CLOSE CALL ON THE SKYLINE

CLOSE CALL ON THE SKYLINE(L DOUGLAS ST OURS) CLOSE CALL ON THE SKYLINE

After false starts and fits
integration arrived at my Boy Scout troop
on the small wiry frame of a black youngster named Lonnie.
As skinny as he was strong, he spoke, when angered or slighted, with his fists.
My rebel self survived long enough in uniform to make one Camporee,
a big deal weekend in those days where troops from all over central Virginia
gathered for several days of competitions involving tug-a war, canoe racing,
orienteering, archery, wood carving, and sundry other merit badge stuff.

Lonnie's color drew stares. In keeping with the competitive spirit
and Lonnie's aggressive proclivity, I suggested that he agree to challenge
the toughest scout in each troop. With Lonnie's diminutive stature
I figured it'd be a cinch to sucker bigger boys into a fight meaner than they could expect.
So careful to steer clear of the queerly squeamish scout masters,
I escorted and promoted matches with Lonnie at neighboring encampments.
I was a cocky, immature, shameless jerk out for kicks
at the expense of both Lonnie and his unsuspecting opponents.

Sure enough a boy twice Lonnie's size said "bring it on"
and right off Lonnie battered the big oaf into a blubbering punching bag
shedding a torrent of tears but fortunately not a single drop of blood.
With a change of heart I pulled Lonnie off him.
He was still swinging...his arms like windmills which I finally wrestled to his side.
"THAT'S ENOUGH DAMNIT! DAMNIT MAN! CAN'T YOU SEE HE'S HAD ENOUGH!"
Unfazed Lonnie asked "who's next?"
"No more fights man!"
Boy did I reap the whirlwind...I just didn't realize it blew in such a small package.
Frustrated Lonnie threatened to beat my ass
but all the fuss attracted the attention of our adult overseers.
The ruckus I instigated got Lonnie confined to his tent.
As for me my disrespectful attitude and past incidents of bad boy behavior
already made me a marked man among the goody two shoes.
It seemed every time I turned around the overbearingly solemn scout master scold
was ordering me to do pushups as punishment until after six months
I dropped out...allowing me more time to shoot pool at the smoky hall in the alley on the corner.

In the early spring months after I quit the organization and was almost fourteen
Tommy invited me to tag along with a group of Explorer scouts on a hike
in the Blue Ridge south of Swift Run Gap. So I was out adventuring again
leaping babbling brooks and crunching
through the remains of snow
under trees so bare
against the white hills,
their trunks appeared to be
like hairs on a polar bear's back.

After a long and bone chilling day we piled back into our chaperone, Mr. Strang's station wagon
One exhausted man driving seven tired boys with no seat belts
on a gray homeward journey with freezing rain rolling in.

It was off season and we had the sleeping mountains to our selves.
I settled down behind the driver peeling and sectioning my last orange
when suddenly an explosive crash and the grind and smell of tearing metal
sent our bodies flying...my head bouncing against the ceiling
until I managed to duck onto the floor and ball up, covering my vitals
with oranges embedded in my nose, ears, and hair.

Mr.Strang had dozed off, slumping over the steering wheel.
The banging woke him up but too late, he could not regain control
as the car veered up a steep embankment,
caught and dragged a Rhino size boulder
which ripped the guts out of the undercarriage and the engine.
That boulder killed the car but it hung us up
saving us from tumbling down the mountainside
or even more spectacularly a launch into the sky above a scenic valley.

No cell phones in those days and absolutely no traffic
with the sleet turning to snow and the day becoming night.
Instinctively we boys scrambled up the studded flanks
to gather kindling to build a fire for warmth and to make smoke signals.
Mr.Strang was cussing at his destroyed car before noticing
us scattering into the frigid wilderness and he blew his stack.
"GET THE HELL DOWN HERE!" We tried to reason with him to no avail.
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT! YOU'RE NOT STARTING ANY FRIGGING FIRES!"
It was an hour before Mr.Strang was able to flag down a ranger on patrol
who had only enough room in his Jeep for Mr.Strang.
He gave me Mr.Strang a lift twenty miles down the road to a payphone.

It was well into the night before our parents arrived in a full scale storm.
My father was quite rattled by the sight of the car
teetering just a few feet away from a sheer cliff.
In our car dad shook his head and said he wasn't surprised.
He related how he observed Mr.Strang nodding off during company staff meetings.

My dad was staring in the direction of the high beams when I remarked
"Gosh a crackup on the skyline with eight people dead would have made national headlines!"

Dad said nothing
and then as we descended the summit,
I remembered that I did not belong and
that's when I noticed the snow had changed to rain.

by L DOUGLAS ST OURS
August 2010