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CAMP HELL
THIS WEEK’S ISSUE:
NEWS cis FEATURES
City Dope 5
Athens News and Views
Why all the ruckus about three-lanmg streets?
When I was a kid, an older first-cousin got married in
South Georgia at the same time as Boy Scout camp in North
Georgia. My mother and father and sisters were driving down
to the wedding, but, uncharacteristically, they let me choose
whether to go with them or go to camp with my friends. It
was a hard choice, because I looked up to my cousin, who,
though I was nowhere near old enough, let me drive when he
visited and basically treated me as an adult. I also wanted to
go along with my family, because we always went places like
that together, and they were going by the beach for a few days
after the wedding. Nevertheless, faced with this unaccustomed
choice, I opted to go to the mountains with the Scouts.
As soon as the school bus pulled away from the curb, I
knew I had made the wrong choice (as I certainly would have
felt, too, had I gone with my family). A devastating homesick
ness seized me, but there was no turning back.
A highlight of any camp trip—Scouts, 4-H, etc.—was a
stop at some roadside stand that sold, in addition to candy
bars and Cokes, specialties of the area, like rattlesnake eggs
or fresh apple juice. You could buy a gallon jug and try to
make it last all week at camp. At this particular stop, the jug
I purchased with my spending money turned out to be "hard"
cider, that is, fermented—alcoholic. And many of us bought a
particular kind of cigar for furtive smoking, soaked in rum and
wavy: "rum-dipped crooks."
I should add here that our Scoutmaster was not able to
accompany us to camp this time. His place was filled by a cou
ple of college boys, who kindly consented to pick up the slack,
which no doubt accounts for the cider and smokes.
Those amenities were meant for after-hours. The real Dur-
pose of Scout camp was classes to earn merit badges, along
with athletic competitions, swimming, campfires and weav
ing lanyards and bracelets from those long strands of plastic
purchased at the camp store along with our Zeroes and Milky
Ways. Soon after we arrived, though, we realized that our col
legiate keepers didn't really care whether we attended merit
badge classes or anything
else. So, faced with the
“Most of US took the choice between classes and
path less traveled bv.” doir,gnothing - most of us
r 1 took the path less traveled
by. Merit-badge classes
would have occupied my mind, but the empty time that envel
op^ us merely gave free range to my morbid fantasies.
My father was a notoriously fast driver, which helped make
missing my family grow into the certainty that they would be
killed in a fiery crash. Perhaps if I were with them, I would
see the oncoming car and warn my father in time, but I was
not there, and they would die. There were no cell phones, so
I imagined how some Scout leader or state patrolman would
come looking for me at camp with the news, if anybody alive
even knew where I was.
Not even the pornographic playing cards somebody pro
duced could erase the foreboding from my mind: in fact, they
made it worse. We sat around the tent at night with our crooks
and our cider peering at naked women by flashlight. These
cards were what would now be called "vintage porn." The hair
styles were the same as those in my mother's college year
books from the 1920s, which, along with the cider, no doubt
accounted for the blunt shock of recognition the night I turned
over a seven of spades and saw through the smoky haze my
mother as a young woman, the spitting image of her picture in
the yearbook. Heartsick on top of homesick, I wandered aim
lessly, unable to grasp this new realization but determined that
my Methodist mother's death would seal her secret with me.
The week finally played out, and I was now sure that the
authorities were waiting to tell me when I got home. The long,
dread-filled return trip ended when the bus turned the corner
and my anxious eyes spotted, instead of the authorities, my
father, leaning against our still-intact car. He was okay. It
had all been a nightmare. None of it was true. The realization
flooded me with relief, followed immediately by guilt for the
wasted week. I had chosen to go off with the Scouts, but I
had earned no merit badges to show for it. I couldn't even tell
my father about the one terrible lesson I now realized I had
learned at camp: that it is absolutely true what they say about
>p jdi e mind being the Devil's playground, and all.
Pete McCommons ' :i
Athens Rising 7
What's Up in New Development
The office of ACC Mayor needs to be strengthened, not eliminated
ART
EVE^T
Grub Notes 9
Fill ‘er Up
Honey B's Deli in Normalfown supplies a good, quick option to the area
Kiddie Dope 11
News from the Juice Box Set
The kids will play when the sun's at bay
IM1US0©
Burns Like Fire 13
Punks Just Wanna Have Fun
Veteran punk rorkers head to the studio with Less Than Jake's Roger Manganelli
Green Thrift Grocery 14
Where Art and Fun Collide
Another Flagpole article on "Green Thrift Grocery'—except this time we re writing
about the band
LETTERS 4
CITY DOPE 5
CITY PAGES 6
ATHENS RISING 7
CAPITAL IMPACT 8
! WORLDVIEW 8
! GRUB NOTES 9
MOVIE DOPE 10
| KIDDIE DOPE 11
WILLIAM ORTEN CARLTON ... 12
THREATS & PROMISES 13
BURNS LIKE FIRE 13
GREEN THRIFT GROCERY ... .14
SONGWRITERS IN THE ROUND 15
THE CALENDAR-: 16
BULLETIN BOARD 20
ART AROUND TOWN 21
COMICS 22
REALITY CHECK 23
CLASSIFIEDS 24
EVERYDAY PEOPLE 27
EDITOR & PUBLISHER Pete McCommons
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VOLUME 25
ISSUE NUMBER 27
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