I got terrible news yesterday evening: Fred Simonds, a friend from high school and scouts, died on Monday. Fred was two grades ahead of me in school but had started earlier than other kids his age. So, even though he was tall and looked much older than his classmates, he was actually younger. One particular Boy Scout trip comes to mind.
Explorer Scouts then, we were in Southern Indiana in the fall that weekend to hike the Indiana Lincoln Trail. On Saturday night after hiking 20 miles, we camped out in Indiana State Park trying to get some needed rest. Some other young people—definitely not scouts—had acquired some beer and were partying on the other side of a hedge from our tents. Fred slept alone in a pup tent. I don’t recall what kind of tent I was in or if I shared it with another boy. The partiers made some noise but we could sleep through that. However, they got rowdier as they got drunker. Upon spying our tents, one miscreant bellowed, “What lives in pup tents?” Within seconds he picked up a large trash can and threw it on Fred’s tent, answering himself, “Puppy dogs.”
Fred’s tent was knocked down and he staggered out of the heap. Upon seeing him—he was at least 6’3” tall—the drunks scattered. Fred had a painful knot on his head but no permanent damage.
On the lighter side, Fred loved visiting my home because we had so many kids—nine when he was in high school—and he had no siblings. The youngest girl and the youngest at-that-time boy would each sit on one of Fred’s feet and wrap their arms and legs around the leg attached to the foot each was sitting on. Fred would then walk around the house as if he were some sort of giant ogre. He and the kids enjoyed it.
Fred’s movie career next time.
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