Mr. Bree

 

Mr. Bree

Camping out.....no good ever came from camping out. We used to pitch a tent on my buddy’s lawn. Was that our idea of roughing it? Hell no! It was a way to create freedom from parents for the whole night. This particular night, we heard that our rivals, Billy Keller and Ricky Wright were going to be camping at Billy’s house. So of course, it was our duty to go to their campsite and stir up trouble!

So our little caper begins. It was a dark and stormy night. No wait a minute, that was a Snoopy novel. Let's set the evening straight.  It was a warm summer evening. Myself and my buddy decided to camp out on his lawn on Bluff Point Road. The concept of camping out on one’s lawn looses the idea of “roughing it”, challenging the elements, braving the hard winds and whatever else mother nature had to dish out. No, we were all about trouble! Camping out gave us the flexibility to roam the neighborhood at all hours of the night, maybe stirring up some shit.

On this particular night our agenda called for finding our rival gang (of two) who we thought were camping out that night as well. What we thought we’d do to them remains as unclear today as it was that night. I suppose the implication was one of a brawl. Nevertheless, we walked with great determination down the beach, past the yacht club, toward the perceived campsite of these two. After all, WE were the Beach Boys! (we coined the name long before the musical group). By that accounting, this must have been around 1958 or 1959.

Anyway we got to where we thought they would be camping on the beach and found nothing. Disappointed (and admittedly I was relieved) we turned around and retraced our steps. When we got back to the Yacht Club, we were stopped by the self-important Mr. Bree who was in charge of the club. I suppose they called him Commandant or some such thing. He accused us of disturbing the club dinghys, a charge that was totally unfounded. We hadn’t done a thing to his precious dinghys, probably because we hadn’t thought of it, after all, we were out, looking to stir up some shit (and came up empty).

Anyway, this man, Mr. Bree who had a VERY English accent hauled us into the yacht club for a Come-To-Jesus Meeting. He told us that he was going to call Chief Percy Ervin. My buddy responded by telling him that was fine with him. He wanted to talk to the Chief himself and tell his side of the story. Mr. Bree said “son your mannah is insolent”. My buddy cocked back his right arm, made a fist and said “my mother is what?” “He said no, not your mother, your MANNER”. He relaxed his stance and we continued our dialogue but nothing was accomplished that night. He let us go with a warning (of what, I’m still not sure). Out of all the warm summer night camp-outs, this may have been the only one where we were totally innocent, but it wasn’t by design, it just happened that way. Interestingly enough, we were out trying to find some trouble….. and it found us.

I tried to keep the camp-out routine in perspective when my own son began camping. It sounds wholesome enough, but unfortunately the path he chose was much more destructive. Teach your children well, their father’s Hell will slowly go by………….