by Ed Nelson
After introducing themselves they told me that they were aware of my background, but more importantly the idea I had for the Camporee. They thought it was great.
Mr. O’Leary then called another gentleman over. He introduced me to Mr. Benjamin Tolson. He is Lieutenant Colonel Tolson of the 6th Ohio Voluntary Infantry (OVI), a civil war reenactment group that is headquartered in Dayton Ohio. Mr. Tolson was really excited about the possibilities.
Reenacting the civil war was a big thing right after the civil war. They had refought the battle of Gettysburg with the original soldiers up to the fiftieth anniversary in 1913. After that with the original soldiers dying the reenactments dropped off. There were still a few groups around, but they really needed new people. Mr. Tolson saw this as a chance to publicize his group.
He told me he was pretty certain they could provide a hundred soldiers for the Camporee. They would ask units from all of the states to participate. He even thought they could get enough Confederate units that they could have a mock battle. Cannons and a Cavalry charge were definite possibilities.
This would require them to set up their own camp within the Boy Scout reservation. This would be the biggest event they had since he joined. Why he might even be given a brevet rank of full colonel or brigadier general for the event. I could tell this man was excited and ready to go.
The meeting was called back to order. The Camporee events were next on the agenda. Each district gave their recommendations with a boy doing the presentation.
My district the Blue Jacket District was left until last. I think this was deliberate. My presentation was short and sweet. It was the same as I gave at the District meeting.
Mr. Stanton took the lead and explained that they had a telephone call earlier in the day about this idea and they had located Mr. Tolson who agreed to attend the meeting and share what was possible. It turned out a lot was possible.
Everyone was enthusiastic about the idea. That is until it was realized that Camp Birch with four hundred acres might not be large enough. That was a real problem until a local scouter said,
“Well you know Richard Smith owns nine hundred acres next to Birch. Maybe he would let us use it.”
Mr. Stanton apparently was used to making things happen because he left the meeting and came back five minutes later with a smile.
He announced, “Dick Smith has agreed to let us use two hundred acres next to the camp. He planned to leave these fallow this year so it is no problem. We just have to leave it as we found it.”
Not a hard demand of boy scouts.
What really surprised me was that the Council Commissioner suggested that I be part of the liaison with the 6th OVI. This was agreed to by those present without a vote. I was just appointed.
Again I had no choice, there was a pattern emerging here. I remembered Dads words about two hours a month. But again it seemed like fun, so why not. The next meeting was in one month.
Mr. Tolson, or Colonel Tolson and I exchanged addresses and phone numbers. On the way home Mr. Harris was excited about the fact the reenactors were going to be part of the Camporee. He was very interested in the patch which would be awarded the attendees.
As usual for a Camporee there would be a patch design contest for the boys. His son was in scouts and would have an entry. I wondered whose entry it would really be.
Did I mention Mr. Harris was a graphic artist? It was really no big deal, the winner got a free pass to the Camporee and bragging rights.
Somehow it still didn’t set right with me.
It was ten o’clock when we got home. Everyone was asleep, Mary was sleeping and I think my parents were taking the opportunity to get their rest.
I went to bed and read for a few minutes about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer but couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Friday was still miserable. I thought it might rain for the rest of the winter, except for when it snowed. I was probably done running until spring. Well that wasn’t true. I was going out to California the last week of January. Now that was a cheerful thought on this gloomy day.
A lethargic Mary was at the breakfast table pushing her food around. Mum was trying to coax her into eating it, but no luck. Mary looked the same, a mess of chicken pox. Many of the blisters had broken and should be scabbing over soon. Mary was on the mend whether or not she knew it.
Dad had confirmation that the patent lawyer Marvin Christensen in Columbus would see us on the Friday after Thanksgiving. He wasn’t thrilled about going into his office on that day, but was new enough in his practice that he couldn’t turn down the work. He was charging one hundred dollars for his time.
As Mum put it, “He should do it and be bloody well happy about it.”
Mum could talk pretty rough at times.
School was quiet all day. All we actually did was learn stuff. How boring can you get? One noticeable lack was that Sue Barton wasn’t talking to me in Algebra. I missed having someone to talk to between classes, but didn’t mind the rest from the chase, me being the chased.
I stopped down to see Mr. Donaldson for a few minutes to see if the parts were still on schedule. They were. When I walked out the front door there was Steve Simmons standing under the same tree as yesterday.
I walked over to him, “Hey Steve, kind of wet and cold to be standing out here.”
“I know, but I can’t figure anywhere else to wait.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“The mission doesn’t open its doors until five o’clock.” It was now four o’clock so he had another hour of this misery.
“I didn’t know you were staying at the mission.”
“Well it’s not something you brag about. My Dad ran out on us and we couldn’t pay the rent so we had to go there. It’s just Mom and me. She works at Woolworths now so we will be able to rent a place after the first of the year. She is saving for the deposits and furniture. We lost everything when that drunken bum hit the road.”
“So is that why you were always in detention?”
“Yeah there are a couple of us who have no other choice. Heck’va note when acting up in school is the only way to keep dry and warm.”
“Man that’s tough, I hope things get better for you soon. In the meantime you could walk down to the library.”
“Man I feel so stupid! I should have done that, it is even on the way to the mission. I’m going to let the members of the Lost know.” he replied.
I really thought about that on my way home. Dad was doing some paperwork at the kitchen table. This had become his office much to Mum’s dislike. I poured a cup of coffee and told him about Steve Simmons predicament. Dad thought for a minute.
“You would like to help them wouldn’t you?”
“Yes I would Dad not in a public way, but could they be the tenant of the nice duplex you made an offer on.”
“Tell you what, I will ask around and see what sort of reputation his mother has. If it is good we can let them move in right away without a deposit. They will have to come up with furniture, but it sounds like they might be able to do that now. Since we have a line of credit now with the bank, we are going to close by next week.”
“Thanks Dad, now there is one other thing.”
“What is that Rick?”
“I would like to see how much it would cost to reopen the detention program. According to Steve there are other kids who need the shelter.”
“Well it really is your money so why don’t you find out how much it will cost, then we can talk about it some more.”
“Thanks Dad.”
Mary had finished breaking out and almost all of her blisters had broken. She was getting her appetite back. Teddy was getting better also he didn’t have as many red spots. I mentioned that to Mum.
She laughed, “I will have to be careful when washing Mary’s sheets.”
That night I read some more of the “how to be a dictator” book. I begin to understand why they started calling the devil, “Old Nick.”
Chapter 13
Saturday the weather was good enough that I could run. Afterwards Mary was actually eating breakfast. She still wasn’t her normal bouncy self but she was doing better. Denny and Eddie were in with their Saturday morning cartoons. They would be there until lunch or they had a fight, then Mum would kick them outside to play.
Mum informed me I was babysitting tonight. She and Dad were going over to my Uncle Ross’s to play euchre. I didn’t have any plans, so it wasn’t a big deal.
Dad and I spent the day with Uncle Jim using his truck to hall trash from the duplex to the dump, or the tip as Mum called it. We got one of the garages open and behind a wall of useless mattresses we found a household full of wooden furniture.
There were chest of drawers, bed frames, tables and chairs. There was also a sofa but it had mice living in it so it went straight to the dump with the mattresses.
Dad told me, “Those would go real nice in the other unit we are buying. Rick, plan on cleaning and polishing all of this furniture on Sunday. After we close on the other unit we will haul this stuff over.”
“So you had a chance to ask about Mrs. Simmons?”
“After we talked I remembered who they are, Sharon Simmons really got a raw deal from that bum she married. She has always been known as a hard worker and honest as the day is long. I plan to let her Pastor know that we have an opening, and that no deposit will be required plus the place is partially furnished.”
It was a long day, but that place looked a hundred times better with both units cleaned out. Tomorrow I would clean and polish the wooden furniture. Then we could open the other garage.
Mary fell asleep early. Denny, Eddie and I played a cutthroat game of Monopoly. That is they cut my throat. They got all the properties early and refused to trade with me. After I was out they packed the game away. They watched TV until ten o’clock and then went to bed without being told.
I read about how to play one power group against another and what you should do if you inherit a kingdom when young with regents vs. taking one by conquest. This guy invented realpolitik.
Sunday morning we were up early, it wasn’t raining, so I was able to get my run in. I ran up by the airbase. I noticed they had replaced the length of fencing that had been cut. The woods across the dirt road had been trimmed back at least another fifty feet. There were also new light poles up. It looked like they were going to keep the perimeter of the base lit up all night.
Mary was much better at breakfast. Her blisters had all scabbed over so she was no longer contagious. She was actually eating. She informed me that Teddy was getting better, but that it had been a close run thing.
Was my little sister quoting Wellington?
Dad and I went over to the new rental unit. It took longer than I thought to wrestle the furniture out of the garage. Dad helped with that, since it wasn’t raining, I could clean and polish outside. Of course after pulling all of it out of there I found more junk that needed to go to the dump.
It took me almost until lunch time to clean the furniture and empty the garage. I stacked everything that would go to the dump outside and moved the furniture back into the garage for now. After we closed on the other duplex next week, we would then move everything to the unoccupied unit.
I opened the other garage before breaking for lunch. There was a wall of empty boxes blocking any view of the interior of the garage. A strange sight was revealed after we took the boxes out.
The garage had an oil changing pit. Before hydraulic hoists to lift cars up, they would dig a pit, narrower than the distance between most tires. It would be about twice the length of the car and a depth of about six feet.
There would be steps at one end, in this case the garage door end. You could then drive your car all the way into the garage, walk down the steps and be under the car to perform the service. I remembered one like that in Huntsville owned by Tubby Raymond. It was a nasty place, because when you took off the oil plug you would have oil everywhere.
The one in Huntsville had a dirt packed floor which was soaked with years of oil. It must have been a fire hazard. It had been around since the 1920’s. The gas pumps had the little glass windows with the ball so you could see clean gasoline flowing when pumping.
This pit was different. I don’t think it had ever been used. The cement floor had no sign of oil being spilled. With the door full open there was enough light in the pit that I was able to see well enough to go down the steps. When I got down the steps I could see shelves lining the pit. They were all empty.
At the far end of the pit there was a stout wooden door. Not like a house door, more like a castle door. Strong iron bound planks. The door was locked with the largest padlock I had ever seen.
I went and got Dad who was using a power sander on the wooden floors. We looked around but there was no key that we could find. It would take a crowbar to get that lock off.
We closed everything off and went home for lunch. We would be back later to force the door open.
At home we had hotdogs for lunch. We told Mum about our find. We all wondered what might be behind that closed door. It had been hidden fairly well, who knew what treasure we might find there. Of course Mum decided she needed to be with us, Mary was well enough to go outside, and there was no way that Denny and Eddie would be left behind.
The Jackson family departed on its great treasure hunt, armed with a crowbar, hacksaw and flashlights. We talked a mile a minute about what we would find. It only took five minutes to drive there.
Before trying to open the door every inch of the pit was examined, but there was nothing there. As before we wondered why it was never used, unless it was a disguise for what was behind that door.
Finally Dad tried the crowbar on the hasp of the lock. There was no way in the world that he would be able to pry it off. So the hacksaw came into play. He and I took turns for fifteen minutes cutting through the padlock.
It finally yielded. When we opened the door it was a great disappointment. There was an empty room. It was about nine feet by twelve feet. It was under the backyard of the house. The only clue of why it was there was an old broken crate. On the side was burned in ‘Seagram VO Canadian Whiskey’.
We were all disappointed. Dad concluded from the crate that this was a bootlegger hideout during prohibition. We searched the room thoroughly for any other secret compartments, but found nothing. Looking on the bright side the garage didn’t need cleaning.
Dad decided that he would get a new padlock and keep this room for our use. It was clean and dry with no evidence of bugs or rodents. It would be a good storage unit.
On the way out Mary asked, “What is that?” as she pointed at the ceiling.
We had been so busy looking at the pit we never thought to look up.
Mary was pointing at a rope that hung from the ceiling. Most garages in Bellefontaine had open rafters that would be used for storage of screens and screen doors during the winter. There was an actual solid roof over our heads. The rope that Mary was pointing to was a pull down staircase.
Dad pulled it down and we went up. Again high hopes were dashed, there was nothing in sight. Eddie made the next discovery a small suitcase like those used in the 1930’s was under the eaves.
I crawled in and pulled it out. It wasn’t locked, so I snapped it open. It didn’t have much in it, a newspaper article about a bank robbery in St. Mary’s Ohio on October 3, 1933 and a hand written note that said, ‘The guard changed the dental records, you owe me five hundred dollars.’
The note wasn’t signed and there was no indication of who either party was. Mum and Dad felt like that was one of those mysteries that would never be solved. We gave up for the day and went home.
Mum didn’t feel like cooking so Dad went to Shively’s and bought pizza for dinner.
I continued reading the dictators manual. I did agree that when a country kept ready in peace it would stand well in adversity. Overall it sounded like a lot of work to be a successful
dictator. The author was long on how, but didn’t explain why one should bother in the first place. If you were born to it, I could see, but not to strive for the position. I wouldn’t want to end up hanging upside down from some street lamp post.
Chapter 14
Monday the weather was rainy. It was light enough that I ran anyway. I found that I missed it when I couldn’t get out. At breakfast we talked about the “Pit” as we called it and the mystery of the suitcase.
Dad said he would inquire if there were any long term neighbors who would remember the residents of the 1930’s. It was only thirty to thirty five years ago. There might be someone still living that would remember.
The first thing I did when I got to school was to go to the office and ask for an appointment to see Mr. Gordon. When asked the subject I told the student working the desk that it was a private matter. That would get the rumor mill going!
Mr. Gordon walked in just then so Gail Innis, the senior working the front desk told him I was requesting an appointment on a private matter. He gestured for me to follow him.
We went into his office, where he removed his hat and coat placing them on a coat rack in the corner.
He got settled behind his desk. “Now what is this about Ricky are you having some sort of a problem?”
“No Sir, it is about the detention program?”
“What about it.”
“I would like to find out how much it would cost to start it back up.”
“It cost ten dollars a week, two dollars an hour for five hours. There are eighteen weeks left in the school year, so one hundred and eighty dollars. Why are you asking?”
“Are you aware there are some students who deliberately get detention because they have nowhere else to go?”
“I’m aware that has been known to happen.”
“It happens all the time. I have talked it over with my parents and we as a family would like to fund the program.”