CAMP WHITE

I joined the Boy Scouts in 1951 when I turned 12. My brother Dave was 16 with the rank of ‘Life Scout’. He would earn his ‘Eagle’ badge in the next year. I was a ‘Tenderfoot’. Troop 219 was sponsored by the Hickman Mills Community Christian Church. John Lousier was our Scout Master but the ‘Mojo’ man was Shug Allen. He was a short, stout, middle age, blue collar man who knew everything. He knew things even my dad didn’t know. He was the consummate camper. He could camp in the woods, in the desert, on the mountain; he camped in all kinds of weather, any time of year. He stayed dry and warm, he ate well and the bugs left him alone. Shug’s son Jerry was already an Eagle Scout and one of my brother’s good friends. 

My first Boy Scout camping trip was in the summer. On Friday Jerry and Dave led us on a 5 mile hike to Walker’s Farm near the south end of what is now Longview Lake, east of Grandview, Missouri. By the time we got there Mr. Lousier and Shug had opened the gate, set our tents and bed rolls out and started a fire. All we had to carry on the hike was a back pack with lunch, a poncho and a canteen of water. For me, anything that could go wrong, went wrong. I needed help with every task and then I still screwed up trenching my tent, building a fire pit and got so dirty I had to take a bath in the creek before they would let me eat. 

By mid winter we were hiking a different direction, west on Red Bridge Road to Blue River Road then South. Again, when we arrived at Camp White our leaders had unloaded all of our supplies and had a big fire roaring in the cabin fireplace. Camp White was nestled in the woods on the bluff overlooking the Blue River flood plain. The cabins were frame construction on rock walled foundations with high windows and a dozen double deck, military bunk beds lined up around the walls. Two big tables with benches were in the middle. That would be our home base for merit badge projects and outdoor skill building over the rest of the weekend. At night we hiked along trails on the bluff and came back along the river, searching for animal sign and listening for owls. Me being the youngest tenderfoot, I got a lot of brotherly, well intended teasing. Naturally I was assigned a top bunk. When I climbed up, the mate below would shake the bed frame and hit me with his pillow, making my assent as difficult as possible. My struggles to get into the top bunk earned me the nickname, ‘Monk.’ They said I looked like a monkey swinging on a vine. The ‘Monk’ name stuck with the scouts but not at school.

Over time and into my memory, when I drive out Highgrove Road past Walkers Farm, I look down into the big gully where we pitched out tents and think about Shug Allen, the great fire builder. Down on Blue River Road I’ve searched for years, looking for some trace of Camp White. It was up a drive, in the woods, out of sight when summer’s trees were leafed out. In the winter, I wasn’t sure where to look and I was driving so not finding the bones of Camp White was a mystery that would have to wait. Last winter, by some stroke of coincidence, I noticed some rocks up in the trees as I was driving by. I slowed down, took note of exactly where we were and deemed I’d stop there sometime when the weather was nice and go for a walk. Today was the day. It took several drive-byes but the old pillars at the gate were still visible. I parked the car and started up through the trees. In recent years that strip of two-lane has been made into a parkway with athletic fields, off road bicycle trails and picnic areas. I crossed several bike trails, climbing up the bluff. The limestone and mortar pillars were still in tact with a steel beam across the space to keep 4-wheelers out. It didn’t take long to find the old, stone wall foundations. That was all that was left of the camp. When my scouting days drew to a close, I never went back. I have no idea how long it remained in use or when the buildings died. Few of the present trees were big enough to have been there when the camp was buzzing and the stone foundations were melting into the bluff like Mayan pyramids into the jungles of the Yucatan. A few shrubs and vines were starting to leaf out but visibility was good and trekking through the brush was easy. 

I only stayed a few minutes, long enough to search the remains of three cabins but it was like a time machine. Peeling back over 60 years came easy and I remembered the green and white paint scheme inside the cabins, the smell of wood smoke and coleman lanterns. I recalled the foolishness that stretched well into the night, after lights out. Shug let us have our fun but he was all business at 6:00 a.m. when we began the new day. You can’t relive those experiences but you can recall; you can reconstruct in you mind’s eye and it’s like peeking through a window, seeing yourself in an old, silent, black and white movie. There was a pillow fight and they were all after the little kid on the top bunk. He was yelling at them to leave him alone but in the dark he was loving every minute.