Boy Scouts of America – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

Mr. Harty Memorial

By Mitchell Slepian, Chairman, TMR Scout Museum

Thursday, November 2, Staten Island scouting was hit hard. No all of scouting was hit hard. We lost Mr. Harty. Francis J. Harty was his full name. Mr. H. to most of us. The entire scouting community feels the weight of his loss. He was a scoutmaster for a few decades, Aquehongian Lodge #112’s (112) advisor for five years, Vigil Honor (Bear Lover was his name. I named him), Silver Beaver, and more. There is not enough space in the Grand Canyon to list everything he did and how many lives he influenced.

A few months ago, I was in Alpine Scout Camp for Kintecoying Lodge #4’s (K4) spring meeting. K4 is the merger of the five borough legacy lodges. I miss my 112. My memories of it, many shaped by Mr. H., will live in my vaulted aisles of memory forever, back to Alpine. I was walking along the trails by the dining hall and taking a few pictures. I noticed garbage on the trail. Some water bottles and candy wrappers were on the floor in the middle of our precious woods. Disgusting. I picked everything up and tossed it in the trash can, which was not far from where the trash was thrown. It brought back memories of walking the Camporee Field and trails in William H. Pouch Camp, Staten Island, NY, with Mr. H. Every time he saw trash on the floor, he would pick it up. Sometimes, he may have carried a plastic bag from the local supermarket just to stow away the garbage defacing our precious woods. I mentioned it to a buddy who was a member of Troop 8, the troop Mr. H led for most of his scout life.

Thanks to him, dozens of boys soared to the rank of Eagle, and a few became chief or officers in 112. The number of people called to the Vigil was above average.

My time as lodge chief when he the advisor was terrific. I am now thinking of when we produced our lodge’s newsletter. It was a team effort. My committee chairs mailed or handed me their type reports. No email, social media, or texts back then. Simpler times. I sat on my Atari 600XL and typed everything into a newsletter. Then I gave it to Mr. H. He got someone to run off about 200 copies. A few of us gathered at his house and ate the world’s best chocolate chip cookies baked by his wife, Mrs. Betty Harty. Her Vigil name is Busy Baker. No one bakes like she does. We stapled, folded, and labeled the newsletters. When we were done our trusted advisor would get them over to Mr. George Abdou, another great member of our scouting community, who worked at the Manor Road Post Office. George made sure they were mailed out to our membership. It was a great night of true scout spirit. We may have had to suffer by having a Mets game on TV. But nothing was better than working together—one of the things he made us do.

I remember when we did the “Hernia Patrol” weekend up at Ten Mile River Scout Camps. He decided the lodge should work the weekend and go on a canoe trip. He wanted us to work hard and have fun. A bunch of us youth went up for a few days. We worked hard. Everyone but I worked to get Camp Aquehonga ready for the summer.

Me? I went to Kunatah and worked on the docks at Rock Lake. I was told not to jump in when we finished working. Did I listen? I will let you decide. Then I took a hike to Chappy, Picture Window, and Indian Cliffs. I returned to the rest of the gang, and we had a great BBQ and hung out all night. Bright and early the following day, we paddled the Delaware. Michael Poller was in my canoe. Mr. H. paddled solo and watched us all. We jumped into his Jimmy (remember those cars) and returned to Staten Island—another successful work and fellowship weekend.

As I moved into the adult phase of my scout life, he was there. He made sure I made the transition. He did that for hundreds of Staten Island’s scouts, and we all miss you. But we will continue to be active and help the next youth group. We know you want that. You will always be in our minds as we hike the easy and challenging trails. Because of what we learned under his leadership, we will complete the rugged trails and be stronger.

Farewell: Larry Leshay and other scouting greats

By Mitchell Slepian

Yesterday, I had the sad occasion to attend the memorial service for a dear friend and mentor “Scouuuut” Larry Leshay. I first met Larry during the summer of 1983 when I went up to Chappy Hill, Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR). My parents drove me up to camp for the first time. We pulled into Kunatah and were given permission to drive on the dirt road over to Chappy.

We climbed muddy steps and went into the “Palace,” our camp’s office. There was Larry sitting at his desk with the camp bank and his Smith-Corona typewriter. I made the rounds of the first day of camp and went to sleep. Actually, I didn’t sleep. I never slept in camp.

The next morning, I woke up much earlier than wakeup call and sat at the picnic table adjacent to the Palace and Larry’s leanto (a three walled structure with screening on the front that served as our sleeping quarters). Larry was coming back from his morning shower. He saw me and said what are you doing here? I said, I got up early and came here. He decided I was a vampire. And let the other scouuuts know. From that morning on, I was Chappy’s vampire. That name stuck with me during my entire TMR experience. Last summer, at the reunion weekend, people were talking about the day I became a vampire.

Under Larry’s leadership, I spent the best years of my life on the Hill. I became a patrol leader, senior patrol leader and was on staff for two years. Larry and I had many adventures. During my early years in camp, I earned several merit badges from him. One winter, I mailed him merit badge work. I hand wrote it. Those were the days before everyone had a printer or could email it. I didn’t have a typewriter as 12 or 13 year-old. My penmanship is poor. Up until the day we lost Larry, he still reminded me of the struggle he went through to read my work. He said I understood the badge requirements but it took him days to figure out my writing.

Every Saturday, we would swim in the Delaware and Ten Mile Rivers. Most of us would hike to and from the rivers. Larry always got a ride in the “Whomobile” or whatever beat up auto served as the camp car. Once Larry got back to the site, we would often stroll down to Rock Lake and I would paddle him around in a canoe.

Eventually, I was one of the people driving him around for the camp food pick-ups at the Kunatah or headquarters dining halls or the rides out to Peck’s and other stores. One day in the “Truckster,” a beat up blue station wagon, I got so lost. We wound up in Hawley, along the Lackawaxen River in Wayne County, Pennsylvania. We laughed about that trip forever.

One of the finer things about Larry was his graciousness and love of his scouts or “little funkys” (he used to broadcast a weekly or daily show “Uncle Funky”). I used to play Meteu in the Order of the Arrow ceremonies. So did he. I did many ceremonies in TMR. Sometimes older scouters would stand the during the ceremonies with the scripts and penlights to see how the kids playing the roles were doing. Then after the ceremony, they’d tell you what mistakes you made. This infuriated Larry. None of these people ever did a ceremony and in most cases that was the first time they ever looked the script. Larry always let us know that. And let the kids know how well they did.

Our last summer was 1988, the OA’s highest honor, the Vigil was bestowed upon me three weeks before camp started. Every Wednesday night was OA night. We wore our sashes to the dining hall. Troops would line up and they would ask all of the Vigil members to march in first. There weren’t many. One night it was only Larry and me. Everyone knew being Vigil meant the world to me. Much more than being Eagle. Of course, Larry helped me reach Eagle. They asked all the Vigil members to walk in. I started walking and realized I was alone. Larry hid in the back with his sash. He knew what it meant to me to be the only Vigil to enter when they called us.

That summer ended a few weeks later. But our friendship went on to the end. I will always have him in my thoughts.

Larry’s passing leaves a huge hole in my soul. I feel like we have an empty bucket. A little more than three years ago, Dr. Karl Bernstein, Larry’s closest friend passed away. Karl was TMR. In 2016, Staten Island Scouter Marty Poller left us. Marty, a Meteu taught me the role and how to build the fire. He was Aqeuhongian Lodge. His guidance when I was chief is immeasurable.

My dad passed away shortly before these great scouts. Of course, he played a monumental role in my scouting career. He had a similar scouting history.

I feel empty. I cling so much to my childhood. I cherish the learning, love and fun times I had with all of them. Until we meet again. Keep the fire burning.

Camp Memories

By Mitchell Slepian

BlowhornNew Type Layer copy — Blowhorn Rock, Chappy

I recently spent five days in the place I called home as a teenager – Ten Mile River Scout Camps. It was a phenomenal experience. I saw people I haven’t since the 80s.

We went to the remains of our favorite sites: Chappegat Hill, Kunatah, Picture Window, and Indian Cliffs. I can safely say for myself and the rest of the gang I was with, those sites will always be holy to us. Most of them are no longer operational. Being there flashed us back to our youth. That’s when the trails were teeming with scouts climbing the trail to Eagle.

While in camp, I spoke to current staff and campers. I relayed what we did. Bear in mind, this is when the whole world was not striving to be 100 percent politically correct. We were boys being boys. We wore our scout uniforms, Champion tee and sweatshirts, OP shorts, Gotchas, and other 80s fashion. We blasted Squeeze’s “Pulling Mussel’s from the Shell” out of our leantos. If we won our competitions, earned our merit badges we got to go to Carousel Park, Beach Lake, Pa. and ride go karts and dune buggies. We got to eat the “red sauce” in the now closed El Monaco’s, White Lake, N.Y.

We gave each other nicknames. They were based on how we looked, acted, and smelled. Some kids never showered. I’m sure that’s still the case. We roughed it. We threw each other out of canoes. No one ever got hurt. We all knew how to swim. In the middle of the night, we raided each other. We had food fights.

We had a five-seater tip pan latrine (the willy). Everyone sat down together to go. We played baseball in the willy. Scoring was based on what we produced… We took ice cold showers. That’s until we “housed” a hot water heater from an abandoned site. We ate gross camp food. Thankfully they still do.

Kids that misbehaved in the dining hall were “nuked”. They had to scrub the place after the meal or wash pots when we concluded our weekend BBQs. Some scouts spent all Saturday night at the willy’s sink scrubbing. As a camper and staff member, I dished out and suffered the punishment.

On our canoe trips, as we paddled down the Delaware River, we loaded up our canoes with dead fish. At different points, we bashed each other over the head with the fish. I still long for a dead fish fight.

While I was sitting in the new Keowa Dining Hall, I spoke about these memories with those around me. Their jaws dropped wide open. No one could believe me. Some were grossed out. I guess dead fish fights and old school willys don’t appeal to all. These days, the camp has flush toilets and traditional showers. I’ve heard their canoe trips are more traditional.

These days, the scouts have fun. Lots of fun. It is a little different. But it is their fun. They are creating memories. They are soaring to the rank of Eagle Scout. Whose memories are the best? That is in the eye of the beholder. One day, these scouts will come to alumni events and tell their stories to the young staff and scouts. I’m sure things will have changed during that course of time. How much? Time will tell.

Volunteering

How many of you volunteer? I’ve been involved with this since I was a little kid. Well, not sure the Cub Scouts was volunteering. I joined because I wanted to copy my fadder (That’s what a former Chappy camper used to call his dad. I think he still does.) I’m Eagle. He’s not. But from Cubs through the Boy Scouts the emphasis was helping others. We had to do our good turn daily.

I have always given back and been involved as an adult leader. These days I don’t do as much as I used to. I guess because I am no longer a Staten Islander. In my teen days when I was chief of Aquehongian Lodge #112, one thing I noticed we had a steady group of adult leaders volunteering. My job was to get the youth involved. One of my favorite leaders used to scream, “We need more boys. We gotta keep this program going”. I miss him. I’m proud to say my meetings usually had about 100 people attending. Most were scouts. These days we are lucky if we get 10 people in the room.

I had my core group of leaders and volunteers. I appointed them all. One once said, “Yeah you had to be nice to him and have lunch with him the Tottenville High School Library and rehearse the ceremonies. Then you got any position.” Of course, he is one my close buddies. Perhaps that was the case. Or perhaps it was not. I sense someone may comment about how many trunks I used to carry in camp? But that’s in another post.

Many of the fun adults are still around. Some left us for the great campsite in the sky. I hope if I ever get there it looks like Chappy Hill. The Hill I remember. That was my summer camp.

I never stopped volunteering. In my frat, Tau Epsilon Phi, I led tons of community service projects on SUNY New Paltz’s campus.

I was a trustee on the Ten Mile River Scout Camps’ Museum committee. I handled their PR and edited our newsletter, “Smoke Signals”. I could do more with the group. They are my camp family. Many of them watched me grow up. Some of these scouuuuts (our camp joke) met me when I was 12.

About six years ago, I had my best Thanksgiving. I was in Tel Aviv and worked with the kids from ELEM/Youth in Distress in Israel. ELEM’s N.Y. office does a lot in the U.S. to help these kids. I am part of it.

I‘ve noticed in all my activities is that no matter how hard you try to bring in new blood, it is always the same group. Whenever new people come to help out we usually wine and dine them to the extreme. Offer them cool patches. Whatever it takes. A few comeback.

Sadly it usually the same bunch that grinds it out. There’s nothing wrong with that. We all know who will be late and what everyone will drink? And of course, who will complain about something.

We are the ones who will arrive hours before the event and stay hours later. We will be the most stressed and sometimes the dirtiest. But it is us who will have the most fun. So join the party. You won’t be let down.

Imagine if we could double our attendance? Just think of how many more Eagles would soar? Or how many distressed Israeli kids could have a better life.

Dock Test

If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were divided up based on a scout’s ability to swim. We had non-swimmers, beginners and advanced.

On the first day of camp, our Chappy Scoutmaster Rodney would give us a tour of camp. It ended with the dock test. We started going down the muddy steps of the Hill. You can’t beat the Hill. We hiked through camp.

Rodney showed us the nature lodge, we went to the Kunatah Dining Hall, where we might have rocked-n-rolled or discombobulated. We stopped at the trading post for Bon Bons or a Coke.

Eventually, we made it down to Rock Lake. By the way, it rocks.

All of us eager scouts went up to the docks and gave our name to one of the dock guards. One by one we jumped into the lake and we were charged to swim three laps of any stroke. But we were forced to conclude with the elementary backstroke. Then we had to tread water for about a minute while holding the Scout sign and repeating the Scout Oath, Law Motto or some other scouting stanza. Our dock tester decided what we would do.

Those of us that passed all parts were given a red and blue buddy tag. We needed to check in with this when we went swimming. ‘Ya see you and your buddy would give it to dock guard who was manning the Buddy board. You told him which area of the lake you were jumping into. He attached the tag to the Buddy board’s respective section and you were off for your swim.

Sounds simple and fun, right? Well, I was always an advanced swimmer. In fact, the first merit badges I earned as a Chappy scout were Swimming and Rowing. You think I would have an easy time with my dock test.

Well, well, well.

One year, perhaps ’85 or ’86, a man who I call My Leader gave me my dock test. He had been a waterfront director in the now closed Kotohke or D-1 section of camp. Sadly, these days Chappy and Kunatah are closed too. During his day he spent a lot of time on the lake and used it for swimming, boating and well? I have nothing more to say.

Back to my dock test, my leader asked me to jump into the lake and begin. I easily did the laps. I do a great elementary backstroke. I learned it as a young Cub Scout age in Lake Ohrbach, Pouch Scout Camp, Staten Island. I figured I was home free. Then came the treading test.

I followed My Leader’s orders and held the Scout sign upside down and began repeating the Scout Law no big deal. Oh, I forgot to remind you the esteemed leader is not into it. I will never say what being into it or not into it is.

But for some reason that morning he became into it and made these interesting facial gestures while I treaded. By the way, he made me tread far longer than it would take to repeat the Scout Law, Oath and Motto. We skipped the OA Obligation. I’m not sure why. Then all of a sudden strange noises started to emanate from his smiling mouth. I was aghast. Eventually, he said I could climb out of the lake onto the dock. I speedily did that. He gave me a passing grade.