... fish had been lost on the way. Even though it was an organized camp, they gave us boys the chance, many times, to cook our own meals. I remember one morning, a very cold morning when we were assigned breakfast. Us boys were content and would have been more than happy to skip one meal to save anyone [of us] some inconvenience and maybe stay in bed a little longer. But with the encouragement of a very energetic scoutmaster, we got up and watched as he cooked some of the worst oatmeal that I've every seen [or tasted]. Now seeing that we were already upset at our scoutmaster for dragging us out of bed, none of us were eager to eat the oatmeal just to make him happy, so we skipped breakfast anyway. But there was no way to get him to clean up too, so I was assigned to take care of that oatmeal. These camps had what we called your basic two hole latrine, but of course for privacy they had strapped black plastic around each of these. Well, I had this oatmeal and nowhere for it to got but down the latrine. So I took the oatmeal and off I went. Now this pot, since it was full of oatmeal was pretty slippery, and since no one ate the oatmeal it was pretty heavy too. So when I started scraping out the oatmeal I stepped back because of the smell. The pot [then] slipped out of my hand and down the latrine. Now I remember running back to camp to get all the guys to come see this pot at the bottom of that latrine. But our fun, or at least my fun, was cut short when my scoutmaster threatened my life and sent me back for that pot. I remember spending the rest of the day in that latrine, praying that no one would come in a see me sitting there with my fishing pole and the biggest lure I could find trying to save that pot. Well, I finally go the pot back to my scoutmaster. I remember the joy I felt when I finally returned that pot. Of course, I felt the joy of accomplishment and I was happy when the boys stopped laughing. But my joy was complete when I found [out] that we didn't have to eat our scoutmaster's cooking anymore, since even he, considering where that pot had been, was afraid to eat anything out of it. These sort of experiences helped me to realize why a life scout like me that needed only a few [more] badges would have lost energy and interest before finishing [his eagle scout rank].
By the time I was fourteen years old I was full of energy and needed something to do all the time. If bored, I would walk around and bang my fists on the counter to get a rise from Mom and use some of that energy trapped inside. I collected rocks and started art lessons [again] from a skinny man who smoked a dig fat cigar. Another great energy consumer was that of constructing home-made rockets with Robert Dewey. We convinced our parents to buy saltpeter which we would dissolve in water and dry on newspaper. We would saturate the water [with the saltpeter, dip in the newspaper [one sheet at a time], and iron it [a sheet] until dry. [We would then] Roll up the sheets into one solid bar which we would wrap in tin foil to serve as a rocket booster. Our engines became better, more powerful, and more spectacular, but none ever got more than ten inches off the ground. So we spent a short time with real rockets and [then] moved on to something else.
As teachers, we traveled to the Spokane World's Fair, flew small planes, and played basketball on our ward team. In ninth grade, I didn't pick on seventh graders but I did start taking trombone lessons from a professional instructor named Carson Sharp. I competed successfully in several district and state music festivals. I won two awards in the Utah State Fair for work I completed in shop [class] and began the seminary program. The Doctrine and Covenants was being taught and I enjoyed marking my set of scriptures and listening to the stories of our early saints. One of the most rewarding experiences I had in Junior High came from my serving as a zone leader for our [seminary] class. They had arranged ...
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