Scouting: Fun, thrilling, painful and tragic

Well, here are the fifth and sixth parts combined (for simplicity’s sake) of an eight-part series on how I survived multiple life-threatening ordeals in my sojourn through life!

Just remember, our Father in Heaven doesn’t take away all the challenges we encounter but can help us through them – unless it’s our time to go home to Him. The challenges we face are what can serve as refining fire if we turn to God in facing those challenges. Scouting posed a lot of small and large challenges, but also a lot of fun experiences.

Being a Scout was a big deal in my youth. Yes, I worked on acquiring merit badges and advancing in rank, but what was most important was the fun times with my friends – mostly the camping and the Mutual nights at the Magna swimming center.

From Cub Scouts

From CuB Scouts

But before I got into Boy Scouts, I had a couple good years in Cub Scouts. I remember going to a Den Mother’s home regularly, more or less, and enjoyed the different activities. I don’t remember a lot about the activities, but I do recall that I was never able to build a winning Pinewood Derby racer. I don’t recall any help from Mom or Dad on the racers, but I do remember their wheels were the biggest drag and often just fell off. No trophies for me!
I do remember going to a couple of day Cub Scout camps and at least one overnighter. Seems I recall the best part of the Cub Scout camps was the rifle range, though the rifles probably fired BBs.
I have in my scrapbook a Cub Scout Graduation Certificate, Cub Pack 344, signed by H. (Heman) C. Sharp in  February of 1961. Mr. Sharp lived across the street from us at the time. I grew up with his sons Bruce (who was my age), Ralph and Steve.

After turning 12 on Feb. 27, 1962, I graduated from Primary and entered the world of LDS Scouting.

My Star, Second Class, First Class badges from Boy Scouts.

Merrill, my older brother had been in Scouts for a year and a half and was one of the leaders. We had a lot of fun, but I think we spent most of our Mutual time either playing basketball or going to the Magna Swimming Pool where we mostly played water basketball. I didn’t know how to swim much at all when I first started Scouts. On the other hand, Merrill had been a good swimmer for several years and was one of those big guys who enjoyed launching off the diving board. As a Scout in the Magna pool, I finally got the hang of the dog paddle and eventually free-style swimming – after getting control of my fears of water and the threat of drowning.

There's a right way to fold the U.S. flag

One of the first things I learned in Scouting was how to fold the U.S. flag and properly take care of them. For me, the opportunity to serve in the Color Guard at Scouts and at various events was an honor. I remember getting to raise and lower the flag at Monroe Elementary, too.

Now it’s very annoying when I see a tattered flag blowing in the breeze or one on the ground or even just touching the ground, and I get peeved when I see one wadded up on a shelf instead of probably folded and stored inside a protective cover. My blood really starts to boil when I see on the news people desecrating the flag. We all need to remember what the 50 stars represent and what the 13 stripes represent, and how many men and women have fought and so many died under that flag to keep us free in this crazy world.

Explorer Scout camp 1965 in Tooele Canyon with leader
Kermit, Lee, Kirk Curtis and Merrill Hunt.

Camping was probably the highlight of my time in Scouts, though I usually ended up on KP because I knew, better than most of the boys, how to cook and how to wash dishes and get them clean enough to eat off them the next meal. The smell of bacon cooking on the griddle and the anticipation of some fluffy pancakes was a great way to start a day at camp. Then there was the smell of the old Army tents we slept in, the sounds of the night and the feel of the cool mountain breeze.
During those Scout camps, there were always more high jinx than what I preferred – especially at night before lights out.

Merrill, left, and others race down Tooele Canyon in front
of Bryon Johnson's truck that lost rear-end.

When we went on our early spring or winter camps, I remember being sure I was going to freeze to death in my sleeping bag. Even having extra blankets inside and outside my bag was not enough to keep the numbing cold from making my teeth chatter. I remember us trying to get a fire going and keep it going after having to build it on top of several feet of snow. The fire kept sinking lower and lower, and the melt would smoother the fire. I think we just finally gave up and crawled into our freezing sleeping bags.

Scouting was an adventure, but unfortunately, I never recall the camps being that much of a spiritual experience. I regret that, especially after hearing so many stories about girls’ camps and their testimony meetings.

One year early on in my Scouting era, we were able to go to an expensive camp because our leaders had made arrangements for our troop to be helpers of a troop of handicapped Scouts, most of whom were in wheelchairs. I’m sorry to say that I don’t recall being much help to them. Many of the other troops gave us a bad time, not so much because we were helping the handicapped troop but because we weren’t doing very well in any of the troop competitions. I remember us getting together a relay team, which we felt was our best chance at winning a ribbon. I can’t remember who all were on the

Wile Coyote found that speed wasn't always the winning way.

relay team, but I know it wasn’t the slow Hunt runt! However, Merrill was on the team and probably Steve Peterson, but our Ace in the Hole was Lester Mackay, who was a year older than Merrill and a grandson of one of our Scout leaders, Stan Bawden. Lester was a track star at Granger, so we figured that if the first three runners could keep close to the race leaders that Lester could come on at the end and steal the victory!

When the race through camp unfolded, everything was working as planned – the first three runners kept us in striking distance of the leaders. Then Lester took the baton and started flying down the trail. It really looked like victory was in our grasp – but then Lester came to a slope in the trail and went airborne. His legs were still churning, and his arms were swinging but he couldn’t keep his balance and crashed head first on the trail. Just a moment before we were cheering – and the next we were groaning. And Lester was pretty torn up – especially his hands. A painful return to earth. “If only he had slowed up to get down the hill,” I remember thinking, “he would have won even if he had slowed down.” 

W. Lee Hunt in Granger 1963 at age 13.

One of the best Scout camps I attended was up somewhere in southern Idaho during the summer of 1963 when I was 13 years old. I was really nervous before going because my left shoulder wasn’t completely healed from a complete dislocation I had suffered a few weeks prior. My camp goal was to earn the canoeing merit badge, but even to get a crack at it would require first earning the swimming merit badge. I hadn’t been able to pass the swimming requirements in previous attempts in a warm swimming pool out in Magna where our Scout troop went once a month – and now I was going to have to swim those laps in a cold mountain lake – and with a bum left shoulder.

Though I had a lot of pain before the camp, I went to work and did the best I could.
I remember praying to my Father in Heaven to help me make the long swim and to help me not drown.

I took a lot longer than normal to do the laps, but there was no time limit. During most of the laps, I did the backstroke, my favorite stroke. When they told me I had completed the laps and passed the requirements, I was relieved and actually quite surprised! After conquering the cold water, I went on and earned the canoeing merit badge, which included the requirement to swamp the canoe, then right it, and get back in. After completing the requirements, I was able to do all the canoeing I wanted.

I had a wonderful camp – then everything turned crazy on the way home.

Generic nature pond

DeVaughn Kershaw,
Merrill's future
father-in-law.

I and several other younger Scouts had to ride in the back of DeVaughn Kershaw's truck – going up and coming back from camp, and there were no seats and no padding. The pickup had a shell over the back, but that was all. On the way home, we stopped just outside the camp at a nature lake and did some exploring for a few minutes. I picked up a bug of some sort on the lake shore and it bit me and I reflexively tossed my left arm up in the air to get the bugger off my finger. When I did that, I heard my left shoulder crack, snap and pop. It felt like my shoulder had broken in a bunch of pieces. I started crying and moaning, but Merrill and everyone else figured it was just more of Lee's showboating about his bad shoulders. They had gotten used to my injuries and become somewhat unconcerned. The bad part was that Kershaw didn't realize how bad it was either, so Merrill and Gene, the oldest and biggest kids sat in the cab with Kershaw while I was left in the back – bouncing all around all the way from Idaho back to Granger – all the while trying to hold my left arm motionless.

When I arrived home, Mom and Dad immediately took me to the hospital, and I was admitted for the surgery that was already scheduled for the next day. The doctor was shocked when he got a look inside my shoulder: The left shoulder socket had cracked in half, and the socket had cracked away from my shoulder. My arm basically was just dangling there as I bounced around in the back of the truck all the way home from Scout camp. I don't remember if I was given any medicine on my way home. I don't think so. Everyone couldn't figure how I could hurt my shoulder by just swinging my arm in the air to get the bug off.

The surgeons used several staples to pull all the bones together and then tightened the ligaments to limit how far my shoulder would move inside the socket. The idea was to limit the movement and prevent any more dislocations. The left shoulder never did get back to full strength in comparison to the right shoulder. The worst part in the years after was the left arm’s limited range of movement, then eventually bursitis became another burden. The left shoulder has been prone to slipping out partially -- and it's gotten worse with age and lack of exercise.

Merrill & Warren Hunt, Gene Openshaw, Stephen & Danny Peterson,
Bruce Sharp, Dennis Paxton, Lester Mackay, Stan Bawden at HAFB 1964.

A little less than a year after that Scout camp, when I turned 14, I entered the Explorer program. Scouting was now in the rear-view mirror. I had earned a slew of merit badges, but I was still lacking a few that were required for an Eagle. I ended my Scout advancement with the rank of Star. Dad was the Explorer leader and Merrill was one of the leaders, so I was excited to get started on that level of Scouting.

One of the first things I was asked to do was to set up an overnighter at Hill Air Force Base. I think I ended up with the task because I suggested the idea (Dad had been working at HAFB for years), and I told them it couldn’t be that hard to arrange. Well, Dad gave me the job. I corresponded through letters with the Base PR office and made the arrangements. During the Christmas break of 1964, Dec. 27-28, we went to the military base and spent a night there in the barracks, watched airmen films, ate chow at the base cafeteria and toured a lot of the base and saw a lot of warplanes. I still have the wood scrapbook that we made of the adventure.

My patch from 1967 conference.

LDS Astronaut Don Lind.

Less than a year later, Aug. 20-25, 1965, I, along with a few other Explorers from our ward and stake, attended the Second LDS International Explorer Conference at Brigham Young University.
During one of the assemblies, we listened to a speech by LDS Astronaut Don Lind, born in Midvale, Utah. I’ve remembered that experience my whole life, and it became even more significant when Lind finally NASA flew space missions in 1985.

Explorer leader, Ralph Sharp, Steve Crump, Bruce Sharp
Larry Bunkall at Explorer Conference at BYU in 1965.

During the summer of 1964 or 1965, we did an Explorer camp up Tooele Canyon. We had a lot of fun, but one of the leaders Bryon Johnson, had major truck problem, the truck dropped its rearend. So when it was time to head home, we had to push the truck at to the canyon road and let it coast all the way down. We made it all the way down into Tooele City. A crazy adventure.

On Aug. 18-23, 1967, several of us Explorers from our ward and stake attended the LDS Explorer Ensign Leadership Conference at Brigham Young University. We had a great time at both conferences, and I especially enjoyed exploring the campus, where I would later attend college.

I mentioned earlier about going on winter camps. On one trip, we took tire innertubes and diesel or tractor innertubes (before tubeless tires) so we could tube down a 10-foot-wide trail across from our camp. We lugged the tubes probably 60 yards up the trail, placed one of the six or seven-foot in diameter tubes down first and then put a couple smaller tubes inside. Then we piled a bunch of Scouts on top and went whipping down the trail. We were fortunate that we made several trips before anyone got hurt. The trail, which was on the side of the mountain slope, angled to the left toward the bottom near the road. Each time we careened down the trail, the giant tube with us loaded on top would inch higher and higher up the edge of the restraining bank of snow.

The last time I rode, our tube slid up and over the bank of snow! Many of us were able to bail off, but I was on top in the middle of the pile, and I just went flying – straight toward a large two-inch-thick trail sign that was held in place by two four-inch-round posts.

Did I hit my head on the sign? Obviously not, because I probably would have been killed. Did I hit the sign in the middle of my back? No, or I probably would have been killed or paralyzed! The Lord protected me from those fates.

However, my left leg did smack into one of the sign’s support posts – hitting just above and on the front side of my knee, which violently twisted at an awkward angle. I thought for sure I had broken my leg! I was helped back to camp all the while wailing in pain! Sound familiar!?

After some novice testing, we decided my leg probably wasn’t broken but that I had messed something up in the knee. One of the leaders eventually took me home. My parents may have taken me to the doctors, but I didn’t have any surgery. The knee gradually got better, but every once in a while, I would have issues with the knee.


That close call wasn’t the only traumatic experience at a Scout camp. On May 19 and 20 of 1963, Troop 599 of North Jordan Third Ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were camping in Mill Creek Canyon. There was still snow on the ground on the north slope of the canyon, but the snow was all melted on the south slope across from camp. We had a fairly large troop, so we divided the in two. One group headed up

the slope way ahead of the second. Our plan was to work on our signaling merit badge. Gene Openshaw, Merrill and I were in the first group. As we scampered up the side of the mountain, a large bounder, which was later estimated to be 150 to 175 pounds, was dislodged by one or more of the Scouts at the head of our group. The spring thaw was a contributing factor. They tried to hold it back, but when it got away from them, they yelled at us below to watch out.

I looked up just in time to see this huge rock heading right at me. I froze like a deer in a car’s headlights. Suddenly, an angel by my side pushed me out of the way. The boulder just barely grazed my calf muscle on my left leg and continued its rampage down the slope. Though the muscle immediately went into spasms, I couldn’t help but think that I could have been killed if it hadn’t been for Merrill pushing me out of the way!

Merrill and Gene was helping me down the trail when we started hearing screaming coming from the second group of our troop, which had started up the slope way after us. Merrill and Gene left me to go see what was going on. When they returned, they told me about the horror below.

One of the Scouts, Clair Jensen, 14, had been struck in the head by that same boulder that grazed me. He was killed instantly. Everything became chaos. I was helped down the mountainside past his covered body. Eventually the police arrived, and we packed up and headed home. I heard from Scouts in the second group that Clair was taking a separate trail apart from his group and had told them they should come over and join him because his path was better. He was the only one in that group, which included his younger brother, who ended up in the path of that boulder. The funeral was a very sad and somber experience.

Tragedy for one Scout, a miracle survival for another. Why was Clair taken and not me? I try not to think about it too much, but in the hereafter we’ll better understand.

Like a Cat With Nine Lives -- and God's Providence (First of Eight Survival Stories)

The open-pit copper mine up Bingham Canyon started operations in 1906.

When I look back at my life experiences, I seem to remember more vividly the more traumatic ones.

Why that is, I’m not sure.

Is it normal? I don’t know, but those memories illustrate God’s providence in my life.

Copperton Park in the tree-lined town.

Grandpa Butt and
little Lee Hunt

In fact, there have been seven episodes that were especially frightening, painful and memorable, and which could have resulted in the end of my sojourn here on earth. The earliest one occurred at my grandparents’ home up in Copperton, Utah, when I was between five and seven years old.

In my pre-teen years, I especially loved going to see Grandpa and Grandma Butt at their home in the mouth of Bingham Canyon. Grandpa was a train engineer at that time for Kennecott Copper Mine. He had worked at the mine all his adult life, eventually becoming one of the numerous conductors of  the ore trains at the mine. That’s back when the mine used trains instead of the giant trucks that are used today.

Bingham Canyon ore train Nov. 1942.
Photographer: Andreas Feiningerhttp://www.loc.gov/pictures/
item/owi2001038400/PP/ 

Grandma was a housewife, typical for those years. I remember on many of my weekend visits seeing her making doll lamps in her studio and kitchen, which she sold to a couple of outlets in Salt Lake City.

Leona Cooley Butt in front of her
home in Copperton.

During these prized visits I would often hang around grandpa as he played solitary, which he taught me how to play. Sometimes when there were four willing players, we would play canasta. I really enjoyed the game, though I can’t remember the rules now. Also, I would spend a lot of hours building towers out of the small rectangular blocks that grandpa made for the grandchildren to play with on their visits. I remember I could get mine at least two-feet tall from the circular base of about a foot and a half.

One of Grandma Butt's doll lamps.

One of the highlights in my early school years was grandpa teaching me some math skills. Eventually I could add short columns of numbers in my head. He was the one who helped me get proficient in multiplication and especially division.

On many of my visits, I would watch Vivian, David and Clifford play basketball in the driveway shared by my grandparents and the neighbors next door. The garage was also shared, with a one car garage on each half of the building and a basketball backboard and hoop fixed at the upper center of the garage building.

All three Butt boys were stars on the Bingham High School basketball team.

Ray, Vivian and Clifford Butt at
their ancestral home in Copperton.

I was too little to join the games, so I was mostly content to watch and learn. When they weren’t around, I would take out one of the old basketballs and dribble and dribble and dribble. For quite a while, I couldn’t throw the ball high enough to even reach the basketball hoop.

David Butt in his
Bingham High School
basketball uniform.

When my three uncles weren’t playing basketball in the driveway, they usually were off with their friends somewhere else.

But there was this one time when Clifford, who was about seven years older than me, was home and actually with me – or technically I was with him – as he conducted an aviation experiment on the old rotating clothesline in the backyard. However, the experiment turned out to be an introduction to the laws of centrifugal force and gravity.

At first, I was happy just being with Clifford as he worked on his experiment, tying a shallow cardboard box with four small ropes to two adjacent clotheslines that fanned from the 4-inch round center metal post. I don’t remember the conversation, but I’m sure he asked if I wanted to take a ride on the merry-go-round or something like that. Once this little squirt was seated inside the shallow box and holding on to the sides of the box, Clifford started rotating the clothesline.

Grandma's clothesline had a 4" center pole with several wood
two-by-four branches at right angle from center pole with
metal clothesline wires wrapping around the wood branches. 

Wow! This is fun! Can we go faster?

Clifford started to increase the velocity of the spin – faster and faster I spun around the backyard. I’m sure I was getting dizzy – but then it happened: the small ropes ripped through the cardboard and I flew out of the box at an almost parallel level from the clothesline. I crashed into the metal tin garbage cans next to the back of the house. If I had landed just two feet to the right, I would have hit the concrete steps leading into my grandparents’ home. If I had landed two feet to the left, I may have hit the concrete foundation.

I’m sure I made the garbage cans clang, but more likely it was my screaming and wailing that brought grandma running out the back door. The next thing I remember was lying on the couch in the front room as grandma chewed Clifford out for – well, let’s just say his “failed experiment.”

I didn’t break any bones, but my back was in a lot of pain. My near-death flight into orbit wasn’t too long before the first time I had hurt my back.

I had been playing with Merrill on some bales of straw at our home on Redwood Road in West Jordan when I jumped from the height of two bales of straw and landed on my butt on the straw-covered ground. That’s when I felt a shock of pain rip up through by back. I wailed and screamed and Mom and Dad came running. Merrill, I’m sure, was just puzzled. Why did I get hurt in such a small fall? Well, first of all, the small layer of straw covered a layer of bricks, which meant I landed basically on a bunch of bricks.

By Greg Olsen
https://gregolsen.com/blog

But when Mom and Dad later took me to the doctors and X-rays were taken, the doctor said my backbones looked thin or not complete. He said to keep an eye on the situation and hopefully the bones would fill out and get thicker.

Looking back at the numerous times when I had similar falls and back pain, I wonder if that first X-ray actually showed the presence of the Osteogenesis Imperfecta that we never realized I have until after Evie Wentz was born almost a half-century later.

But lucky for me that my first flight into orbit wasn’t my last flight. I must have had a guardian angel guiding me into those garbage cans and not the concreate steps in the backyard of my grandparents’ home in beautiful tree-lined Copperton, Utah.