One of my most vivid memories from the late 1950s was the night that I was inducted into the Order of the Arrow at Bear Paw Boy Scout Camp. One scout from each troop at camp was inducted into this elite group each year.

All the boys lined up at night along the side of the lake in the woods for the induction ceremony. Counselors dressed up as Indians would carry torches in canoes and approach the group from across the lake, then parade in front of the scouts beating drums with mean looks on their faces. We all stood there shaking since we were unsure whether we would be picked next. The Indians would stop suddenly in front of a selected scout, yell loudly, pull him out, and lower the camper’s shirt over his shoulder. The lead Indian would stretch out his arm high and straight, then give the scout three hard downward slaps on his bare shoulder called a “tap out’. They were hard enough to make it red. He would then be taken away and nobody saw him again until the next morning.

I remember what happened to me. I was taken to some remote spot, where we were walked through the woods for a long time in the dark with the Indians screaming at us the whole time. They then dropped each of us off alone, out of sight of the camp.

I was given my sleeping bag, then I was told that I would be retrieved in the morning and was also told that none of this was to be discussed with anyone the next day. I immediate crawled into my sleeping bag and tried to sleep. It took awhile. After a very long night, they found me in the woods and brought me to the “pigs in a blanket” buffet that marked the end of camp week.

I basked in the attention I got that morning, proudly wore my new sash and refused to discuss what had happened with anyone.

In today’s world, this would probably be considered cruel and maybe even child abuse. I had my dad take me back to that camp as an adult many years later to witness the event again. I was very disappointed. The “tap out” was was more ceremonial than scary, the Indians had very few torches, the approach in canoes was abbreviated, and they never screamed at the selected camper. I did not see that mean look on their faces that terrified us so much back then.

I doubt those new inductees wore their sashes with as much pride we did. We were “tough guys”.