Red ants were also relentless when attacking; their bites felt like burning cigarettes against the skin. These communal insects are territorial, and they will drop on you from overhead tree leaves or attack you from the ground if you threaten their domain. Swatting the air and continuously wiping off your clothes in the bush might keep some bugs away, but it might also be your fatal mistake, divulging your position to those on the look out.
You can’t see snakes, spiders, and centipedes crawling around in the black of night, so there was no sense worrying about them, unless, of course, they landed or crawled over the men’s bodies. When that happened, it took all the fortitude they could muster to contain a blood curdling scream and stop themselves from unassing the area. Of course, there were no lights available to turn on and investigate; flashlights and lighters were prohibited. Light is visible at great distances during the night and serves as a beacon, letting the enemy know your whereabouts.
Imagine sitting in total darkness and being unable to see anything at all. It’s a form of sensory deprivation; your imagination switches into overdrive and provides images of what it thinks might be out there. Paranoia takes over and the mind begins to think of doomsday scenarios. Panic strikes and the adrenaline starts pumping quickly through the body, preparing it to fight or run. Running away had always worked when younger, and survival then was pretty much a given. However, in war, that’s not an option. The men had to depend on their training, and instead, face their fears or die.
It was still quiet around the position, and Polack had no reason for concern. Soon, he’d be able to get some shut-eye after he woke LG to take over the watch at 2100 hours. The jungle tedium once again took hold of Polack, his mind slowly pulling him back to memories of his childhood.
FOUR – SUMMER CAMP
I spent most of my early years going to annual summer camp, joining other boys aged 8 to 15 from the inner city of Detroit. We shared a three-hour bus ride up Gratiot Avenue to our destination, a few miles north of Lexington, Michigan. The camp was situated on the shores of Lake Huron, one of Michigan’s spectacular Great Lakes. There, I learned to swim, canoe, fish, shoot arrows at targets, braid colored plastic strips into lanyards and whips, draw, paint, and play baseball, basketball, and touch football. It was also there that I endured some of my most vividly frightening childhood experiences.
The camp, bordered by forest on three sides, contained spruce, pine, fir, oak, maple and birch trees. They rose up from the ground in no particular track or pattern, almost as if handfuls of seed were scattered to the winds centuries ago. Scrub brush, weeds, vines, and other ground-cover grew thickly between the trees, using the trunks as trusses to rise high and dense, and seemed impenetrable.
The camp proper was almost a quarter-mile into the towering hardwoods and was invisible from the main highway. A narrow road cutting through the trees was the only telltale sign of its existence. Blink while driving by at 55 mph, and you’d miss it. The asphalt-covered roadway snaked through the thick forest, just wide enough to accommodate the five buses filled with campers.
The buses had to bulldoze their way through the canopy, and, once encapsulated, the interior darkened as green leaf-filled branches smothered them. The foliage scraped against windows on both sides of the bus, resulting in an eerie high-pitched squeal. Some of the young city kids began to panic, as they had never witnessed anything like that before. Those who had been there before consoled those who needed it. After what seemed like an hour of traveling through the dark tunnel of trees – but in reality was a mere several minutes – we exited into a spacious clearing dominated by a colossal log structure. The buses followed the circular drive and came to a stop in front of the massive building, which housed the business office, infirmary, kitchen, dining hall and activity center. A welcoming committee gathered in front, shouting words of welcome and encouragement while helping us out of the buses and cross-checking names against a roster. Once everyone was present and accounted for, three-hundred anxious boys and five hungry bus drivers went inside for lunch.
The traditional tour of the camp took place next, during which the counselors proudly pointed out any renovations completed since the previous summer. As they passed through the recreation area, repeat-campers excitedly called out to friends they hadn’t seen for the entire school year, while the newbies took in all of the playground equipment in wide-eyed awe.
Directly behind the large building, the grounds encompassed an open area roughly a half-mile by a quarter-mile. The northern and southern boundaries were marked by dense tree lines, extending out to the rocky shoreline of Lake Huron. The camp proper included two baseball diamonds with bleachers, an oval four-lane dirt running track circling both ball fields, and two volleyball courts outlined on a section of tan-colored sand. A large slab of black asphalt was home to the camp’s basketball court; eight rims mounted to wood backboards atop ten-foot tall black iron poles sat idly, awaiting pickup games. Six hay bales were positioned on the ground along the tree line on the south side near the beach; a cardboard target hung from the face of each stack.
Fifteen small log cabins lined the northern tree line, and each was home to twenty campers. The buildings were separated by large plots of barren brown earth, dotted with green weeds and yellow dandelions. Four similar structures – showers and toilet facilities – were strategically positioned to their front about 50 yards away.
On the lake, a wooden dock extended thirty-five feet into the water, affording campers and staff an opportunity to jump or dive into the deep, rolling waves. On the beach, twenty shiny, silver canoes lay across the rock-strewn sand, flipped over and resting upon one another. Rays of sunlight reflected from the aluminum hulls and temporarily blinded anyone who happened to glance that way. Scores of orange life preservers and black car tire inner tubes were stacked neatly behind the canoes, creating a colorful wall between the camp and the lake. Two platforms floated in the water about fifty feet from shore, bobbing up and down on the passing waves. Several empty 55-gallon steel barrels, secured to the underside of both wooden ten-foot square rafts, provided enough buoyancy to keep them afloat. The older kids pretty much hung out and played King of the Mountain or some other roughhouse game on the rafts; the youngest campers squealed and splashed each other near the shoreline.
It was a picture-perfect, idyllic setting, excitement was at fever-pitch, and we all had a grand time during daytime hours. After dark, on the other hand, the nights became chilling and scary. Once dusk arrived, small campfires were lit in front of each cabin. The flickering orange and yellow flames grew in intensity, providing enough light for the twenty campers circling each of the 15 fire pits to see one another as they sat Indian-style on the hard ground. Every boy stared into the fire, seemingly hypnotized by the dancing flames, shadows, and light flickering across their excited faces. Every night during those two weeks, campers brought long, thin tree branches for toasting marshmallows; their faces filled with anticipation as the bag of spongy white treats made its way around the circle. Once the goodies were devoured, story time began!
The camp counselors (college students) must have taken a class to learn how to fuck with kids during camp. They usually told stories about werewolves, evil elves, deformed witches and deranged killers, who all resided within the deep ravines running along the two sides of our camp. These evil creatures were said to be extremely smart and knew to hide during the day. At night, they prowled the earth looking for kids to enslave and eat. In fact, some counselors testified that they’d seen these monsters wandering the campgrounds in the dead of night, watching them from behind trees and bushes until the coast was clear. Afterward, these college kids – entrusted to watch over us – prepared for their nightly antics.
For many, it was our first indoctrination to terror – there were many sleepless nights to follow!
Campers were divided and housed by age. As that was my first year there, I shared my cabin with nineteen other eight-year-old boys. Our parents were a hundred mile
s away, and the camp counselor’s residences were across camp near the dining hall, leaving us all alone on that side of the property. Even though counselors took turns checking cabins twice each night, we were basically on our own to fend for ourselves... future third graders against the monsters of the night. We would soon become a Band of Brothers.
Once lights went out on that first night, spooky sounds and howling erupted from the far side of the camp; it was nothing like Halloween night, but just as chilling to us first-time campers. Grunts, cackling laughter, and dragging feet moved about through the darkness, calling out to the campers. One of them even walked the length of our porch, growling, banging on the wall and pulling something heavy across the wood planks. (Note to self: “Check for damage and scratch marks in the morning.”) Twenty pairs of large white ovals shone in the darkness of the cabin, as eyes darted left to right, up and down, and followed the path of scary noises outside.
Everyone remained perfectly still in their bunks, afraid to make the slightest noise that might alert the monsters of their whereabouts. We remained on high alert for another twenty minutes until the sounds outside began to fade and then finally ceased. Unsure of our safety, we remained statue-like for several more minutes before getting the courage to lie back down.
Whispers began in earnest, questions circulating through the small cabin. I remember “hell” and “damn” were the only cuss words of choice at the time. None of us had a clue about the happenings outside and didn’t care to find out. Some of the kids turned on their side and pulled blankets over their head, confident of their invisibility and security within the wool cocoons. The rest of us lay on our backs – some trying to sleep and others deep in thought – contemplating our fate for the remainder of the night.
About an hour later, the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened: one of the kids needed to use the bathroom. Our cabin was the last in the row and farthest from the facilities, which were almost two hundred feet away. Under normal conditions, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but at that moment, we were all acutely aware of the monsters out there.
“No way I’m going out there!” the blond-haired kid in the last bunk against the wall volunteered.
Me neither!” another voice echoed.
Soon every camper in the cabin was shaking his head negatively and sharing his personal concerns with those on nearby bunk beds, each thankful for his own empty bladder. They carried on for the next ten minutes before it was quiet again and the campers settled down.
After another half-hour, a squeaking sound alerted those inside that the front door was opening. The old brass hinges creaked loudly in response to the shifting weight of the wooden door as it opened inward at a slow, creepy rate. As the crack widened, illumination from the half-full moon spilled into the room, eventually filling the frame of the open doorway. Eyes peeked out from under blankets, their owners uncertain and fearful about what might happen next.
Suddenly, the silhouette of a small, pajama-clad boy appeared as he stepped into the doorway. He didn’t move from that spot, but his head turned slowly from side to side scanning the grounds to his front.
“Ralph, is that you?” someone called from within the cabin.
The silhouette turned to face the campers, “Yeah, Jerome, it’s me.”
“What are you doing?” his friend asked. Others sat up again in their bunks, curious to see what was going on and thankful that a monster wasn’t standing in the doorway.
“Jerome, I really gotta go,” Ralph announced, his legs crossed, and his hands holding his crotch. “Look, everyone! I don’t see one monster running around outside, and it’s quiet,” Ralph stepped to the side and pointed out the doorway, “but I’m afraid to go by myself. Doesn’t anybody else have to go?”
“Yeah, I do now,” a small black in the third bunk commented, then pushed himself off the top mattress, landing gracefully as a cat. He stood there briefly scratching his short black curly head and looked around the cabin, “Who else is comin’ wif’ us?”
Ralph broke into a broad smile.
Jerome, Ralph’s redheaded friend, got out of bed, “I’ll come. Didn’t have to go earlier but I have to now. What’s your name?” he asked, facing the black kid.
” My name’s Leroy, but everybody back home calls me ‘Junior’.”
“Okay, “Junior” it is! Anybody else want to go?” Ralph asked.
“Yeah, I’ll come,” I said, joining the other three kids at the door. “My name is John. Seems like now I got to pee, too. Besides, now that we’re going in a group, it should be safer if there’s anything out there.”
“Count me in,” a chubby blonde kid announced. “I’m Michael.” He moved forward and joined the others.
The five of us gathered at the doorway, garbed in various versions of sleeping attire: underwear, old T-shirts, shorts, and the one boy lucky enough to own pajamas. Robes were non-existent in our world. Nobody wanted to be the first to step onto the porch into the cool night air. Clowning around, we created a momentary logjam, mimicking the Three Stooges before finally falling out on the porch together and taking in the scene.
What looked – to us – to be a mile away, a single bulb was visible over the facility door, casting a lemon yellow aura as our beacon and guiding light through the pitch black night.
It would be okay once inside; all we’d have to do was twist the knob of the single wall switch to bathe the interior in a light so bright it would feel like it was the middle of the afternoon again. Running through the blackness barefoot or in slippers was not advisable as the sharp stones, loose branches and roots protruding from the ground could cause some real boo-boos. We would need to tread carefully.
“What if one of those things the counselor told us about is waiting for us out there?” Ralph asked.
“Yeah, them bad boys have night vision and can see in the dark, you know!” Junior added.
“Then we’re toast!” I lamented. The five of us exchanged worried glances.
“We don’t have a choice, guys.” Michael pleaded, pointing to the side of the building. He continued, “I’m not peeing on the side of the cabin either.”
Attempting to sneak a leak on the side of the cabin was risky because of the extreme darkness. A camper had to move slowly, inching through the damp weeds, arms extended and flailing about to identify any obstacles to his front, much like a blind person might do in unfamiliar surroundings. Spider webs hung everywhere; these arachnids especially liked to build their webs in the spacing between the horizontal logs of the cabin wall. Their sticky homes were as thick as a wad of cotton, and we all knew what resided therein, so using the wall as a guide was out of the question. Mosquitoes were also plentiful, thereby limiting the amount of one’s pee-pee exposure time. The boys would have to wait until the absolute last moment before unbuttoning, as bites in that area would be bothersome for the rest of the night.
“Okay? On ‘three’,” I said. The five of us lined up at the edge of the porch like runners at the starting gates. “... One... Two... Three,” we leaped to our fate. Unfortunately, for these scared little kids, venturing out into the night proved to be worse than imagined. As mentioned, those college kids loved to create havoc under the cover of darkness.
Picture five eight-year-old boys walking at a fast pace, wide-eyed and extremely anxious, on their trek through the dark open area en route to the bathroom. Unfortunately, they didn’t notice one of the counselors lying in wait in a shallow depression, half-way to their destination. At just the right moment, he reached out and grabbed Ralph by the ankle, holding him tight and growling under his breath like a werewolf. Ralph screamed, crying out that something had grabbed his leg and wouldn’t let go. Who came to his aid? No one! The rest of us took off running without looking back. When hearing Ralph’s first shriek, the four of us elevated straight into the air like spooked kittens. We screamed in octaves higher than we believed possible. The four of us ran in place, banging into each other, until our little sn
eakers gained a foothold on the ground and launched us forward.
Several seconds passed before the counselor released his prey (Ralph) and crept away into the darkness. The poor kid hopped around like he was walking on burning coals, trying desperately to stay airborne and avoid whatever else might be on the ground. Suddenly alone, he panicked. His brain repeated instructions: ‘run, run, run, get away!’, but his body did not get the signals. Ralph, on the brink of crying now, took a deep breath and tried to pursue the others toward perceived safety. Much to his dismay, he had wet his pants and expressed his embarrassment after reaching the facility, standing breathless in front of his peers. Surprisingly, nobody laughed or made snide remarks about his encounter with one of those “things” or about wetting himself. The five of us stood huddled in a corner opposite the door, breathing heavily and seemingly in shock. Michael had tears streaming down his cheeks; he wasn’t whimpering, but he stared silently out through the screened walls, oblivious to the others. My body quivered and my teeth chattered as if the temperature were below freezing. Jerome quietly called for his mother, “Mommy, mommy, help me,” sitting in a puddle of water by the showers, unfazed by his wet behind. Junior hopped up and down in front of the urinal, careful to keep his stream on target, hopeful that the movement would help empty his bladder faster.
It took almost an hour to compose ourselves and get cleaned up. During that time, we learned more about each other and formed a bond, promising one another that we would never run away again and leave one of us behind. Later in life, that would prove to be a difficult promise to keep to our buddies and fellow-soldiers; yet honor would compel us to do so.
When Can I Stop Running? Page 4