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Back in the day, Steven and I had pulled a few stunts as a team. In Grade Seven, we’d spent a weekend down at the Watkins Glen Boy Scout Jamboree in upstate New York. We’d called our troop the Turkeys. Ours was one of fifty Boy Scout troops from upstate New York and southern Ontario, and we’d used our skills to compete in everything from raft-building to knot-tying to lighting fires.
On the final night of the Jamboree, five hundred kids had gathered around a huge bonfire. Scouts from each troop took turns in the inner circle, performing against the backdrop of the massive fire. One kid juggled, another did three consecutive cartwheels, followed by an astounding back flip, and landed on his feet. Two guys pretended they were Abbott and Costello and re-enacted their famous “Who’s on First” skit, and everyone cheered—it was that good, even though everyone had heard it a thousand times. After a weekend of tough competition and team-building exercises, the big group of boys at the bonfire had become an audience that was ready to laugh and clap and appreciate their performers.
Still, only a handful of Scouts had found the courage to perform, and Steven and I were up next. We’d rehearsed our two-song act all weekend, excitedly anticipating our Jamboree debut.
I’d borrowed a guitar from our Sixer. I was suddenly nervous, but one look at Steven told me he was elated to perform, and my confidence came bouncing back. We launched into that old chestnut, The Quartermaster’s Store song, with our new-and-improved lyrics:
There was Scouts, Scouts,
Bunch of creepy Krauts,
In the store, in the store!
A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, and we were instantly adrenalized. It didn’t matter that my voice was a little off-key or that the guitar was twangy. We were a hit with the crowd!
The Leaders were frowning at us, but I did notice one man trying to hide his laughter behind his sleeve. Our Leader Jack Robinson roared at us, “Watch your step, boys, or it’s over!”
As usual, we ignored him and continued on at the top of our lungs for the edification of our audience, who were hooting and hollering.
There was Joel, Joel,
Wailing on his hole,
In the Quartermaster Store!
Fuming, two Scout Leaders charged after us, as we ran around the fire, determined to finish the hilarious chorus. The kids ate it up! Rude lyrics and a madcap chase? What was not to cheer for? By the time we screeched out the chorus, five hundred boys were singing along!
My eyes are dim
I cannot see
I have not got my specs with me,
I have not got me specs with me!”
To dramatic cheering, the Leaders snagged us and dragged us over to Jack Robinson.
The crowd’s roar was so loud I could barely hear Steven begging Robinson to let us finish our act with Land of the Silver Birch, a classic Canadian folk song and perennial campfire favourite. Steven and I crossed our hearts to prove to Robinson that we’d keep it clean. Miraculously, he believed us.
My paddle’s keen and bright
Flashing with silver
Follow the wild goose flight
Dip, dip and swing
Dip, dip and swing her back
Flashing with silver
Swift as the wild goose flies
Dip, dip and swing
Land of the silver birch
Home of the beaver
Where still the mighty moose
Wanders at will,
Blue lake and rocky shore,
I will return once more
Boom-diddy-ah-da, Boom-diddy-ah-da,
Boom-diddy-ah-da, bo-oo-oom!
When Steven began singing, the crowed quickly settled down, and soon you could hear a pin drop. It seemed to me that even the peepers in the nearby pond went quiet. His tenor voice soared powerfully and beautifully, way beyond what you’d expect from a twelve-year-old boy. I almost stopped strumming, in my surprise.
I strummed along and provided shaky harmony for the second verse, as we’d practiced. I could barely keep track of my own part when Steven suddenly took it upon himself to improvise a haunting counterpoint to the original melody. I remember being blown away.
When we finished, everyone freaked out, and even the Scout Leaders gave us rousing applause. We bowed dramatically, aware that we’d stuck gold! What a feeling! I didn’t want it to end.
We grinned sheepishly at each other, realizing that together we had done something really special. Looking back, though, I know that that evening I felt the very first of many niggles. I sensed that it was Steven who had done something special, not me, and I’d just been lucky to come along for the ride.
