While my knowledge of vaults is noteworthy, many of you may be surprised that I was less than stellar as a Boy Scout. 

While the Scout Masters of Friday night (and CPA’s by day) would sit around the campfire amusing themselves with some past exploit of “that Smitty kid.”  (I am positive they used “Smitty" but I was in a tent some distance away so I could have heard wrong!) 

It was Springtime;  so the incident of “Smitty burned up all of the scouts shoes on Polar Bear Camp Out weekend by putting too much wood on the fire!  I was sure I would lose a toe!” was now a heartwarming memory but back in January, no one was laughing.

But on this particular camping trip we were camping on this huge religious retreat property out in the country. The retreat was run by the Jesuit Monks of the Sacred Heart Seminary. The scouts would tell you  “Racing Heart” was more accurate. Those thick wool brown hooded robes made them look scary, as their faces were always in shadow.   These Monks would walk the grounds saying their vespers silently; as they had taken a Vow of Silence.

Nothing puts a bunch of Boy Scouts on edge, as having a Monk in a brown hooded habit silently appear out of the woods, and when you nervously say “Hello Brother” they merely nod and silently move on.  The silence was what made it eery. 

Saturday during the day was uneventful and we had almost become accustomed to these brothers walking their well worn paths. They were not so fearsome in full daylight.

Besides we were roasting a pig; and, we all had turns turning the pig and watching it cook to golden brown.  We knew a feast awaited us for Sunday lunch.  

But as darkness fell, the constant arrival of these hooded monks on our paths had us pretty tense.  By Saturday evening after camp fire prayers we were happy to enter our tents knowing the next day would bring the feast.

Knowing my tent mate was a skittish kid; albeit, an extremely large kid, so I wanted to avoid any event that might call down a beating from Darrel on my person. So I waited until Darrel fell asleep, then as my mother requested I put on a wool face mask to keep me from having the cold night air affect my asthma.  This mask was one my Uncle Bill wore on board ship during World War II. It was black wool and fit your face perfectly, and it even had a nose piece to fit so you would be warm, but still able to breath. But it could be a little intimidating on first glance.  Add to this a big hand knitted wool hat my mother provided. Since it was three sizes too bit, my brother Phil said “It makes you  look like a green Afro.”  In retrospect the combination of the two items might have been terrorizing to a skittish kid like Darrel! 

With Darrel safely asleep, I drifted off to sleep warm as toast.  Unfortunately for me; and Darrel, I awoke around midnight gasping for breath as the campfire smoke and night air brought on my asthma.

Forgetting I was wearing the mask, I turned to wake Darrel. ( That’s my story and two lie detector tests were unable to determine otherwise.)  I began to paw on Darrel hoping to have him wake the Scoutmaster. When Darrel’s eyes popped open to see this masked creature gasping over top of him, he proceed to levitate while jogging in place. His bloodcurdling scream made me think one of the Monks was sneaking up on us. The sounds coming out my masked face sounded like “OOOHHHHH ISSSSITTTT  A MONKKKK!!”  I am not sure what it sounded like to Darrel? 

Darrel, finally able to propel himself forward exploded out of the tent.  Had he chosen to go out the end with flaps it would have been impressive, but since he chose the end with no flaps, it made our tent appear to float right through our camp site.  I was following close behind, thinking a Killer Monk was right behind me.  Our Scout Master who was at that moment turning the pig; upon seeing the flying tent and a creature with a giant green head and a face with only gleaming eyes gasping out “MMMMOOOOONNNKKKKK!!!”  proceeded to join the parade.  In fact he was leading it all the while still holding the pig in front of him. (He looked like a medieval jouster who had just bested a wild boar.) 

As our little parade burst past the Monks Dormitory, several monks came to the door. Not knowing whether to begin an exorcism or run for their lives, one monk exclaimed “Sweet Mother Mary, its Beelzebub!” Thus breaking a 40 year Vow of Silence.

I could have explained everything; if someone would just have removed Darrel’s hands from around my throat as he was still intent on throttling his personal demon. There was moaning coming from somewhere!  It might have been me. But it was really not a problem as the Scoutmasters were able to gather the scouts back into their tents after a few hours of searching. 

So even the best arguments of my older brother Wally; who was by then an Eagle Scout, failed to persuade the troop from retiring Scout Second Class Smith from Troop 39, Panther Patrol for permanently. Brother Ignatius  began a new Vow of Silence and we are all rooting for him. And I never did get to taste what roast pig tastes like. And when I returned from Sacred Heart Seminary, only Sister Joan of all the nuns at St. Joan of Arc would speak to me.

A thing like this lives with a boy in Catholic Schools! When I began classes at Central Catholic High School, I was sitting in Home Room ready to make a name for myself. When Brother Malachi walked in, he called roll and when he got to my name, he said “Smith, SMITH!!  Take a week of detention.”  All in all, a 96 pound Freshman might have to fear thugs in High School but those types were impressed I had earned detention for a week before Day One’s role was even complete. It all in the records, any records manager could look it up.

To this day the words “Is it a monk? still make me start to wheeze a little!  They say the Scoutmasters still relate this tale around camp fires in Northeast Ohio. Or ask Darrel, but I don’t think he goes to church anymore.  

Hugh Smith
FIRELOCK Fireproof Modular Vaults
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