Wimachindink, Wingolasek, Witahemaway

I must now confess that I enlisted at age 11 in a quasi – military, super patriotic Christian organization, based on Indian folklore, replete with survival training in the woods, lifesaving techniques, endless marching, lots of flag saluting, public prayer, hazing, firearms training and psychological endurance tests. Some didn’t make it up the ranks very far before quitting, but I was proud to say we suffered no serious casualties except for one member who buried a hatchet in his calf muscle when chopping firewood. It was bloody when I saw it happen, but Steve’s only words were: “Uh oh!”  Clearly, he wasn’t following axe safety rules that day, so he had to endure our frantic first aid attempts before we got him to the hospital. After 4 long years, I advanced to the highest echelons of the organization, then retired at the wizened age of 14.

I was an Eagle Scout and Brotherhood member of the Order of the Arrow, Boy Scouts of America. Potawatomi Council, Troop 72.

Damn proud of it.

But it wasn’t obvious I was going to make it during my first campout. Well actually it was camping competition for the whole group of Boy Scout teams in from neighboring towns in the area. We competed at building towers with logs and rope, orienteering with map and compass, archery accuracy, obstacle courses and a few other things I don’t remember due to the brain cobwebs accumulated over the years.  My first campout, I was armed with a 60 year old back pack that traveled down below my butt, weighted down with more gear than my body weight, and an equally old and smelly sleeping back also handed down from my grandfather.

But I didn’t know any better, and the other recruits had nice new equipment with ergonomic frames, but mine had that hardened rustic look to it. And it became even more rustic and rank when we climbed a sand dune and the weight of the monster backpack flung me backwards, tumbling all the way down the dune and I couldn’t get up.  I was like a box turtle that flipped over, legs flailing in the wind while the older guys laughed.

Thankfully, I quickly learned the ways of the Indian: travel light, always carry toilet paper, and spray your musty old sleeping bag with cologne.

Now years later, I realize that once I advanced into the higher ranks, accomplishing more and more difficult tasks while becoming a seasoned camper, it truly was preparation for a potential career in the military or interestingly –

SPECIAL OPS!

Why? Well, here are a few examples to chew on:

1. Marching:  We were good at marching and became experts at marching in parades, around school assemblies and church auditoriums.
2. Rifle Range: We shot 22 rifles on the range deep in the bowels of the dark woods.
3. Silent Swim: This was preparation to be a Navy Seal.  I have no other explanation of why this activity was allowed. I’m not sure if it was voluntary or required for some merit badge, but it essentially was a swimming obstacle course in the inky black of the night in frigid cold mucky lake water. Of course, the prerequisite was you had to know how to swim.  Guards walked along the maze of docks while we spread lake muck all over our faces then slithered into the water, controlling our breathing while swimming under water, so as not to make a sound to alert the guards.  I remember this night fairly well, and I was exhilarated to have passed the course the first time without having to take it over.
4. Survival training:  Learning to live off the land
5. Mile Swim BSA: once you became a good enough swimmer, you qualified to swim a mile around the perimeter of the lake around buoys while lifeguards paddled their boats around in case anyone started drowning.  We were taught how to swim for endurance while avoiding the hundreds of hungry snapping turtles.  Life vests were not allowed, of course.
6. ORDER OF THE ARROW: This was kind of like National Honor Society for the Boy Scouts, and was designed to honor scouts who best exemplified the scout law. At a campfire ceremony, Order of the Arrow guys would come behind you and “Tap you out” and thus select you. Is this where the popular “Tap Out” phrase came from years ago? Anyway, I think I almost peed my pants when they tapped me out at that roaring campfire years ago.  Once you were qualified, then elected by your peers to enter this secret society, you had to pass some rigid tests to be allowed in.  This was called the ORDEAL.  Truth is, if I had known what was in store for me when I entered, I probably would’ve walked away at the tender age of 13.

Some say the ORDER OF THE ARROW was a secret society for the best campers and there were secret passwords and secret phrases etc. I don’t remember being told that at all.  I don’t think I was given any secrete passwords, but it was a society based on respect of American Indian traditions and ceremonies. The only words I remember, vividly, now many years later are:

Wimachindink, Wingolasek, Witahemaway!   They must mean something, right? Why do I remember these words?

Ok, I said them. Maybe the ghosts of the Order of the Arrow will change me to a pillar of salt for saying these words that no one understands. But I had to let them fly out into the world, spelled as they sounded to me years ago, to enjoy and wonder about, now many years later. To those Order of the Arrow scholars, if there are such beings, who are offended, don’t be small, instead – teach us their meaning and enlighten us old scouts.

During the ORDEAL, we entered the woods and were immediately led around at night by a bunch of older guys in Indian headdresses by a rope, and we were not to speak a word to anyone for 24 hours. If we did, we would flunk the course.  We had to build fires alone in the dark despite the wet ground while these guys watched and hazed us – waiting to see if we would succeed with limited material while under pressure. Then, we were separated and marched away individually, with an “Indian” who led us out into the woods, alone to sleep under the stars without a soul near us to talk to.  I remember laying there in my still smelly sleeping bag on the damp ground, completely alone, not knowing where I was, just staring at the stars, getting out of the bag only to relieve myself. Oh yeah, and hordes of zinging mosquitos.  Then, it started to rain so I built a makeshift shelter.  The next day, an “Indian” again, without a word, found me and escorted me back to the meeting place.

Under the hot sun the next day, we had to remain silent while we did a full day of hard labor, kind of like slave labor as I remember it, painting buildings or doing some type of construction work with very little to eat, perhaps one hard-boiled egg and a piece of bread and some water. If you spoke or complained, you were done.  It was tough, we were tired, smelly, hungry and frustrated at not being able to communicate, but, here’s the key:  After all this, another challenge had been defeated and we walked away as winners again!  We were now proud members of the Arrowmen, Order of the Arrow.  Later, maybe six months later, I was then advanced to the Brotherhood rank.

I am convinced that Boy Scouts, attaining the Eagle Rank, and Brotherhood in the Order of the Arrow was the best thing that I could’ve done at the age, and it prepared me immensely for the struggles and challenges of life ahead.

And, like every other ending of a camping trip on Boy Scouts, we prayed together and pledged allegiance to the flag. There were always flags waving and we were proud of ourselves, our brotherhood, and what we had accomplished in those few short years.

I have no idea what the Boy Scouts are like now. I hope it’s still a great organization. But I don’t even know if Scouts are still allowed to pray in public at these events or sing patriotic songs but I tell you what, this country needs this type of experience for its youth.  Sure, times change and some of the activities that were offered to us then wouldn’t be politically correct, and in fact, may be considered unsafe for coddled youth.

But the truth is this: I see the culture of America eroding, the love of God and country is no longer honored like it was and hard work and sacrifice have given way to expectations of entitlements, handouts and shiny trophies for all who simply breathe or show up when it’s convenient.  No, the Boy Scouts may not be the answer to the weakening of our culture and values, but at least for me, it set me on the right course at a young age. Sometimes, we must sleep in smelly sleeping bags and not whine, before we can advance up to the majestic heights of the mountain top.

God Bless America! We must save her and protect her!

SRC