Part 8: Scout’s Honor


Handsome Lake campsite
Monday, September 25
0600 (local)

I’ve started the fire and the coffee and begun to break camp. Not much really to break. The bear took care of most of it.

Heather joins me. “How’s Harm?”

“Still asleep. How’s Jack?”

“Same.”

“Think they’ll be able to fly today?”

Heather considers my inquiry. “Well, I was able to get a pretty good look at the area in question. It looks a lot better. Much less red. Was Harm swollen, too?”

It’s kinda strange having this conversation, but hey, it’s important medical information. “I don’t think so, but he’s so big anyway, he might have been and I just didn’t notice.”

“Oh my, aren’t you the lucky one!” Heather jabs me in the shoulder playfully.

“Why yes, yes I am,” I respond.

“You are what, Mac?” the topic of conversation asks.

“Lucky to have you in my life, sailor. How do those pants feel this morning?”

“I’m glad they’re my loosest jeans, I can tell you that. But I think I’ll be OK to fly.” He turns to Heather. “Jack’s not up yet?”

“Jack may never get ‘up’ again after this, but I’m awake,” comes the voice out of Keeter’s tent. He joins us at the fire, also wearing his jeans.

Harm and Jack do a silent male communication thing I didn’t realize their gender had perfected. Gee, all these years I thought women held the monopoly on that skill. Guess not.

“Why don’t you two sit,” they give me withering looks, “or stand, whatever’s more comfortable while Heather and I break camp.”

I hand them each a mug of coffee and a bagel. “Thanks,” they mumble as they each take a bite.

Bradford Regional Airport
FBO Terminal
0800 (local)

Pulling up to the general aviation terminal I notice an Allegheny National Forest Ranger Jeep and a Bradford County Sheriff’s car parked in front.

Hhmm, looks like something’s going on. Hope it won’t interfere with our departure. Then I notice another vehicle. An older station wagon with a “Boy Scouts Make Good Men” bumper sticker. Noooo. Tell me this is not what I think it’s gonna be.

We unload our gear from the SUV into the Mooney. Harm takes the keys from Keeter saying “I’ll go return this, why don’t you get started on the paperwork and flight plan?”

“Harm.” He stops dead in his tracks. He knows that ‘I’ve got something to tell you you’re not gonna like’ voice of mine.

“Yes, Mac.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t return the SUV right away. Maybe you should come into the terminal with us.”

He looks over at the Ranger’s Jeep, the Sheriff’s car and back at me. “Something happen yesterday to you two out on your hike you failed to mention, Mac? Heather?”

Our sheepish looks are enough.

“OK. Let’s go. Don’t talk unless I say it’s OK. And then only answer exactly what you’re asked. Don’t volunteer anything. I’m your attorney. Hey, Keeter, give me a buck so it’s official. I’ve been Mac’s attorney of record for years but Heather and you are new clients so I need a retainer.”

Keeter hands him a dollar, puts his arm around Heather and we walk to the terminal.

“That’s them! Those two! They’re the ones! Arrest them right now!” Yep, just as I feared, it’s our local psychotic Boy Scout Leader.

Harm steps up, letting Keeter, Heather and me stand together two steps behind him. Man, you can almost see the red cape billowing from his shoulders. My hero. I can’t wait to watch him squash this bug of a man.

He turns to the Sheriff. “I’m Navy Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. of the JAG Corps. I am the attorney representing these three people: Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie, US Marine Corps, JAG attorney and Chief of Staff to the Judge Advocate General; retired Naval Commander Jack Keeter and his wife, Heather Keeter. I’m sure there is some mistake here. What is that man talking about?”

Score several big points for our side. Harm has effectively cowed the Sheriff with our credentials and portrayed the Scout Leader as inconsequential at best, a raving lunatic at worst.

The Sheriff shuffles his hat in his hands for a moment, draws himself up as tall as he can (still falling short of Harm by several inches) and launches into his story.

“Well, Mr. Rabb,”

“Commander Rabb,” Harm corrects.

“OK, well, Commander Rabb, this man here, Mr. Upton Wright, is a Boy Scout Leader.”

Upton Wright??? Oh yeah, this is gonna make the perfect end to this weekend. I can’t wait to brief the Admiral about Mr. Uptight.

“Troop Number 139 from Warren. We’ve won awards three years running for our outdoors skills.” The little man is rightfully proud of his Scouts, woefully dense to take on Harm.

“Please, Mr. Wright, let me handle this,” the Sheriff admonishes the squirrel. Turning back to Harm, he continues. “Mr. Wright alleges that these two women,” he gestures at us, “indecently exposed themselves to his Boy Scout Troop yesterday afternoon at,” he consults his notebook, “approximately 1230 hours.”

“Alleges?!? What’s with ‘alleges’? I have them on video tape! Naked as jay birds and cavorting in front of my troop!”

“Please, Mr. Wright. You have to stay quiet or I’ll ask you to leave.”

At least the Sheriff has some sense, I think.

“By what means did Mr. Wright identify these two women as the women he allegedly saw?”

The Ranger coughs slightly. The same Ranger who came to our campsite Saturday after the bear encounter. The same Ranger who was so helpful yesterday morning. He gives me a sad look, asking for forgiveness.

“Commander Rabb, we met Saturday at your campsite.” Now the Ranger’s the one shuffling his hat in his hands.

“Yes, Ranger, I recall. You were most helpful.”

“Yesterday the Colonel came by the Station to ask for some help with your, uh, situation.”
“Oh, yes, she mentioned that you were again very helpful. Thank you.”

Gotta hand it to Harm and Keeter, neither blinked an eye about their ‘situation’.

“Hope you’re both feeling better, sir.” He nods to Keeter. “Anyway, yesterday afternoon when Mr. Wright came into the Station complaining about two women and indecent exposure, he showed me his video tape as proof. Well, I recognized the Colonel. I knew your plane was here. Mr. Wright had, what appeared to be, a complaint valid enough for me to call the Sheriff. That’s how it happened.”

“I see. Well, Ranger. I’m sure you did what you felt you had to do, based on Mr. Wright’s strident allegations.”

I’d call that volley a tie.

“Commander Rabb,” the Sheriff picks up, “Mr. Wright is very much within his rights to ask that this be investigated. We here in Pennsylvania take indecent exposure very seriously. In fact, it’s punishable by up to two years and a $5,000 fine.”

I hear Heather gasp.

“I believe the statute defines indecent exposure as ‘exposure of genitals for the purpose of arousing or gratifying sexual desire of himself’, Sheriff. Surely you’re not implying that either of these women is a man? And, if not, then clearly they can’t be charged with the statute by its own definition.”

Wow. Didn’t know Harm could quote Pennsylvania law on this. Wait, why can he? I have a feeling there’s a story here that may involve him, ‘Sarah’ and perhaps another willing female.

“‘Of himself or another or exposure of genitals where one knows it is likely to cause affront or alarm’ reads the rest of the statute, Commander.”

Oh, big point for their side. Who would’ve thought a ‘county mounty’ could quote statues as well as Harm? Maybe they set skinny dipping traps like other counties set speed traps. Naa. But an interesting idea, nevertheless.

“And since this incident took place in a National Forest,” the Sheriff’s decided to press his advantage, “it’s possible the State’s Attorney might choose to defer to federal jurisdiction in this matter.”

Yikes. Harm, time to start leaping those tall buildings.

“If I may have a moment to confer with my clients.”
The Sheriff nods yes and we step away to huddle.

“Jeez, Mac. And you two thought Keeter and I were stupid to get sunburned! What really happened yesterday?”

Heather and I give him the story as factually as possible. No way the Scouts ever saw our crotches, not even our boobs. We did everything we could to cover up. The Leader ordered his Scouts to keep eyes right while he taped us camera left. Oh, and yeah, we did give him a one finger salute after he called us ‘predatory vixens’ who had ‘sullied the forest with our wanton ways’.

He smiles and gives me a little squeeze. “I love you. Don’t worry. We’re gonna nail this weenie but good.”

We turn back to the Sheriff, the Ranger, Mr. Wright and assorted FBO employees who have assembled to watch the morning’s entertainment.

“Sheriff, I think we can dispense with this issue if Mr. Wright will just allow us to view his video tape.”

“No. I want them arrested. My tape should only be shown in a court of law to convict these women.”

Guess Mr. Wright never got the Boy Scout ‘Judiciary’ badge.

“Sheriff, you and I both know the tape will need to be disclosed. We can all waste a lot of time and taxpayers money, or we can take care of this in the next few minutes and go on about our lives.”

The Sheriff weights Harm’s reasoning and the rumblings of the growing audience to this little drama.

“Mr. Wright, does your camera have a small playback screen?”

“Yes, of course. That’s how I showed the tape to the Ranger.”

“OK. I want you to play it for the Commander and me.”

“But Sheriff...”

“Now, Mr. Wright.”

He produces the camera, sets it up and runs the tape. We can’t see it but we can hear it. We hear the “eyes right” command and his ugly invectives.

Harm and the Sheriff exchange looks.
“Sheriff, my clients never exposed themselves to this man or his troop. In fact, they did everything they could to prevent from being exposed to them. And while Mr. Wright ordered his scouts to look the other way, he, with willful and prurient intent, video taped them, doing his best to see if they truly were naked. That borders on invasion of privacy. But, nothing on that tape even indicates my clients were naked. You see their backs and shoulders. There are many swim suit styles that would expose that much. If Mr. Wright is ‘affronted or alarmed’ by backs and shoulders, I suggest he look into the Amish settlements this state is so famous for.”

The Ranger and Sheriff look relieved. Our audience is clapping. Mr. Wright is slinking out the door with his video camera.

“Commander Rabb, do you want me to confiscate that tape? Are you planning to pursue legal action against Mr. Wright?”

“No thanks, Sheriff. Mr. Wright knows when he’s wrong.”


Harm’s Loft
North of Union Station
Monday, September 25
1530 (local)

It’s good to be home. We left Heather and Keeter at the College Park airport, agreeing that we’d come through the weekend with flying colors despite bears, sunburns and crazed Scout Leaders.

“Harm, think big snowball fights. Building snowpilots. Hot chocolate and hot women. Call your Grandma and start recruiting a team. I’ve thrown the gauntlet down,” were Keeter’s parting words.

Heather and I rolled our eyes and smiled at each other.

We’ve piled our gear in the corner of the living room. We’ll sort through it tomorrow night. Right now I think we’re both pretty beat. Even though we took the shortest route home, it had to be tough on the guys to sit that long.

Harm comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. Nuzzling my neck he asks, “Did the boys really not look?”

“I don’t know, I had my back to them, remember? But I don’t think so. I mean, I didn’t hear any snickers or anything. Why?”

“Well, when I was that age I certainly would’ve looked if I had the chance.”

“They were Boy Scouts, Harm. Honor, respect and decency.”
“If you think so. I think they were adolescent boys. Hormones, curiosity and more hormones.”

He’s starting to unbutton my blouse. “And Mac?”

“Yes, Harm?”

“I’m no Boy Scout.”

finis, thanks for reading.

A/Ns: Everything about the Mooney, airports (locations and amenities), parks, forests, trails, campsites (yes, there really is a Webb’s Ferry and Handsome Lake), streams, roads, distances, sunrise/set times, average temperatures, Ranger Station hours, bear country precautions and Pennsylvania statutes on indecenct exposure is accurate. BTW, you should always stay on the marked trails in parks; look at the trouble Heather and Mac got into when they didn’t!

I flew (right seat) in a Mooney from Chicago to DC and back for Memorial Day weekend a number of years ago. Mooney’s are great planes.

A bear climbed up the back of my parents’ car and fell through the convertible top trying to get to a steel-clad, locked Coleman cooler full of food when we had an oh so charming family vacation to Yellowstone National Park in 1963. A bear can really do a number on leather upholstery. And they leave an awfully bad smell.

I had a boyfriend in college who got sunburned skinny dipping. Based on his experience, Harm and Keeter’s experience is accurate, too.

I personally got busted in the Ozarks skinny dipping with girl friends by a canoe-full of Boy Scouts in 1972. Yes, the next day the Sheriff was waiting for me and my friends at our pre-determined “pull out” spot because the Scout Leader was “appalled” that we’d been skinny dipping in a State Park, wrote down the outfitter’s ID number on our canoes and turned us in, demanding we “pay for our crime.” We didn’t have Harm to defend us, but we got off with a warning.