The Jimmy Barnes Tribute Page

This column was supposed to be about peculiar camping ‘essentials’, weird stuff you could buy with all that money you made from following my Economic Recovery Plan (see last issue). But I am being thwarted, mainly because no one will test these fantastic products for me.

Actually, I had only found two fantastic ‘essential’ products so far, and one was quickly eliminated, once I came to my senses. This would be the ‘Off-Road Commode’ (www.kotulas.com), which is a padded toilet seat that fits into the towing receiver on your truck or even your 4-wheeler (‘Not for use when vehicle is in motion’ and ‘Can get slippery when wet’). The web site has many splendid testimonials on how the Off-Road Commode has opened up the great outdoors to people who want to travel far from the nearest bathroom. You just pull over, retrieve the toilet seat, slip the slug into the hitch receiver, and squat. A bucket underneath is recommended. However, since this fine newspaper winds up mainly at campgrounds, and many golf carts have receivers bolted on to the rear frame, I saw trouble looming. I mean, really, how far from a bathroom are you at any given point in a campground? So whoever bought one of these would do it for a joke, which is fine. But then this jokester might have more than several tasty beverages late one night and decide to actually use his new toy. He would probably find this hilarious, maybe even for several nights, until caught and punished. But I would be the one blamed, for writing about it. That’s why I decided to ‘eliminate’ it from any further research. Besides, they’re 40 bucks (but Free Shipping!) Buy your own if you want. But don’t say you heard it from me.

The other product seemed to ‘stand’ a better chance. This is the P-MATE (www.pmateusa.com), brought to my attention by my friend Therese, from New Lenox, IL. The P-MATE is described as a ‘Disposable Stand to-pee Device’ for women, and after the owner of the company, Karen Diamond, graciously sent me some free samples, I saw that it is indeed just that, a folded cardboard device that opens up to sort of a kayak/funnel-shaped thing. Theoretically, a woman moves her underwear aside and pees into the kayak opening, and the pee goes out the end of the funnel six or so inches away. No squatting is required. This product is recommended for campers, hikers, boaters, FBI agents, private detectives, and all sorts of other users, including, and I quote: ‘the transgender population’. It seems to be quite popular in Europe, and with travelers to Egypt, especially near The Great Pyramids, where apparently the public bathrooms consist of large holes in the ground that women must straddle. The web site has a lot of pictures, one of which shows a poor woman hiker cowering at the base of a tree while a humongous bear the size of King Kong snarls over her. Ha! If she only had a P-MATE, she wouldn’t have been caught sitting down on the job.

I quickly assembled, at least in my mind, an Esteemed Board of Reviewers, which would consist of Mrs. Scoop and our friends Nancy, Therese, Sue, and Karin. The first three could be counted on to give me serious, no-baloney opinions. Sue and Karin, on the other hand, would hopefully agree to try out their P-MATEs only after evening cocktails at the campfire. This would ensure that the P-MATE was tested under some real, authentic conditions. However, this is where I started to get thwarted…

Things started out badly when Mrs. Scoop looked at her P-MATE and said she would rather pee in the bag it had been shipped in. Therese’s report would have to wait until she got her sample in the mail. But I had cornered Sue, Karin and Nancy on Saturday, with Nancy suspicious but Sue and Karin agreeing to try a late-night test. On Sunday morning I ventured out to get their verdicts. Karin’s RV was dark at 10am, with no sign of life. That was a good sign, I figured: late-night revelry must have occurred. When I pulled up to Sue’s, she was on her deck having coffee and bottled water. She started laughing and held up her P-MATE, opened but unused.

When I asked her why she hadn’t conducted the experiment, she said: "Karin and I both tried, together, behind the shed. But we were laughing so hard we just couldn’t…ah…release. Then we went down to the bar with them, and thought we could use them to scoop popcorn out of the machine, but someone grabbed them and took them around to show a bunch of people. We were still laughing too hard to even think about trying again last night. But I did drink a lot of coffee already this morning and I’ve got my bottled water, so I’ll try again today. By the way, Scoop, I talked to Nancy yesterday, and she thinks you’re up to something evil. She said she’s not touching it until she checks out the website and makes sure it’s a legitimate product."

So as of now I have no testimonials. Plans for a P-MATE column are looking dim. Fortunately, I have some good news, so let’s move on for now…

Beware!

Yes they are, and sometimes they can be a lifesaver. Len and Cherie Biancofiore of Hoffman Estates, IL, have had a seasonal site at Blackhawk Campgrounds here in Milton for 16 years. Len was born with only one kidney, and after getting diabetes, Len was forced to go on dialysis three and a half years ago. He was in desperate need of a kidney transplant. On the waiting list in both Illinois and Wisconsin, Len’s chances did not look good. He is Type ‘O’, and only a donor with the same blood type could be used.

Five years ago, a friend and fellow seasonal camper brought Angelo and Sherrie Anemone from Bloomingdale, IL up to take a look at Blackhawk. They were soon seasonal campers themselves, and got to know Len and Cherie through their mutual friend. "We just started talking," said Cherie, "and we stayed in touch even during the winter. It turns out we only live about 20 minutes apart back home, so we had things in common. One time I happened to mention about Lenny being on dialysis.

"We were talking again one day back in January of 2008, and Sherrie asked how Lenny was doing. I told her they still couldn’t find a match for him, that he was a Type ‘O’ and there just wasn’t anyone out there right now; not even his own family members were Type O. There was a pause on the phone, and then Sherrie said ‘Let me get back to you,’ and ended the call. I didn’t think anything about it—she takes care of her four kids and a grandson, takes care of the house, and helps run the family business, a restaurant. She’s always busy.

"Sherrie called back in a few days. She said: ‘I’m type ‘O’. Let me see if I’m a good match.’"

Len and Cherie were stunned. "We started crying, both of us," said Cherie. "We couldn’t believe it." We asked her why she was willing to do this, and she said, ‘I’m a donor already (on her driver’s license); why do I have to wait until I die to give somebody an organ? I’m going to give Lenny a kidney now.’"

Lenny and Sherrie both started taking the required tests in April; in March, Sherrie found out she was almost a perfect match, maybe even better than a Type ‘O’ relative to Lenny would have been. The testing would wind up lasting until October. "Sherry never complained," said Cherie. "Even when she needed to re-take a test, she left her restaurant or house and was at the hospital as soon as she could, sometimes within the hour."

The surgery was originally scheduled for the beginning of September but was delayed until October due to more testing. On October 16^th, 2008, Lenny and Sherrie checked into Loyola University in Maywood, IL, asking for and getting adjoining rooms. "The doctors were fantastic," said Cherie. "Sherrie was in a lot of pain, but that girl can’t sit still. She tried to get out in three days, but we talked her into staying, so she went home in four days."

I asked Lenny, now age 62, how he feels. "I feel good," he said. Then he laughed. "I’ve got a girl’s kidney now, so I’m not sure if I should sit or stand to pee. Maybe that’s a cheap joke, but believe me, just to be able to and not be on dialysis, to me, that’s a really good feeling."

Lenny and Cherie want to let you know that a donor’s medical expenses are covered by the recipient’s insurance. "It doesn’t cost you a dime, and you’re automatically put on the waiting list as a recipient in case you should ever need it."

They’ve never stopped thanking Sherrie. As Lenny put it: "How could I possibly thank her enough for doing such a thing?"

Sherrie now is dealing with her husband Angelo’s own medical problems. "He collapsed one day," she said, "and he technically died two times in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He has a defibrillator implanted now; his heart is only working at 30%." Sherrie asked the hospital donor-coordinator if, as a recipient now, she could get a heart and give it to Angelo. The coordinator thinks her status is good only for a kidney and only for her, but is looking into it.

Sherrie is 45. Angelo is 51. Their restaurant is DiVita’s, at 3753 W. Belmont Avenue, Chicago.

Lenny and Sherrie

Meg Webb, of Blackhawk Campgrounds and Grayslake, IL, graduated Summa Cum Laude from Arizona State University on May 13^th. "It was a pretty cool ceremony," she said, "and I don’t think you can top it: President Barack Obama gave the speech and Alice Cooper sang ‘School’s Out’.

"It was at Sun Devil Stadium. The ceremony was set for 7pm, but we had to be at the stadium at 2:30. The temperature was 107 degrees. We had to walk up the side of a mountain first to go through Security, so that made it worse. The security check took another half hour; they went over you with the wand, checked your purse, and had you unzip your gown. With that heat, most of us were wearing as little as possible. And they certainly know how to make money at the stadium: it cost me $20 for a bottle of water, a big lemonade, and a pretzel. Cheese for the pretzel was another $2, but I skipped that.

"Before the speeches, there were student performances. There was the female

a cappella group, the student mariachi band, a dance troupe. Last was Dash Cooper’s band, ‘Runaway Phoenix’. Dash is Alice Cooper’s son, he’s graduating next year. So a lot of us were thinking, well, is his dad coming out? Alice lives in Phoenix, so it was possible. At the very end of the set, Dash yelled out: ‘Welcome Alice Cooper!’

"Anybody who could still stand in that heat got up and started clapping and dancing. He just sang the one song, but it was great."

Meg’s mom, Katie, added: "Alice had the eyeliner on, but not anything real grotesque. He looked good; actually, I think he looks better now than he used to."

Meg said she happened to glance up during the entertainment at about 6:45. "I saw Air Force One flying over, so I figured things were good to go. There were the usual speeches, starting at 7pm, and Obama was supposed to speak at 7:30, but it was about 8:15 when he came out. He waved, shook hands, and he gave a good speech. He was funny too, kidding (ASU) President Crow he’d better watch out for the IRS, I think because ASU didn’t give him an honorary degree. But he also warned us that ‘you guys aren’t going out into an easy world’, and there would be a lot of hard work ahead."

Meg said the only bad part was that darned heat. "I was in the bleachers, and those metal seats were really hot. I felt like I was getting heat stroke. I leaned over the banister, feeling sick, and there was a Secret Service agent down there looking out at the stage. I told him I thought I might throw up. He sort of jumped and said, ‘Can you warn me first?’ I said: ‘You’ve been warned!’ But he was safe, although he kept watching me."

Margaret Ann Webb is headed to California to the UCSF Medical School For Pediatrics. I’ve known her since she was knee-high to a June cornstalk, and believe me, she will be the best at whatever she does.

Alice Cooper photo courtesy of Meg Webb

President Obama photo courtesy of Casey Thomas

………………………………..

P-MATE UPDATE: A-ha! At last, details from my Esteemed Board of Reviewers are trickling in. I’ve just received an email from Sue’s husband, Dan (‘Test Results are in!’). Sue did not experiment Sunday afternoon, but according to Dan: "Sue tried the P-MATE last night (Tues). I went to the Cubs-Sox game (which was rained out) and our daughter was babysitting, so it was Sue and Kramer the dog. She was cleaning the bathroom so she thought she would give it a try. If there was going to be a technological problem she would already be prepared for the haz-mat cleanup.

"She said it worked but you still had to drop the panties. Or maybe it would be better with a dress. There was no leaking and it seemed to hold up fine."

So far, so good. I was rooting for the P-MATE and hoping for across-the-board rave reviews (Mrs. Scoop didn’t count—she didn’t actually try it). I approached my sister-in-law, Sheila, about testing it, and she suggested my niece Emma, age four, try it instead. This seemed like a good idea; after all, little girls camp and travel far distances on family vacations. Alas, in an email from Sheila: "Emma says using the P-MATE made her feel like a baby going potty. She likes being able to sit like big girls. It was not very comfortable to use."

Well, maybe years from now under different conditions, like on a camping trip where there’re snakes or something. But thank you. Emma. I owe you an ice cream cone.

So now I was back to even-up on the P-MATE reports. Next came Nancy: "It was about to storm and I went behind the trailer. It wasn’t placed right and pee came out both ends. But it was dark and the storm was brewing; maybe I went about it too quickly. Women know the issues (of squatting), especially with holding underwear and trying to swat bugs at the same time. So, if I had another one, I would definitely use it (in particular situations)."

OK, I’ll give that a ‘yes’. Then, a discouraging email from Karin: "I don’t expect this person to get rich on the (P-MATE). I had to pull down my pants. This device is not designed to catch (everything) a woman has to dispense. The instructions need to be modified. There is no way a woman can stand back and relax."

The italics are mine, and I’ll get to that in a moment. But Karin also says her friend wants to get some for a girls-only camping weekend, which since it will be at a bathroom-equipped RV, means strictly-for-giggles around the campfire.

Anyway, as for the italics, I had given each participant full-color copies of the instructions that come with the P-MATE. The series of drawings specifically show that you should lean slightly forward. Geez, Karin, even I get in trouble when I lean back and relax. Most guys do. That’s why they invented urinals…and campfires.

As back-up on this, the next day Mrs. Scoop was poolside at a private residence, and exasperated that she had to use the facilities, leaving good music and conversation behind. I told her it was too bad she didn’t have a P-MATE, as there was a hidden corner full of weeds that needed killing. "But then I’d have to carry that full thing into the house anyway," she said. So her previous remark about using the plastic bag meant she figured it was like giving a sample at the Doctor’s office and carrying it down the hallway. So…it’s the guys who don’t listen to directions, huh?

And then, the final verdict. Therese is the one who originally sent me an email about P-MATE, in which she said she could have used some on her trip to Europe, where, quote: "it’s either an out-house or a filthy, germ-infested pig sty." In her latest email: "I used the P-MATE today. I thought it worked great! I would definitely buy them. I can think of 100’s of times I would use them. Not only outdoors, but restrooms that I do not want to touch. I would like to order some just to practice with (some more) at home. However, the first time I used it, I didn’t spill one drop. GREAT PRODUCT!"

Hmmm…I guess Therese read the directions. And that is why Therese and I are on to a new money-making idea, in which we sell P-MATES all over Wisconsin, especially at campgrounds. I’ll do the talking. Therese will demonstrate…girls only invited. And remember, Ladies, with the P-MATE you can now join an exclusive club: this winter you too can write your name in the snow.

 Got a good story? Let me know: scoop@scoopjackson.net. See you at Jeffro’s Jam! Remember…don’t eat the yellow snow!

Thanks All: 'Stand by your man' & 'Beware' ('Beware' caption mine) courtesy of www.pmateusa.com ...thank you, Karen, for all your help! Ladies, check out the web site--my friend Therese speaks knowingly of the dangers of squatting! Nancy, Sue, Karin, Therese, and Emma (c/o Sheila), thank you for overcoming your initial fears and getting those emails here before my deadline. Meg, thanks for a great tale, and Casey, thanks for the photo! Lenny and Sherrie, thanks for a heart-warming story! And to Mrs. Scoop: You chicken!

'Off-Road Commode' at kotulas.com

(Scoop WARNING: verify the site 1st--I got misdirected)

scoop@scoopjackson.net

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You’re up on deck on a warm afternoon, hoisting a bottle of rum with your lovely Lass, when suddenly grimy hands grab hold of the railing and two evil-looking characters leap on board. One wears an eye-patch and bandanna, the other a waterlogged captain’s hat and a gold tooth. Both wear stained, ripped shirts and pants tattered in shreds below the knees. The ‘Cap’n’ strokes his grizzly beard and grasps the handle of a sharp shaft of steel, brandishing the weapon. "Aye," he says in a guttural tone, "what have we here?" The woman recoils in terror as the two men advance.

Your date looks at you. "Who…who are these strange…people? And what are they doing on your deck?"

"Hi Bob!" you say. "Did you bring the bluegills? By the way, we’re having rum and Coke…want one?"

The lovely Lass is startled at first, and then she nods, apparently understanding. She is not blond, and she seems to understand quickly. "I get it," she says. "It’s International ‘Talk Like A Pirate Day’! You two guys are all dressed up!"

The men slowly look down at their clothing and then at you. They appear confused, and so do you. "What?" you say to the Lass. "This is Bob, he’s got a boat, and that’s Tim, he just had Lasik surgery, and they brought dinner."

Cap’n Bob sets down the skewer and tosses a mess of fresh bluegills next to the grill. "Hold on," he says, and carefully dislodges the piece of corn stuck to his tooth. "Sorry, picked up some good sweet corn and roasted a few ears before we got here."

"But…the clothes," says the Lass, totally confused, blond roots under the dye-job sprouting now as quickly as indicted Illinois politicians or Brett Favre’s retirement decisions.

"Paris," you say to the Lass, "these are my friends, and we don’t need a ‘Casual Dress Day’ at the campground. That’s why we come here. We’re not at the office, we’re not at the plant…we are here, having fun. We always dress like this when we’re here."

"You do? Ugh!" She stares at the bluegills. "And what are those?" she asks petulantly. "Do you, like, eat their little heads and eyes, or what?"

"You, like, clean them," you say. She grimaces. Then her eyes alight on a stray piece of seaweed. She plucks it eagerly and sucks it up like a spaghetti noodle. "Sushi!" she exclaims.

And now you realize that you need to stand up tall. These are your camping Buds, male and female, every one and all. "Paris," you say, "sorry, but you need to go."

"Fine!" she says, stalking off towards her Mercedes. You stop her and gently caress her now-totally-blond tresses with your hook. She stops, the cool steel curve now touching her neck. She laughs. "You are too acting like a pirate!" she exclaims. Her eyes beckon. "Take that fake hand-thing off," she says. "We can still have a day and, like, have fun."

"I lost my hand last year," I say. "I was out on Deadman’s Curve, near Sunset and Vine."

"That’s hot," she says. "I know the place. It’s groovy."

"The last thing I remember, I started to swerve," I say. "And then I saw the Jag slide into the curve." I look her in her contact-lens eyes. "You were driving your little pink Jaguar that day, texting while driving." I hold the hook up. "You caused this, you celebrity-cyst. And for that, you’re gonna pay. I lured you here for revenge, Paris. And now, it’s time for the hook to strike!"

But wait! That’s my Halloween story ending, so ignore that ‘hook’ part. Unless you really do have a hook, in which case you are all set for International ‘Talk Like A Pirate’ Day, which every year is celebrated on September 19^th. And you’re in luck: that’s a Saturday this year, and you’ll still be camping! SPECIAL RELIGIOUS ADVISORY: This day is also the start of Rosh Hashanah, so to those observing, remember to flay your fish and ignite your campfire before sundown. Also, get in costume early to avoid twining and creating. And I’m not being sarcastic here; in fact, I’m envious. You have a solid, religious reason for dressing up like a pirate early in the day and keeping the campfire going all day and night! But if you are offended in any way, please direct all correspondence to Melissa DeBuck, Graphic Artist, c/o The Milton Courier. She’s the one who theoretically checks my column (She also does the great look of the pages and finds cool pictures to add. Thanks, Melissa!)

Anyway, you should check out www.talklikeapirate.com to get some ideas for this momentous day and night. Cap’n Slappy and Ol’ Chumbucket will show you how to dress and talk like a pirate, and regardless, I like the site. Hey, these are two ordinary guys who started talking like pirates while playing racquetball one day and got famous when Dave Barry, the Pulitzer Prize-winning humorist, wrote about them. Now these guys get paid to get sort of loaded and swagger about like pirates at parties.

Doesn’t this make you want to grab a beer and daydream about your own chances at making money with some really far-out scheme? Be aware, as I certainly am, that the ‘Pet Rock’ was ‘created’ by a guy who drank a lot of vodka one night specifically to think of a way to get rich. And he did! He became a millionaire! And, might I add—and I will--we imbibing guys owe inventor Gary Dahl a lot of thanks, my friends. Specifically, for ‘The Excuse’. See, next time you’re on the front porch at home or on the deck at the campground and you want to crack that beer at 9am, or have a shot of tequila at noon, it’s OK! Just have a fairly decent-looking rock on hand, and when your wife or Significant Other comes storming up to you, ready to slap your silly head for drinking so early, just hold up The Rock in a solemn way and study it. That’s Step #1.

This will halt any injury to you, at least momentarily. Then, in Step #2, you display The Rock as you would a precious antique, and admire it. Step #3, you hold it aloft and proclaim: "Baby, you see what I’m holding here? That’s a million dollars right there, right in my hand!" Step #4, you nonchalantly toss the million-dollar idea to your Honey-Pie for examination…

Step #5: Run quickly, and hope your Sweetie-Pie has a really bad throwing arm.

Mine does not.

……………………

I certainly hope everyone had a great camping season. Yes, the summer went by all too quickly, and the weather was kind of goofy, and it might have rained a tad too much, but hey, it was fun, right? And if it wasn’t, well, let me cheer you right up! After all, misery loves company…

Even with over 25 years associated with camping, I myself have only camped twice, if you don’t count the ‘Mom let me pitch a tent in the back yard’ thing. The first time, when I was about 20, my friends and I were evicted from a campground at Chain-O-Lakes because our campfire was "too loud" (it’s a long story). We at least got to stay the one night because the park ranger lurking in the bushes next to our site was afraid of my friend’s dog and he wouldn’t come any closer after threats of evisceration by Yeller the growling dog. But it was a tense night after that, and no fun. The second camping fiasco was when Mrs. Scoop and I came back to our tent after working at a campground all day and found a pile of poop smack in the middle of the tent. Was it left by a big devious dog, or perhaps a disgruntled camper? Mrs. Scoop and I will never know, but I do know that ever since then her ‘camping’ comes with A/C and room service.

But these are trivial camping misfires, especially since we did not step in the poop, whatever its DNA. What will really make you feel better is what happened to Scoop Jr. when he went camping at Woodstock 1994. Allow me to interview him…

"We drove a ’79 Toyota from Milton WI to New York. I was 20 years old and it was Woodstock again and I wanted to go. I had some money and we went. My Mom offered to pay for air-fare, but we were driving…it was a road trip. I probably spent $300 on gas.

"We had bought tickets for $200 each but when we got there all the gates had been broken down and anyone, ticket or not, could get in…the cops were no longer in control. We found some guys who said they would let us stay in their tents if we helped them set up camp. During that time I got nine bee stings and got poison oak, passed out and woke up with bumps and hives all over me, and got sent to the Red Cross tent, where they stripped me naked and rubbed my entire body in calamine. That was a little embarrassing…it was an open tent, no partitions, and there were nurses and a hundred other people in there. I took some benadryl, and when I got back to camp I was no longer welcome…the guys had found some girls.

"We mainly went to see Alice In Chains, but they didn’t show. Metallica was good, but there were so many people that we couldn’t get close. Green Day got the mud-slinging-thing going. There were so many people shoulder-to-shoulder; it was hot, people were sweaty and then it started raining…

"I lost my sandals in two feet of mud in a crowd of a 450,000 crowd, saw people doing some crazy stuff. There were spigots set up in shanties held up with 2x4s for people to shower…lot of nakedness…great for a twenty year-old. There was a huge hill that turned into a mudslide…I saw people riding down in a grocery cart.

"There were a lot of fights. There was nothing ‘hippie’ about it, it was all punks and moshpit guys trying to fight or (have sex). The food stands were down. We went a mile to a convenience store to get food and water.

"The cops were making people leave. It was time to go. The fences were down, but a bunch of scumbags wouldn’t leave. These were the guys strung out for three days, dirty, no shirts, wired. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

"Driving home, the gas tank was on fumes. We couldn’t afford to pay the tolls, so we signed receipts and I did pay once I got home.

"All in all, I gotta say this was not a trip worth making, but if I were twenty again, I would actually bring a shirt, a few extra dollars, and an extra pair of flip-flops. And my own tent. I would do it again…you are only twenty once!"

So there…feel better?

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The "My Worst Camping Trip Ever" Contest Stories and Winners! plus 'Walking Talking History'!

Folks, keep those tales coming in! No prizes this time, but tell us anyway!

Rules for future Tales (right below!)              Go To Stories

I just wanted to see if anyone would get a magnifying glass out and try to read this. Thank you.

                             THE PRIZES AWARDED:

  Most importantly, check out all these fine businesses at my ‘Drink, Dine, & Dance’ page and then go there!

BIG-TIME THANKS to all the businesses that generously donated the Prizes--these are all places I frequent, and I highly recommend them! Please stop in and check them out!

   The Stories:

     In no particular order, so you can do your own judging. Winners are after 'Walking Talking History'.

Well, I feel a little better. See, I announced this contest in the 2009 Labor Day edition of The Camper’s Courier, and on my global-reaching web-site, and got a grand total of two (2) contestants over the long winter. Even after announcing it again in the last (Memorial Day 2010) Camper’s Courier issue and FaceBooking all seven of my friends, I was still stalled at two contestants. Yes, I felt inadequate, contest-wise, especially since local businesses donated some really good prizes, and they were literally yours for the taking, in that there were five prizes and only two submitters (“Do the math, fool!”—B.A. Baracus, A-Team).

            However, as the deadline approached, I was happily deluged by an avalanche of new contestants, bringing the grand total to—seven! So I thank all who entered, and don’t some of you slackers out there wish you had?!

            Names were deleted from the emails and the submissions handed to my esteemed Board of Reviewers. These secret judges rated the stories on a point system based on the OMG (“Oh my …”) level and how much beer poured out of his/her nose while reading. The winners were emailed and picked their prizes (1st Place picks first, etc.) and are announced in the sidebar, which is that colorful thingy over on the side of the page somewhere. Note: One winner lives far away and is unlikely to be able to use a local prize, so I’m sending that person a Gander Mt. gift certificate out-of-pocket, which I don’t mind one bit, since I got a good column out of all of this, and he was the first to enter. Another winner is my brother, and as a prize I’m going to buy him lunch and beers when we get together, which serves two purposes: I would have done it anyway, and now five prizes have been stretched so that every one who entered, wins!

            Every tale was fun to read, and I thank you each of you, as I thank the businesses that generously donated the prizes. Again, these are businesses my family frequents because they are the best, so when you’re in Milton, WI, go there! And now here we go, in no particular order in case you want to judge for yourself…

Helen: “It was 38 years ago and we did not have a lot of money for our honeymoon.  We planned a trip in northern Wisconsin around Lake Superior, into Canada and back in a week.  Day one we are heading north, but not before asking my father-in-law for his vehicle because of course we couldn’t trust our car to go that far. It was a cold, wet summer and there were a lot of rock and mud slides on the route we took.  All of a sudden, BAM a truck in front of us threw up a huge stone and sent a crack the full width of the windshield; Rule #1, never borrow your father-in-laws vehicle. After regaining our sight we continued on to our first stop at Gooseberry Falls State Park. Finally we pull into our site and get ready to set up the small tent--which again--we borrowed from one of my new husband’s brother. As we are taking it out of the vehicle, we find there are no tent stakes, so now what do we do? Rule # 2 never borrow a tent without stakes. Well my husband figured out a way using trees and pieces of wood to get the tent up. I said, “I think this was done on purpose as a joke and I don’t find that humor funny at all.”  Well, we get settled in our sleeping bags zipped together--after all it was our honeymoon and the temperature dropped to about 45 degrees. Upon waking the next morning we could see our breath. At least we dressed for the weather with our matching black and red checkered coats from Spiegel’s (back then it was cool to match as it said we belonged to each other). So we rolled out of the tent to make breakfast and guess what?  He only packed a frying pan and a pot to heat the water so that meant 1-pan meals. I proceeded to heat some water to have a cup of instant, yes, instant coffee and never having made it before I put 3 Tbs. of coffee into a 8 oz. styrofoam cup. What an eye opener that was, he laughed as he watched my face and I proceeded to dump it out! With all this past, we packed up and went on to our next destination, taking many pictures and enjoying the falls.  We finally ended up borrowing some rather large nails from one of the campsites in order to hold our tent up as we didn’t always have trees.  Finally, the fourth night I said, “forget this you are going to spring for a motel room,” and he did. We were pretty young and when we checked in to the motel room, they looked at us like we were runaways. Ahh, what a good night’s sleep, in a real bed, and the next morning I’m awaked by a sweet whisper, ‘Do you want to go home early?’ No hesitation, we both agreed. So we headed back home, no more ticks, no more peeing in a garbage bag in the dark of the night (as I was afraid of bears). There is no place like home!  I think we grew up in a great period of time as today if the honeymoon isn’t planned to go to the Caribbean they are not happy campers!  Everyone should have a honeymoon like this and it was a good test as we are still together and love motor homes even more now.

 Karen: “We were camping and I had to pee so I went to use the old outhouse that was in the back section of our camp site. I stumble to the old wooden latrine and squat down just far enough to pee but not to actually sit down (if ya know what I mean!) and all of a sudden I hear some rustling around outside and I’m startled because I know there’s something out there—I just didn’t know what! I start to panic and open the door a smidge and see a small animal but I’m still not quite sure what it is until I spot the white streak on the critter’s tail. Holy c***--it’s a skunk. So now I’m stuck here. Do I make a mad dash and run for the camper or do I wait it out and see if the critter leaves? I’m stuck in the (deleted!), do I stay or do I go—a stinky choice either way!!! What would you do? Well, I finally decided to make a run for it and make it safely to the campsite and I’m standing there trying to explain to my family what just happened and they are laughing at me. Little did I realize that my britches were still around my knees! Needless to say, they got an even bigger laugh when I told them what happened.”

 Jim: “Scoop, I can't remember what year it was but my son Jeff was old enough to have his own tent and he loved it. Friday night was a great night with a campfire, s’mores and beverages. Saturday called for rain but we didn’t know exactly how much. After a wet lunch and a washed out dinner, we went to the campground restaurant for dinner. It’s still raining, only a little harder now. Geralyn, myself and our 6 kids in a small pop-up trailer on its last leg and a tent decided to call it a night. During the night it got much worse and I was worried about Jeff; sure enough he called out to me saying he and his tent were soaked. We all packed in our pop-up at that time and the kids were a little scared. Jeff and I went to the large side of the pop-up and when we laid down one or both of the supports under the trailer soaked into the ground and the trailer almost did a 90. With the rain pouring, Geri and I decided to sleep in van with no dry blankets. We didn’t sleep much--the van had the ribs on the floor and we had nothing to sleep on. Finally in the morning we woke up to a swamp--if the trailer was flat on the ground we would have floated away to the Mississippi. Later we were watching the kids swing on what were playground swings a day earlier and jumping off into the new lake which was about thirty feet away. They loved it but when Geri and I saw this, having barely no more dry clothes for them, the Dells couldn't be close enough. We packed up and took off so fast I don't think we said goodbye to anyone! The kids are in their Twenties now and we still laugh about that one--they thought it was great but from a parents’ point it was a nightmare!”

 Debra: “My family and I went on a great camping trip for Father’s Day weekend. It turned out to be the worst. First my brother had to borrow a tent so he and his family could join us .After  getting this nightmare tent up without directions, a little boy on his bike came down the hill and ran over the tent, putting a big hole in it .We asked the parents to pay for the tent but that didn’t go very well. My brother that night slept in a sleeping bag on the ground. Thank God it didn’t rain! The next day we brought a new tent to replace the borrowed tent. A few hours later my ten year old son went fishing to catch the big fish of the day. Well, he didn’t--he was caught instead. The hook went right in the mouth with the fat juicy worm hanging from the hook. We had to call 911 and an expensive ride to the Hospital. Six hours later back to the campgrounds. We caught the tail end of the band which was the reason my family  and I camped that weekend. Now it’s back to our site and time for bed. The next morning we packed up and time to go home to get a few hours of rest before going back to the old (grind).”

 Mike: “Hey Scoop, I got one for you. It was in the early 1980's. My family and I were tent camping. My son was still in diapers and my daughters were 3 1/2 and 9. My wife was never very thrilled with tent camping, but she went along with the gag. There was rain in the forecast, but certainly not the deluge we got. Around 2:00 AM the wind whipped up to over 50 mph, and then the rain came with lightening and thunder like only Noah would have experienced. Now comes the fun part. All 3 kids are scared to death and start screaming bloody murder which provokes the wrath of the only other adult in the tent. Now to beat all the tent collapses on top of us and she refuses to go outside and fix it. So being a good Dad (and afraid for my life) I went outside to repair the tent. The rain was coming sideways and the drive going down to the boat ramp was becoming a class 4 rapids. I was soaked to the bone in seconds. Only my extensive military training saved my family from this near-drowning experience. I made hasty repairs to the tent and went back in dripping wet. Unfortunately I did not get the hero's welcome that I had expected. I got the ‘you're getting everything wet’ look. The denouement is, to the best of my recollection, my spouse never graced the inside of a tent again. I took the kids tent camping several by myself and the next season we purchased a used but wonderful 23 foot trailer. I still wasn't a hero but I still got to go camping.”

 Neil: “Growing up in a small town has its share of con's, one of these being the shopping experiences. But crappy malls aside, it all changed for me as a young buck with a new store that opened in our local mall called Supply Sergeant. To a thirteen year old kid this was a dream come true (even though the woman who ran it smoked constantly and every time I came home my parents accused me of smoking)! Supply Sergeant sold new and used military, survival and camping gear. The first item I bought was a 99 cent olive drab container of foot powder. It could have contained flour and I wouldn't have cared because on the container it said - 'Official G.I. Foot Powder'. I proudly displayed this on a shelf in my room. My next purchase was a little pricier: I had saved my allowance for a big investment in a pair of Nomex Flight Pants. Mainly because the smoking woman who ran the store told me that ‘They will never catch fire!’ Looking at her light up another one of many cigarettes I assumed she knew this from personal experience. This wasn't the case as I soon found out a couple of weeks later sitting too close to the campfire. But my greatest purchase up to that point, which I had acquired through the labors of shoveling driveways all winter, was a used sleeping bag rated at -40!!! In my eyes, this was more of an olive drab-colored miracle than just a plain ol' sleeping bag! The coughing owner again spruced up the deal by adding that ‘The bag was used by a real soldier in the Arctic.’ Wow! I was sold! I do remember feeling a little concerned about the bag being so thin and lumpy - but if a soldier had used it in the Arctic, then I had nothing to worry about! What I failed to ask her was whether or not that soldier had actually SURVIVED in the Arctic. One week later I had the opportunity to test it. Some friends and I trekked out into the Alberta wilderness, everybody was complaining about how cold it was--everybody except me. I felt impervious to the cold with my magic sleeping bag (even though at this point my hands and feet were starting to feel the chill a bit). Of course I let it be known that ‘A real soldier had used my bag in the Arctic’ and I added ‘I'll probably have to sleep in my tighty-whities tonight just to keep from burning up!’

“After setting up camp and giving up on our campfire (we ran out of diesel fuel, yes diesel fuel!), we settled in for the night. I laughed at one of my friend's giant city slicker sleeping bags and told him ‘Have fun freezing tonight!’ The temp according to my zipper thermometer was -10 and I was feeling it…I knew my cold feeling would pass as my 'magic bag' started to work it's wonders. My nomex pants would have been a nice addition on this particular night to keep my legs from burning up in my sleeping bag--or so I thought...

“After falling asleep, I woke up sometime around 3 AM shivering uncontrollably not being able to feel my feet. I was FREEZING my butt off!! I had been deceived! What happened to my magic bag? Apparently my buddies weren't faring well either, as two of them had slipped away during the night. Waking up my remaining friend who was huddled up against me moaning something about ‘I want to go home’ I put on my half frozen clothes, grabbed my icy boots and made an agonizing run for it! At some point on the way back, my boot had actually fallen off as I was running, and my friend had to point it out to me. My feet were so cold I hadn't even noticed! Eventually after what seemed like a lifetime, we made it back to the farm. My iced-up former comrades were sitting huddled up to my Grandparents’ crackling wood stove as we walked in. Giving me the 'we're going to kill you for talking us into this’ look my friend’s gazes turned more towards sympathy after observing my obvious state of border-line hypothermia! The -40 arctic sleeping bag jokes commenced from there. It was a disappointment for me, but a learning experience that helped me better prepare myself for my next adventure.”

 Rose: “It was late July and my sister wanted to plan a surprise  birthday party for a friend.  She wanted to have a camp out so bad so she begged and begged and finally our parents said ok. She was so excited planning who to would invite, where they would camp and what to eat. Well that ended really quick when our parents said we didn’t say you could go camping we said you could camp out.  So living on the lake in the city of Whitewater the site was set.  My dad pulled out the pink and white Shasta trailer to the backyard. So the day had finally come. We had four friends arrive and later the guest of honor we were surprising. My sister went into the house to get a pitcher of lemonade and told all of us to gather when they came outside so we could all surprise our guest. Just as my sister and the guest of honor were walking outside the trailer—which didn’t have any jacks under it--we almost did a backward flip. All you could hear was screaming from the trailer. My sister and the guest of honor looked at each other and the surprise was over; instead of Surprise, Happy Birthday, it was Surprise, my dad forgot the jacks! It was hard getting the door open with back end of the trailer on the ground and the front hitch in the air about 3 feet. Then we needed to get the girls to stop laughing and yes, we still had to bring the house down! So, one, two, three--one at a time--they moved to the front and finally the old trailer house came down. Soon after that my dad came out not expecting all of us girls would all be at one end of the trailer at which point we said, Surprise! He merely laughed.”

 Thank you all, again! Readers, send your own Tales in and let me use them in a column! (Sorry, no more prizes!)

 WALKING TALKING HISTORY

 For this 4^th of July column, let’s take a look at another person who is part of our American history. Last year it was Norm Piper, now age 90. This year it’s Sergeant First Class Dan Whitney, age 32. Dan likes to hunt, fish and camp, and grew up right here in Southern Wisconsin. He’s my nephew, and I’m proud of him. His words give me a better understanding of what it’s like to serve our country; I guess it’s the things I don’t normally think of when I watch the news or read the paper. I’ll get to Dan’s life-story in a moment. First, here are some e-mails I kept—everyone was pretty worried about Dan flying in to Iraq, especially his parents.

 From Dan’s Dad 11/11/07: “Hey everyone, Dan arrived in Iraq safely. The engine of the plane that flew them into Iraq caught fire when they landed but everyone was
evacuated and all is good.  He told me that he is living in a house right outside of the ER so he hears a lot of MEDEVAC helicopters landing at all hours but I think that he'll get use to it. He started work today but didn't elaborate on anything.”

 From Dan 11/11/07: “Hey Mom and Dad, Everything is going well here. I started work today. It will be busy for the next few weeks until we get stabilized. It looks like I'll be
working 7 days per week, 13 hour shifts, for a bit. Within a few weeks I'll be able to go down to 6 days per week. In time I'd like to be able to get to 5 days per week but that is too far in the future to figure out now. I'm still getting my room set up with internet and so forth. It's nice that most of the structures that I'm in are reinforced. The hospital and my house are reinforced with extra barriers and thick concrete. The dining facility actually has a ballistic roof that can withstand any rocket or mortar attacks. So all in all, I'm pretty safe, even if things heat up around here.  As much training and mental
preparation as I've had, nothing prepared me for seeing my first trauma patient coming off the air EVAC helicopter 30 minutes after I arrived. The Medics were doing CPR on a local National on the back of a 4x4 Gator as it rushed from the helipad to the ER doors.
     “My house is right next to the helipad so I hear helicopters coming and going at all hours of the night. The patients on my floor range from double amputations to bone breaks to serious illnesses. It's all very real now. The guy I'm replacing has been taking me around all day. I think this will be an educational experience for me. I've done
this same job back in the states and there really isn't a lot different besides the type of patients we get. When you guys get the chance to send my clothes to me, please send a couple of bags of coffee (Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts are my favorite). Don't worry about sending any phone cards for now. I'm going to get a cell phone here that only uses local calling cards specific to the local network. I have to go for now. I hope you are enjoying the sun and sand in Aruba. By the way, I no longer like the beach. I've had enough sand to last me a lifetime!”

  Here’s Dan: “My family moved to Wisconsin from Chicago when I was ten. Later I worked at Stoughton trailers. I was bored and had nothing better to do so I joined the Army right after high school, just before my 19^th birthday. That was in ’97 and I spent three years in Infantry at Ft. Campbell. On my first re-enlistment I chose to be re-classified as a Nurse; I was married and it was a family decision to get out of combat arms—I was gone training too much, and this was before any war.

            “From the end of ’99 through 2001 I went to EMT School to be a Medic, and then through the Army’s Practical Nurse Program (LPN). After that it was Fort Eustis in Virginia; I was there 2 ½ years. I got divorced, and then met Carol, who was a Medic, after she moved to my hospital. Carol moved up to Michigan after she got out of the Army in 2004. We got married on December 23^rd, 2005. From ‘03-‘06 I was a Health Care Recruiter in Michigan—I picked MI so I could be closer to home. Then in 2006 I moved back to the East Coast—Fort Belvoir in Virginia—to be closer to my son Hunter, who was then eight years old.

            “After 12 months at Fort Belvoir I was deployed to Iraq for 16 months, and got back to Fort Belvoir in 01/09. Six months later the Army moved me to Fort Lewis, Washington. I did an IN-DEF (indefinite) re-enlistment in June 2009. I’m majoring in Health Care Management and will complete my Bachelor’s Degree this October. Once I complete my degree, I will be submitting an application for a direct commission as a Medical Service Corps officer. If selected, I will be commissioned in June 2011 as a Second Lieutenant. I will stay in to at least 20 years of service, but will likely stay in longer.”

            Dan and Carol also have a daughter, Shae, who turns five this July. Dan received the Sergeant Audie Murphy Award in February 2008 while deployed in Iraq, awarded ‘to an NCO who, as a squad leader, consistently demonstrated the highest qualities of leadership, professionalism, and regard for the welfare of his soldiers.’

On re-locating often: “Three weeks after moving back to Virginia in 2009, after returning from Iraq, we had a house fire the morning of Valentine’s Day. It was a two-story condo, and (allegedly) the lady upstairs got drunk and passed out while smoking and her cigarette landed in a planter filled with a dead plant and wood chips. It started the outside wall of the house on fire, and I was awakened at 5:45am when the automatic sprinklers went off. The water destroyed all of our furniture. However, there was a silver lining, in that all of our furniture was mismatched—stuff from my first marriage, which Carol hated, and Carol’s stuff, and we were replacing things one piece at a time. So, with the fire—and everyone safe—we went out and bought new furniture together. It’s ‘our stuff’ now.

            “We found a new place, but a couple of months later I came down on orders to move to Fort Lewis, WA. So, after coming back from Iraq, we did a combined move of Carol’s things from WI and our household goods that were in storage in January, then a second full move after the fire into the new place in February, then another full move from VA to WA in July. That was all in 2009.”

On deployment to Iraq: “It’s harder on the kids than Carol—she’s been in the Army also and understands, even if she doesn’t necessarily like it. In Iraq I had use of a land-line and could talk to Carol and the kids almost every day, so that helped. But Hunter was old enough to understand what war is about and what could happen (to me). He was scared. So were Carol and my parents, of course.

            “My Dad was nervous but he tried to keep my Mom calm, but we were getting lots of rocket attacks in the International Zone ( ‘IZ’—formerly known as ‘Green Zone’, in Baghdad) so it was always on the news. The buildings in the IZ were thick poured concrete for the walls and roof, with additional reinforcing with sandbags, and lots of bunkers to get into when the attacks started. The buildings were OK except for a direct hit—the rockets would put a hole in the wall or take a chunk out, or skip over the roofs. One hit a fuel tanker full of gas about 100 feet behind my house when I was on duty (as the night shift Battle Captain in the Tactical Operations Center) and the explosion blew the windows and doors out of many of the base houses. A couple of days before, because there were so many attacks, we had bricked-in all the windows on the first floor of the house I stayed in, and bricked-in a wall. The mortar was still fresh so the blast pushed that entire 8x6 wall in a half-inch. My bed sat right next to it. Plaster chunks went flying all across my room. If I hadn’t been at work that night, I would have been peppered by flying debris.

            “I got hurt one time—a 107mm rocket landed 30 yards away before I could make it into a bunker; the blast gave me a concussion, but at least I didn’t get any shrapnel wounds.

            “But even in the 16 months I was there I could see things improving. We did lots of work with the local people, like the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts chapters we started with the Iraqi kids, with off-duty soldiers volunteering. If we were upgrading our clothing, we would donate (the older clothing) to local communities and clinics instead of throwing it away.

            “Part of building up Iraq was making them independent; they had to learn to rely on themselves rather than the US. But it wasn’t easy--for example, due to the Iraqi-US agreement, we couldn’t treat most Iraqi medical cases; we could only treat patients that were ‘life, limb, or eyesight’ injuries, and different levels of Iraqi governmental leaders. So we had to send people back out to Iraqi hospitals and clinics for treatment. But most of the Iraqi doctors and nurses had fled the country during the initial invasion, and if they were caught coming back in Al Queda would kill them as traitors. So we had to send some sick people away to what we knew were understaffed hospitals, assuming (the worst for them).

            “The ‘Medical Rules Of Engagement’ (the Iraqi-US agreement) allowed us to treat coalition forces (US, UN, and contract companies), but otherwise, when they came to the gate, it was it was only for the ‘life, limb, or eyesight’ injuries. We had to send them away. An exception could be made by a 2-Star General, for example if it was for the son of a tribal leader who we were trying to work with, trying to get leverage to work with the local community.”

Dan’s thoughts on Iraq: “Iraq has been and in many ways continues to be a very delicate situation that is a balancing act between providing logistical and tactical support to a developing country (most notably a developing government) while affording the Iraqi police and Iraqi Army enough room to grow and learn to protect themselves and uphold justice with minimal oversight by U.S. forces. The majority of Iraqi citizens are good people. It is unfair to stereotype all Iraqis into one negative thought based upon small groups conducting terrorist operations. A large problem (that we saw improving during my time there) was how the terrorist organizations attempted to gain support of local citizens. For example, these organizations would attack, kill, kidnap, etc. local citizens in an attempt to scare the local population into a sense of forced support. Their mindset was that if they could demonstrate that Americans can’t protect the population from these acts of violence from terrorist organizations, the people wanting protection would have to support and protect the insurgents.

            “I am proud of my time spent in Iraq supporting America’s War on Terror. I know our contributions have significantly helped Iraq to build and grow towards their own stability. I’m not a big fan of the word ‘hero’ and I’ve never been a fan of it being combined with my name as friends and family tell me that I’m their hero. I’m not  hero—I swore to support and defend my country; I’m just doing the job that I committed myself to do with the values we as Soldiers uphold. The real heroes are the men and women kicking in doors, fighting the enemy on the streets, and uprooting the insurgents from their strongholds. Even more so, the ones that should be thanked for their service are the spouses that were left with children and a home to maintain while the service members were 10,000 miles away, and the mothers and fathers who would pray every night that their children in uniform would come home in one piece.”

Thank you, Dan!

 See more ‘Scoop’ at www.scoopjackson.net. Send your own Tales of Camping to scoop@scoopjackson.net. Have a happy and safe Holiday, and remember why we celebrate it.

And The Winners Are:

1^st Place: Helen (chose $20 Gift Certificate from The Beverage Mart, home of the ‘Beer Cave’--icy cold!)

2^nd Place: Neil (from Alberta, getting the Gander Mt. Gift Certificate)

3^rd Place: Karen (chose $20 Gift Certificate from Milton Family Restaurant)

4^th Place: Mike (getting that burger and beers!)

5^th Place: Jim (chose $20 gift certificate from Dave’s Ace Hardware)

6^th Place: Debra (chose $20 gift certificate from Milton Family Restaurant)

7^th Place: Rose (chose Junction Pub sweatshirt)

OK--so who's next?  scoop@scoopjackson.net

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