’s drove himself to get a bigger and better body than when he began the season at Camp Van Dorn.

   The simple act of lifting weights was not very satisfying so the competition between the counselors quickly escalated to wresting.  Polk came up with the idea of clearing all of the weights and benches to the walls of the lodge and throwing down some mattresses in the middle of the floor to have a wrestling match.  It seemed like a good idea.  What could go wrong?  The main problem was that the mattresses from the cabins were only two inches thick and offered minimal protection from the hard wood floors.  By the end of the night, all of the counselors ended their match with bruises on their shoulders and welts on their backs.

   As the night progressed, the counselors grew tired of wrestling each other one on one.  “How about if we do tag team wrestling like they have on television,” offered Polk. “We can split up into teams of two.  I’ll take Scott as my partner.”  Everyone knew that Polk used to play football, because he reminded them daily, and that he was a defensive end for the Farragut Anchors.  It had been almost a year since he played and he had let his body to to waste but, even though he was fat, Polk was still very strong.  He probably masturbated over the idea of wrestling someone smaller than himself.  In effect, he was giving himself permission to beat up on the rest of the counselors and he didn’t’t let the chance go by to settle some old scores.

   “No,” said George.  “You and Scott are the biggest and strongest two counselors so we have to split you up.  I’ll take Scott as my partner.”  They all agreed that this was fair and, to make things even, Polk took the smallest guy, Danny, as his partner.  That left Barney and Zolo to partner up as they were both somewhere in between the size of Polk and Danny.  Getting into a tag team wrestling match was against type for Barney and Zolo, but it sounded like fun to the other four, so they joined in.  It was a decision that they would regret for days to come.

   It was the best of three rounds.  There were six mattresses in the middle of the floor and whomever was pinned or pushed off the mattresses lost their round.  It was agreed that Polk and Danny were the best team so George and Scott would wrestle Barney and Zolo for the honor of competing against Polk and Danny.  There was no warm up.  George wasn’t in the same class as Polk, but was still very strong, literally threw Barney off the mats before he had a chance to tag out or even defend himself.  The next two rounds went just like that and Barney and Zolo were eliminated.  However, this first match was just a warm up for the main event.

   George knew that he couldn’t beat Polk but he couldn’t back down from a wrestling match without losing face.  He knew his only chance was to continue to tag off with Scott in the hopes of wearing Polk down so that Danny would have to come in.  Danny was the youngest and the thinnest but he was quick and wiry.  Surprisingly, Danny turned out to be a good wrestler.  He grabbed on to George, refused to let go, and kept one shoulder off the mat so he couldn’t be considered pinned.  Once he felt his energy draining, Danny wriggled over to his partner to tag out.  Polk was fueled by the very last of his beer, in fact the last of any beer, at Camp Van Dorn, and was glad to take his frustration out on George, who had made fun of his Gimp craft and who lorded over the camp because he was the head lifeguard.  It was the best two out of three and Polk and Danny beat George and Scott in two successive matches.  

   It was supposed to be fun, something to do to kill some time, but the boys could barely move after wrestling what was, in essence, a bare wooden floor.  As members of the winning team, Polk and Danny got the bragging rights until the next matchup and just as with the “Risk” game, Polk was not a gracious winner.  Polk considered it just one more peg up the totem pole that led to an elite status and he claimed that he was the senior counselor.  George and Scott could care less about the chest beating and the competition to be the senior counselor.  They never wanted to participate in another wrestling match because so much pain was involved.  They had done it once, had the welts and bruises to prove their manliness, and never wanted to do it again.

   What was surprising that there were no physical fights between counselors over the wrestling match.  These were teenage boys and they wore their hearts on our sleeves; very dramatic and very emotional.  They were still trying to figure themselves out; to find out who they were.  Once a competitive wrestling match was thrown in then all sorts of emotions got stirred up.  All of the counselors were bragging about how they had faired in the wrestling match or, if they were defeated soundly, they promised that they would do better at the rematch.  The taunting was endless and, sensing that the competitive drive was being ratcheted up, Fr. Early stepped in and outlawed another wrestling match.  Padre was afraid that the counselors would really hurt themselves if he allowed another match, a real fear after the boys walked away from the first one with a lot of welts, bruises, and minor cuts.  Once they knew that there would be no more matches the counselors threw up some false bravado and swore that “it is a good thing that there won’t be another match,” they bragged to each other.  “Certainly I would pin you if given another chance!”

        For that one night, the fat, stupid, and happy Polk was king of Camp Van Dorn as he had defeated all comers.  His self confidence had peaked because he was the undisputed champion of “Risk” and wrestling.  That summer at Camp Van Dorn was the highlight of Polk’s life and it was all downhill for him from there

Cave Exploring

If you were to ask the counselors why on earth would they would leave the relative comfort of Camp Van Dorn to drench themselves in the icy waters of Pickett’s Cave the boys would have a hard time coming up with an answer to that question. They were on the cusp of manhood and needed to challenge themselves with some sort of trial. The counselors never articulated it that way; for them, it was just something to do. Exploring the cave was a way of breaking up the monotony of the summer and sure, it was dangerous, but they were young and bulletproof and welcomed a way to prove their mettle.

Part of the fun of exploring Pickett’s Cave was preparing for the expedition. The counselors bought special water proof flashlights, for example, and knee pads because we knew that we would be on our hands and knees as we made our way through some of the tighter spots. Scott went so far as to buy rope and practiced repelling by throwing the rope over a tree branch, attaching himself to a harness that he had learned how to make in the Boy Scouts, and pulled himself up to twenty feet off of the ground.

The cave was about a half mile away from the camp so the counselors had to hike with all of their equipment with them. They met at the lodge, checked and rechecked that their waterproof flashlights still worked, and then made sure that the rope was in good order. Even though they were teenagers, they took cave exploring seriously.

The water was cold but because they were over heated from the long walk over, the counselors didn’t mind. The problem was that it had rained recently and the water level was high. Scott was always the practical one and he suggested that the counselors wait for another day to try an exploration to give the cave water a chance to recede. George said, “let’s put it up for a vote and let everyone decide together.” All seven voted to go into the cave, mostly because if they didn’t vote for it then they would be called a “Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!” Besides, testosterone coursed through the veins of all of the boys and they were unwilling to wait another day to go spelunking, so they waded into the cave.

After just a few steps the ceiling of the cave dropped and there was only two and a half feet worth of crawl space. They continued on, moving on their hands and knees, but the water continued to rise. Instead of admitting defeat and going back to the entrance, the boys floated on their backs with their faces turned toward the ceiling. Now there was only inches of space between the water and the ceiling and, if any more of the rain water ran off into the cave, then the boys would be stuck in the cave until someone had pieced together what had happened to them. Fr. Early had told them before they left that it hadn’t rained in a few days so the water was receding, not getting deeper. That was why he allowed them to go. Since he was so much older, and the head of the camp, the boys put their complete trust in whatever Padre said.

Put clothes into a water-proof bag. Most of the cave was dry and the entrance was the only place where you would get wet. Zolo and Bill seemed to be taking their time so Polk, always impatient, yelled at them. “Let’s keep moving you swinging dicks.” It was a line that he learned from reading novels about the military life. Zolo, undaunted by Polk’s prodding, said “my dick has recessed so far up into my body that I think that I might be a girl now!” Even the usually dour Bill laughed at that and said, “Good one,” to Zolo as they made their way to the depths of the cave.

The primary objective of this expedition was to find their way back to the Cathedral Room, which got its nickname because the room went straight up and the counselors had to bend over backwards to see the top of it. It was the furthest that anyone at Camp Van Dorn had been and they were determined to find a passage that would take them back into the undiscovered parts of the cave. The only way to do that was to climb the three stories high waterfall where they had noticed a hole that looked like another entrance to the waterfall room. That is way it was so important that Scott bring a rope and that he had practiced repelling to that he could make it to the top of the waterfall.

One of the challenges of getting back to the Cathedral Room was that the spelunkers had to get on their bellies and shimmy through a portion of the cave that was only three feel tall. Polk led the way, Scott carried the rock climbing gear, and George stayed in the back in case anyone needed help. Zolo was in the middle and he had not yet learned to leave nature alone. When he saw what looked like a bunch of black balls attached to the ceiling he thought that it would be a good idea to throw rocks at them to see if it was a living thing. They were bats and sensing danger, they wanted to get out of the cave. Zolo was the only thing in their way and they flew right into his face. He screamed at the assault and, still on his hands and knees, turned around with a dexterity that his chunky body had never performed before, he scrambled towards the exit. Only when all of the bats passed by could Scott convince Zolo to stay with the group. For the rest of the summer the other boys reenacted this scene, punctuated with the high pitched scream as Zolo was hit in the face with the flying rodents, and they never tired of retelling the story.

After several tries of throwing his rope stalagmites that had grown out from the wall at the top of the cave, Scott was able to make a loop around the rock. Just like he had done while practicing on a tree, he pulled himself while the others watched. There were a few hair-raising moments where it appeared that Scott was going to lose his balance but his made it to the top with little difficulty.

As it turned out, the hole that they mistook for another entrance turned out to be nothing but a false promise. There was no extension to the cave. Scott had climbed the thirty foot wall of “The Cathedral” only to discover that, for all of his efforts, his only reward was a dead end. It didn’t matter. For the rest of the summer, and throughout the years, Scott got to brag that he had climbed the waterfall; something that no one else had been willing to do because of the danger involved. He took the risk but also gained all of the glory.

In order to get out of the cave the counselors had to go through the exact same obstacle course that they had entered the cave. Zolo, who was cold and tired and had enough of spelunking. As they got back on their backs to float out to the cave’s entrance, Zolo said “Ain’t this fun, boys? Ain’t this fun?” He spit out the words so everyone knew that he was being sarcastic. This was the one and only trip that Zolo made to the Cathedral Room, or any other cave for that matter. If anyone asked him to go on another cave run, Zolo just glared at them and said, “Of course I’ll go because it was so much fun the first time!”

The air that filled their lungs once they were out of the cave was dry and warm as opposed to the stale and freezing air of Pickett’s Cave. They made their way back to camp, tired and damp but filled with glory. Exchanging high fives and still feeling the rush of excitement from exploring the cave and the fun of watching Scott climb to the top of “The Cathedral,” they realized that this adventure would act as a bonding experience for them that they could share for years to come.

There was only one shower for the counselors to use and it was at the back of the mess hall. Rather than wait in line in their wet clothes, the counselors decided to use the communal shower in the latrines. It was meant for the campers but it had six shower heads and plenty of hot water. They stripped down, still laughing and enjoying the adrenaline rush and looking forward to dry clothes and a nap. They were barely even aware that they were a group of boys who were standing naked in a shower when suddenly Polk turned to Zolo, looked down, and said, “You have a small penis.” For once in his life, Zolo could not think of a come back. Everyone laughed, especially Danny, who was still smarting from having Zolo spit in his face.

Zolo began to sulk. He had suffered through the freezing water and having bats fly in his face. He knew that he was going to take some good natured grief for their exploration of Pickett’s Cave and now he had to worry about small penis jokes. While the others went back to their cabins to nap, Zolo went to the lodge for a Coke and a candy bar and a movie on the VCR to reward himself for surviving what he thought was a quixotic adventure.

The Road Trip

         Fr. Jubal Early had been the camp director for twelve years by the time that the summer of 1980 had rolled around.  In that time, Camp Van Dorn had become wildly popular so Padre extended the camping season from six to eight weeks.  The camp season consisted of four weeks on, then a one week break, then on for three more weeks.  The week off provided a well needed beak for the counselors.  They were young, full of energy, and wanted to do something fun together during the week off so a group of five of the counselors planned a trip to Six Flags Over Georgia and then continuing south to the beaches of Pensacola.

   All of the campers had left Van Dorn by noon on Saturday.  To avoid having to pay for a hotel room, the counselors agreed to be in the car and drive off by 5:00 am on Sunday.  It was a three hour drive to Six Flags so if they left early then they could stop off and get some fast food before they entered the park.  The counselors knew that the food inside of Six Flags would be expensive so they wanted a full stomach at the beginning of the day.  Their stomachs were wrought iron strong when they were 18 years old so they didn’t have to worry about throwing up after getting on the really intense rides.  Because they were so young and strong it didn’t even occur to them to bring aspirin or any other medications on the road trip.  Even stopping off at the water fountain seemed vaguely unmanly.

   The only rides that they did was the scary rides.  And not just once!  As soon as they got off the biggest and meanest roller coaster they got right back in line to do it all over again.  After a bathroom break at mid-day, they got right back into line.  George suggested that hey do something different like to go and see one of the shows.  That brought on a chorus of “Pussy!  Pussy!  Pussy!”  Rather than endure another round of good natured grief from his fellow counselors, George didn’t bring up wanting to see a show again.

   The great thing about Danny was that he had such enthusiasm for his little jokes.  Throughout the day at Six Flags he would suddenly put his index finger to his lips and and yell out, “Shush!”  The other four guys were expected to follow suit and put their fingers to their lips and chant, “Shush!”  Then, dramatically, Danny held up his hand as a signal for the four to stop “Shushing” and he said, “Did you see that?”  He loved that joke.

   Only after the sun was beginning to go down did George decide that he had enough.  When he suggested that it was time to go he was met with another chorus of “Pussy!  Pussy!  Pussy!”  Annoyed at this over worked insult, George said, “No, really.  It had been a long day and I don’t want to get back in line.  The others were genuinely unsympathetic.  “I see,” said George.  “A friend in need is a pain in the ass.”  That brought a guffaw of laughter and all of the counselors agreed that it was time to go.  Besides, the McDonald’s breakfast that they had in the morning had worn off and they were ready to go back to the same restaurant to fill up for dinner.  No one suggested that they hang around for the fireworks as that would mean another three hours at the and to stick around just to “see something pretty” would violate their male ego sentimentalities.

   They got their money’s worth from Six Flags and McDonalds.  No one bought any souvenirs or even took any pictures.  Such false sentimentality would not do for the counselors.  They wanted to live in the moment and not worry about remembering their adventure at a later date.

   The second part of their trip was to drive to Pensacola, which is about five hours from Six Flags, so they had to pay for a hotel.  To save money, the five counselors packed everyone into a single room which meant that one person had to sleep on floor.  Bill volunteered.  That left four guys sleeping on two beds and there was no way that they were going to slide under the covers and sleep with another guy.  No one even made any homophobic jokes because it would be wrong to even suggest to the other guys that you were thinking in that direction  Since they knew that they were going to sleep on the floor once they got to Zolo’s sister’s apartment, they all had brought sleeping bags and a pillow and used them in the hotel room.

   Zolo’s older sister had moved to Pensacola to be with her husband, who was a lieutenant in the Navy.  She lived near the beach and invited her brother to come down for a visit but never dreamed that he would bring four other boys with him   It was just a one bedroom apartment so the counselors slept on the floor in the living room and dining room.  All that they want to do was to spend two days at the beach and then drive home on Thursday so that they could be back at camp on Friday for the long anticipated trip to Pickett’s Cave and a massive game of “Risk.”

   They envisaged playing volleyball on the beach while showing off for all of the girls who would naturally be admiring their athletic skills.  Dreams of bikinis danced in their heads.  And yet, these were teenage boys who were not used to taking precautions so nobody brought sunscreen.  The thought was that they didn’t sunscreen out at camp so they would need any at the beach.  They were young and invincible.  And yet, unlike Camp Van Dorn which was lined with trees, there was no shade to provide relief from the sun when the boys took off their shirts.  Also, it was during the week in the middle of the summer so not only was there no volleyball, there were no girls.  The very white skin of the boys began to burn, and burn badly, even before the sun reached its high point in mid-day.  Not only did they decide to leave the beach early, they decided to leave Pensacola a day early because there skin turned bright red and painful to the touch.  It took days, and a lot of lotion, to make the red skin turn white again and weeks before their skin stopped peeling.

   LaFayette McLaws was Zolo’s brother in law’s name.  It was a funny name and it was only given to him because his family was from a Cajun section of Louisiana.   Ever since he could remember, everyone just called him Larry.  Their time at the beach had gone badly so the five counselors tried to salvage the day by going to Larry’s softball game.  It wasn’t on the itinerary but Larry agreed to buy them beer as long as he was the only driver.  Everyone piled in the van, looking forward to a game and some suds.

   Softball is a fun game if you are playing but incredibly boring if you are merely a spectator.  The boys became restless almost instantly.  At the ripe age of 18, they did not think ahead, so there were no chairs to sit on.  Fortunately, there was a large tree next to the field and, ever-conscious of their sun burns, the five stayed in the shade while sitting on their butts in the grass.  The only distraction that they had was to cheer for Larry whenever he was at bat but that didn’t happen often enough.  So after a couple more beers, the counselors decided to sing some of Camp Van Dorn’s songs.  Their alcohol fueled singing was horrible but they sang with such gusto that the softball players from both teams were entertained.

   If the trip could have ended then and there then everything would have been fine.  However, they still had an eight hour road trip back to Camp Van Dorn and they had to stuff themselves into George’s small car.  It was agreed that they would get on the road early but that was before all five of them woke up with a hangover.  Also, Zolo’s sister had agreed to let them spend Monday and Tuesday nights with her but she wasn’t going to be responsible for feeding them.  The time and the expense was too much for her so all five left the apartment hungry and in a dark mood because their time in Pensacola wasn’t nearly as fun as they thought that it would be.

   Bill started to complain that he was hungry as soon as soon as they got into the car.  The mood was immediately set when Danny almost yelled in Bill’s face, “You are being a little girl!”  It didn’t make a lot of sense but it was the only thing that Danny could think of to silence Bill.  Now that he had opened the door to voicing any dissatisfaction with any of the other travelers, the flood gates were open to carping all of the way back to Camp Van Dorn.  Added to the time on the road, the frustration of a bad trip to the beach, the sub burn, and the lack of sleep; the air conditioning in the car barely worked so the five baked in the hot Florida sun.  Everyone’s nerves were frayed.

   For the rest of the summer the moment would be referred to as “The Incident.”  Zolo and Danny had been in a competition with each other since their tribes played each other in softball at Camp Van Dorn.  The two counselors had been picking on each other during the summer and this back and forth bickering continued on the road trip.  It was just needling, nothing really that bad.  “The Incident” was when Danny, who was in the front passenger seat, turned around and grabbed Zolo, who was sitting in the back seat.  The two were in a face to face confrontation when, suddenly, Zolo spit in Danny’s face to make him let go.  It was like a bomb went off in the car.  Instead of spitting back at Zolo, Danny simply let go of the shirt and turned around, a dark expression on his face.  Everyone agreed, except for Zolo, that he had gone too far.  Any good natured ribbing was gone now as nothing was funny anymore.  Zolo tried to defend himself by saying, “I wouldn’t have a chance against Danny if I didn’t play dirty.”

   The vibe in the car totally changed.  Instead of the constant complaining, there was silence.  When they reached Chattanooga, just under two hours away from camp, Zolo suggested that they stop for dinner.  “You can just wait,” snapped Danny.  That ended any talk of going to a restaurant so the boys just bought candy and a soft drink when they stopped for gas. 

   The five exhausted, sun burned, and hungry counselors arrived back at Camp Van Dorn well past dinner time.  A couple of the other counselors were there and they remarked, out of earshot from the five who went on the road trip, how different their moods were from when they left camp to the time that they returned.  The five weren’t ready to talk about it.  Only as the days went by and they put a little distance between themselves and the road trip did the five lighten up. They were happy to talk about Six Flags but no one mentioned Pensacola or “The Incident.”  Danny didn’t like being tagged as the victim and Zolo knew that he was wrong and didn’t want to admit it.

A Priest in Prison

     The transition from being a defendant in a courtroom to becoming incarcerated in the McPherson County jail was undramatic.  It wasn’t like the movies, where there is screaming or crying; the sheriff simply put the handcuffs on Padre’s wrists and led him to the jail.  The problem was that there had been a spate of criminal activity and McPherson County was not prepared for the influx of prisoners.  The jail was overcrowded at 140 percent capacity and all of the beds were taken.  When Fr. Early was shown to his cell the guard merely pointed to the mattress on the floor.  The only concession that the county gave him for his own personal comfort was a pillow and a blanket.  To make matters worse, the heating and air conditioning barely worked and the inmates liked to tell stories about how they put a glass of water near the ceiling during the winter and the water froze.  Still, the citizens of McPherson County were genuinely unsympathetic towards the inmates of their jail and the complaints from prisoners were largely ignored.

   The ordeal of the trial was over and now Fr. Early had to settle into his new reality.  At first he slept a lot.  Laying on his mattress on the floor with his blanket pulled over his head was better than having to look at the inside of his cell.  The only people that he would talk to were the guards and even then it was only when necessary.  Fr. Early resented the guards for their arbitrary enforcement of the rules and for making a tough situation even harder by having a forced lock down.  If someone in one cell does something wrong then the whole cell block goes on lockdown.  It didn’t make any sense and was patently unfair but the jail was understaffed and a forced lock down was an easy way to solve a difficult situation.

   The guards mostly left Fr. Early alone but the old priest got a lot of unwanted attention from his fellow inmates.  There were some truly bad men in jail and they would like nothing better than to take out their anger and misery on a pedophile priest.  Fr. Early became an easy target and he was beaten up several times for something as simple as refusing to give up his lunch money.  Once again, the guards could have intervened on Fr. Early’s behalf but they were overburdened as it was so they found it easier to look the other way.  And besides, no one on the outside was going to care that an inmate had a black eye or some bruises, especially a priest who had been convicted of pedophilia.

   Fr. Early still had his religion but little else.  He had the time in jail to take stock of his current situation.  Banshee had died years ago so Padre didn’t have to worry about anyone having to take care of his dog.  If he ever got out then he swore that he would buy another one.  He had lost teaching job, his part time work at the parish, and Camp Van Dorn had closed down.  So Fr. Early clung to his religion and found comfort in “The Book of Job” where God had tested a man’s faith by making him penniless and taking away his family and all material comforts.  There were a lot of parallels.   

   Fr. Early has to wait for months at the McPherson County jail before being transferred to prison because they had to find a bed for him.  The closest facility was Riverbend in Nashville but it is one of the toughest prisons in the system so Fr. Early petitioned to go to the federal correctional institute in Memphis.  The problem with taking the safe path was that Memphis was too far away for people to visit so Padre rarely saw people from the outside.  However, once he was transferred to prison, life became a lot better for Fr. Early.  He had a permanent cell with a permanent cell mate and he had his own bed which was not on the floor.  When he was in jail he was in constant fear of being beaten up and having his personal items stolen from him.  That rarely happened in prison because the inmates knew that they were going to spend years, if not decades, with the other men and they did not want to soil the nest.  There were some nuisances, like each man was only allowed one potato per meal because the guards were afraid that the prisoners would make vodka out of it, but that was a minor inconvenience compared with what Fr. Early had to put up with in jail.

   Meanwhile, another former camper had come forward to accuse Fr. Early of sexual abuse.  Instead of enduring another trail, the priest agreed to an Alford plea where he accepted an additional sentence of five years rather than risk a trial where he could face a maximum sentence of twenty years.     With the Alford plea, Fr. Early could maintain his innocence but it also guaranteed that he would spend the rest of his life in prison.  That was fine with the old priest because, even if he were free. he had absolutely nothing in Knoxville waiting for him.

   Considering the circumstances, it would be understandable for the priest to give up on religion.  In fact, not only did Fr. Early not turn his back on his religion, he used his time in prison to deepen his faith.  Just like when he was a teacher and the camp director, Fr. Early started his day in prayer.  He volunteered to work in the chapel and would eventually take over when the former leader died.  Old Jube was his nickname in prison.  No one seemed to know his real name and no one called him Father Early or even Padre.  He was just Old Jube.  And like “The Book of Job,” Fr. Early had his faith tested and was proud of the fact that his relationship with his Lord and Savior had become even stronger.  In quiet moments when he had time to think, Fr. Early liked to recite 2 Timothy 4: 7-8.  “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept my faith.  Henceforth there is laid upon me a crown of righteousness…”

   As the years went by the old priest became even more humble.  He had been shorn of all authority.  It was as though he had never been a teacher or the camp director; those days had passed and he preferred not to think about them at all.  His whole past had evaporated and even the infrequent visits by the church ladies ended.  To a casual observer, his personality seemed to have bleached out to the point where there was nothing left.  Actually, Fr. Early was working on inner peace by, in addition to reading the Bible, studying Buddhism and Taoism.  To live like the Buddha was to live a life without desire. Taoism encouraged Fr. Early to give up on his ego and to live in the present.  Fr. Early believed that by studying other religions he could add some depth to his faith.  He had become a wraith, living somewhere between before and after death; forgotten but still alive.  In retrospect, Fr. Early had spent his whole life trying to obtain this moment in time, this feeling of peace, and now that he had it only the grave would make him let it go

On The Hippie Trail

    When I had heard that Rick Steves, the famous travel writer who also has a television and radio show, had written a new book, I immediately picked it up because I want to whet my appetite for our next trip to Asia.  When everything closed down during COVID, Steves found that he had a lot of time on his hands and when he came across an old journal that he had written in 1978, he decided to turn in into a book.  “On the Hippie Trail” is about his journey that started in Frankfurt, crossed through Istanbul, Tehran, Kabul, and Delhi, and finished in Kathmandu, Nepal.  He travelled by bus, train, and plane, and even hitch hiked through part of the trail.  Little did Steves know that 1978 would be the last year that anyone could go on the Hippie Trail because in 1979 the Shah of Iran was overthrown and the Soviets invaded Afghanistan, so those two countries were too dangerous to tour.  All Rick Steves knew was that at he was up for an adventure and was ready to “catch memories like butterflies.”

   According to Steves, there are two kinds of travel; escape and reality.  Escape travel for me is to have my wife lay on a beach at the Carib Hilton in San Juan while I take long walks along the shore.  We didn’t learn anything or have any broadening experiences, we just got out of town for a week.  But now we are retired and are more interested in reality travel because we want to expose ourselves to places and people whom we would not experience at home.  Reality travel to us, for example, is to walk through the public market in Manila.  We had been to the crowded streets of Cairo and Saigon before but we only saw them from the comfort of our luxury bus.  Mingling among the sights, smells, and crowds of a major city made the experience come alive for us.  As Rick Steves wrote; “I want to go home a little bit different, a little less afraid, a little more thankful.”

   There are limits as to what we are willing to endure on our reality travel trips, however.  I like not having to worry about getting a hotel room or even being concerned about where we are going to stay, so my wife and I enjoy cruising. We like taking cruises because when we get tired of the crowds and the beggars then we can just retreat to ship.  When he was on the Hippie Trail, Rick Steves was young and had no money so he ordered his hotel rooms on the fly where he had to worry about mosquitoes coming through the screen-less open windows, cockroaches on the floor, and worms in the water.  He wrote; “you have to build a hard shell around you. If things get too heavy you must be able to pull inside and mentally repel the onslaught.”  It takes a strong person to repel the heat, the dust, the beggars, and the constant stares by the locals. 

     Rick Steves also wrote: “Europe is the wading pool for world exploration and I was aching to dive into the deep end.”  My wife and I like to joke that all white people have to go to Ireland before they die because almost all white people can trace at least part of their ancestry to that island.  We wanted to stretch ourselves by visiting places that very few of our friends have been to.  Brunei, for example, where we saw a whole village built on stilts.  Paul Theroux, another famous travel writer, once said that he learned that “when everyone tells you not to go to a place then that is the place where you should visit.” My buddies told me not to go to Mexico City because they were worried about crime and the drug cartels.  Yet Mexico City was wonderful and the people could not have been more inviting.  The lesson that I had to relearn is that the most powerful travel experiences are going to places where we are not supposed to go.

   Another great quote by Rick Steves is, “You can go to your grave wearing a big barbecue apron, spending your vacations on your boat at the lake, and think that life was good for you, and not learn anything, and really think that you are the center of this planet, which is fine. I’ve just got this curiosity to get to know the rest of the world.”  He writes that “a tourist goes to shop and take a selfie.  A traveler goes to immerse himself in the culture.”  Unfortunately, my wife and I don’t have the inclination to live in a village in China, for example, for a year.  We are not going to immerse ourselves in a culture.  All that we want to do is to visit a place that is new to us so that the simple things in life can take on a fresh outlook.  For example, we have used the “squat” toilets in Asia and Africa and it makes me appreciate the “sit down” toilets that we have in the U.S.  This is just one of the simple things that we can only appreciate by traveling out of the country.

   Finally, I like reading the books by Rick Steves and Paul Theroux because they inspire me to travel to places where I have never been to before.  My wife and I have made plans to visit Japan and Australia, for example, and I really want to go to India.  One of the reasons as to why I like to travel is because a change of venues triggers different memories and emotions.  It takes me away from my problems and allows me to write about something different, although my efforts in trying to describe the sights and experiences often fall flat.  Still, it is worth the effort.  When I get back home I type all of my notes into my blog in the hope that I can inspire others to travel.  

Fraternity of the Pitiful

   While George Scarborough and Scott Hancock were entering their senior year at Farragut High School, Bill Yancy began his freshman year in college.  His experiment in leaving home to live in a dorm only lasted for two semesters, but it was an intense period of personal growth.  He chose Union University because it was close to home and it was a small school so he would get a lot of attention.  The thing that Bill wasn’t prepared for was that each dorm at Union was known to have a select group of people in it.  For example, Joe Gilliam Tower held all of the jocks.  The other groups may not have had a whole dorm assigned to them but they could have a wing, or a floor, in the dorm.  The “Brain Trust,” for example, was the group of nerds who lived on the first floor of Breckinridge Hall.  These were the really smart guys who knew that they were going places in this world as soon as they left Union.  Unfortunately, because they were so smart and their competitions were based on their GPAs, there was always a lot in fighting between them.  Their leaders were the roommate duo of David Hunter and John Pelham and these two guys could not stop arguing with each other, mainly over trivial things.  They acted more like a married couple than best friends. 

         Somehow, the dorm director had decided that Bill should live in Breckinridge Hall on the floor where the outcasts lived.  There were a wide variety in this warren of unusual people, so much so that Bill would privately refer to them as the “Fraternity of the Pitiful!”

   Rich Taylor was the first person to greet Bill as he moved his things into the dorm.  Bill had already spent the summer before college living with his peers at Camp Van Dorn, so he wasn’t too nervous about moving in with a bunch of strangers and he only brought the necessities with him to the dorm, which led Rich to comment on how few things Bill had brought with him and how easy it would be to move in.  Rich Taylor was two years older than Bill and the best that could be said of him was that he was quirky.  His first two years in working towards his undergraduate degree had been spent at the Virginia Military Institute (VMI), but it was a bad fit because the strict discipline there disagreed with his free spirit lifestyle.  For example, Rich was always losing important things and would often admonish himself by saying “I spend half of my days looking for my keys.”  A psychologist may say that his propensity to lose things was a sign of rebellion of the strict military at VMI and of his parents domineering personalities.  He left the military school after two years, transferred to Union in his junior year, and was hired as a resident assistant because he was mature for his age and had an outgoing personality.  Rich was going to be an ESL (English as Second Language) teacher and had been to Colombia in South America to volunteer to teach English during the summer.  To the incoming students loading their things into the freshman dorm, Rich seemed seemed to be worldly.  And yet, to prove that he was just like the other students, Rich would say the oddest things.  For example, he was fond of quoting Mr. Rogers and old black and white movies that were rerun on the afternoon movies on television.  When he had a few beers, he amused himself by burping and farting as loudly as possible.  Needless to say, Rich wasn’t dating anyone but told the “Fraternity of the Pitiful” that if they ever got a chance to move to Colombia then they should do so because “the South American girls love white boys.”

   Bill’s roommate for his freshman years was Don Buell, a proud working class boy whose father owned Buell Trucking Company in Knoxville.  With a crackling wit and a boisterous personality, and whose brother taught part time in the English department, Buell could have easily become a big man on campus.  What gained him entry into the “Fraternity of the Pitiful” was the fact that he had scars over half of his body from when he threw gasoline on the barbecue to get a fire started.  A flame shot up through the stream of gas and exploded in the glass container that Buell was holding.  Knowing that he should stop, drop, and roll to extinguish the flames, Buell's mistake was that he did this procedure on the carpeting, which is made of plastic.  The carpet melted, stuck to his skin, and his body remained ravaged by the plastic that melted onto his skin.  He should have died.  Only through extensive physical therapy did Buell pull through and go on to lead a fairly normal life.  In fact, when he had his shirt on, the only scars that you could see were on his neck so he could pass for being normal.  However, when he came back from the shower, the grotesque scars could be seen everywhere on his body.  He rarely talked about it but when he did, Buell’s eyes would tear up with the knowledge that he had caused his own deformity doing something stupid and would spend the rest of his life paying for a momentary lapse in judgement.

   ​    Buell was a good roommate but Bill’s suite-mates, with whom he had to share a bathroom, were not such a good match.  Tom Jackson was one of the suite-mates.  He was a “Gung Ho” marine who kept his hair cropped short and who looked like he had just stepped out of a recruiting poster.  He paid his tuition with an ROTC scholarship so his post college career had already been assigned to him.  Aside from his studies, Jackson’s past time was working on a newsletter which he sent to local businesses in the hopes that they would pay a subscription fee.  It didn’t work but at least he tried to do something to distinguish himself.  Jackson went on to graduate, served his time with the Marines, and was honorably discharged.  He happily retired to Tampa Bay where he and the other jarheads whom were in his retirement community spent their days at the local dive bar.

   Jackson’s room mate, and Bill’s other suite-mate, was John Morgan and the two could not have been more different.  While Jackson was uptight, driven, opinionated, and angry all of the time, John was laid back and nothing seemed to bother him.  For some reason there were a lot of Puerto Ricans at Union University and John had become pretty good at mimicking their accent.  He would yell across the cafeteria, "I want your sister!"  It didn’t make any sense, and it was offensive, but John was so good at the accent and his imitations were so perfect that his friends laughed anyway.  The Puerto Ricans, who take the idea of family seriously, did not laugh.  John always took his joke too far and was on the lam for saying that he wanted to have sex with the sisters of some of the athletes in Joe Gilliam Tower.  He earned his membership in the “Fraternity of the Pitiful” by barely leaving his dorm room because he was afraid of getting beat up by the jocks and Puerto Ricans who didn’t appreciate his weird sense of humor.  John dropped out after a semester and no one heard from him again.

   Just down the hall was the room which held Simon Buckner and A.J. Smith.  Simon was the true oddity of the “Fraternity of the Pitiful.”  Tall and lanky, lacking in personal hygiene, and speaking with a high voice that always broke in mid-sentence, Simon dreamed of becoming a sportscaster.  It was an impossibility for him because, although he loved sports, he had no background in athletics and a demeanor which no fan would find charming or masculine.  When his friends kidded him about having an unusual name, Simon would just smile and say “my parents gave me that name for my birthday so I had to keep it.”  It was his one good joke and he used it often.  Simon never cracked open a book and spent most of his days sleeping or watching television, and he dropped out of Union after the first semester of his sophomore year.  His roommate for his first year was A.J. Smith, a redneck from Monroe, Ohio.  He liked to play his country music as loudly as possible and he could hold his liquor better than anyone that Bill had ever known.  Further, A.J. was as big as a mountain and could physically challenge anyone at Union.  He was a good man to have on your side and A.J. and Bill became close friends by spending a lot of evenings at the university center bar talking about girls and life, but mostly about girls.

   ​    Jim Stuart was the quiet and shy intellect.  He played soccer in high school, tried boxing in college, but also enjoyed his beer.  That last bit is important because it explains his friendship with David Porter, or Ports, who was a true alcoholic.  Ports was almost always drunk and if he wasn't drunk then he was planning on how he could get drunk.  He counted out his money in terms of how many six packs that he could buy.  All of this drinking led to Ports leaving Union and returning to Knoxville to join an Alcoholic Anomynous group.

   ​    Sam Chase was in the company of Ports because they both liked to drink.The difference was that Chase was a mean drunk.  Once, while in the park and waiting for a concert to begin, Chase hit his girlfriend a couple of times on the back when she was play wrestling with him.  If a guy does something like that them he could not be Bill’s friend.  Also, while in a drunken stupor, Chase stole a record player from the library and planned to sell it to get money to drink.  Much later in life, Sam Chase was convicted of shooting a police officer and was sentenced to 49 years behind bars for attempted murder. 

   Rounding out the Fraternity of the Pitiful were Preston Brooks, Richard Ewell, and William Pendleton.  Preston was a dwarf who didn’t have a room mate.  He was studying to be a librarian, and whose past times included reading Tarot cards for his friends.  Preston’s dorm room had to have some accommodations made so that he could do the daily grooming like using the sink, for example.  Then came Steve Hurlbut and William Pendleton, the former was an anal retentive book worm and the latter a drunken druggie.  They didn’t know each other before they enrolled at Union and were such an unlikely pair that they began to hate each other.  Within a month both Hurlbut and Pendleton had requested a new room mate and they moved off of the wing.

   ​    It was a diverse group of teenage boys.  However, no matter which group we were in, no matter how smart or slow, the subject that came up most was girls.  Their testosterone levels were at their peek and they stank of hormones.  Some guys played sports to relieve the tension, others buried themselves in their studies, still others drank to excess.  It was late adolescence at its peek and they were all flush with adrenaline and frustration.  Really, what a stupid time of life to throw young people together; it is a system designed for failure.  They didn’t know who they were yet, had not grown up, and brains still developing.  They thought that they were ready but they were not ready.  The thoughts that occupied their brains the most were about sex; that fact didn’t change whether they were a cheerleader, athlete, or in the Fraternity of the Pitiful.

   To escape the Fraternity of the Pitiful, Bill spent a lot of time at the library.  Convinced that he had ADD but was undiagnosed, he had to find ways to compensate for his limited attention span.  For example, Bill sat in the middle of the big room in the library.  The cacophony of all of the different voices meant that Bill could not focus on one conversation because they all drowned each other out.  Also, by sitting where everyone could see him, he would shame himself if he fell asleep.  Sitting in the wide open, where everyone could see him, forced Bill to concentrate, and he put on big headphones to telegraph to everyone around him that he was not to be disturbed.  This was when he learned to love classical music and jazz which he used for his “study music.”

   Dorm life was clearly not for Bill.  All of the unusual personalities, and the confines of living in a small room with a complete stranger, did not work out well for him.  After one year he decided to leave Union and go back to Knoxville where he attended community college.  It was a fresh start so he decided not to drink and not go to any parties.  The friends that he made were clearly not healthy people and it was time to get serious and leave behind the social experiment that was the Fraternity of the Pitiful.  After a chaotic year, Bill felt a need to get some normalcy in his life, so he decided to go back to Camp Van Dorn for a second summer.  It provided a respite for him; a place to retreat to in the summer months between the Union University experiment and before retreating to community college.  Bill needed to spend some time trying to figure out who he was and where he was going and Camp Van Dorn provided a place to relax and regroup