Bill Shultz and the Teton Ride

When I was a boy, I use to watch the scout troop get ready for the annual trip to the Teton National Park in Wyoming. Our troop was the largest in our area, and having so many boys, an inspection had to be made to make sure each boy was properly equipped. Rows of tents were pitched on the church lawn. The equipment of two boys was placed in each tent. The scoutmaster would then check every tent to make sure that each boy had a sleeping bag or quilts, a mess kit, a canteen, a knife, a hatchet, a medical kit, and personal items.

We younger boys would watch on in envy waiting for the time that we could go. World War II ended these trips but when the war ended, they were resumed. The scout leader's wives started popping popcorn again to help earn the money needed by the troop. Each boy had to earn money too. As I remember we had to have thirteen dollars to go.

Such a huge sum looked impossible for me to earn. I cut lawns and my dad said that he would give me five bucks if I would plant the median between the street and sidewalk with grass. I went to the task but found it almost impossible to do.

Our home was built on the coal ash from the power plant up the street. It was packed like concrete. It was very difficult to get even a couple of inches of soil to plant the grass seed.

Somehow, I got the seed into the ground with some help from siblings and the boy scout friends who felt sorry for me. Up came the grass and I got my five bucks.

Our trip was made in two cars. One was driven by Pete Savage, our scoutmaster. The other was driven by Tom Marsh.

Behind each car was a trailer. Inside the first car were eleven people. In the second car there were thirteen of us.

Now it’s hard for me to imagine that you could put four boys across the back seat of a car with a boy sitting on the lap of each boy. There were eight of us on the back seat! Four set two tiers next to the assistant scoutmaster, Tom Marsh. Well, we only had 340 miles to go!

Tom was trying to quit smoking, a habit he picked up in the navy. He politely rolled down the car window whenever he said, “Here goes another nail in my coffin.

The smell of Tom’s Cigarette was no problem like the boys continually cutting wind. Whenever a boy would cut wind he would say, “We’re in Indian Country now.”

That was funny for the first couple of hours.

Our first flat tire was short of Evanston, Wyoming. It was the first of many on our way to the park. The spare tire helped speed up the repair on the first blowout, but after that, the tires had to be repaired and pumped up again with a hand pump. We shared in those duties.

We didn’t get to Jackson, Wyoming until 10:30 p.m. The leaders needed to purchase some supplies. The scouts mainly headed into the famous Cowboy Bar.

While I was out wondering the streets to see what trouble I mind find outside the bar, I saw the scouts come flying out of the bar. A cowboy stood at the door and said, ”And Don’t Come Back!”

It was near midnight when we got to the String Lake campground. We put up our tents and crawled into our sleeping bags except those of us who could not afford one. We crawled into our blankets. Then the scoutmaster went around scaring the heck out of us by shining a flashlight on his face and growling like a bear. (Later, to our happiness, the scoutmaster on a black night walked upon a black bear at a water fountain. That’s when he got the scare of his life.)

Some years ago I was sitting in my office at the church when two young men came in. Even though it was a long way from York, Pennsylvania to the western states, I took one look at the redhead and said, “You’re Bill Schultz’ son!”

I told him how I knew his father and asked for his home telephone number. That gave me a chance to talk about old times with Bill Schultz.

Bill Schultz was our Senior Patrol Leader on the Teton trip. He never told his son this story which I put into a poem years back. I have changed the poem from prose to rhyme here. I hope you enjoy it:

Bill Shultz and the Teton Ride by Taylor Jones

Monday, May 3, 1999 (revised November 3, 2005)

I was sitting in my office
In the old York Ward
When in came a tall, red-haired lad,
To talk about the Lord.

I said, "You're Bill Schultz' son,
That I know for sure.
How is your dad,
Haven't seen him since days of yore?

"How did you know?"
That is what he said.
I said, "You look just like him.
You look just like your dad.

I picked up the telephone,
I dialed and there was Bill.
I said, “I've got a young man here!
He says he’s Little Will.”

They talked and then I talked to Bill,
Renewing things long past.
I told the lad of his great dad,
I was glad to talk to his dad at last.

I said, “Let me tell you a story
About your roving dad.
In the great Teton Mountains
Great times by all were had.

Larry Haywood and I rented horses.
From the troop we snuck away.
We loved to ride those Teton trails;
We did it every day.

The last day of our campout,
A beautiful summer's day,
The whole troop decided to ride:
They soon were on their way.

We rented horses
For one scout or few,
Despite the wrangler’s warning,
"These critters are not broke for two!”

Then the wrangler added, ”I don’t want to see them lathered
When you bring them back.
These are trail horses,
Not made to race on track."

So off we went, and some of the scouts
Got thrown for double ridin'.
They ran like hell from the wranglers.
I think some still are hidin’.

I remember Dickey Duncan
Limping down the trail.
Died in a theater fire,
But that was back a spell.

The rest of us took the Jenny Lake road;
Bill Schultz decided to trot.
So down the middle of the blacktop he rode,
Our leader out in front a lot.

I yelled, "Don't gallop on the road,
Get back on the trail!"
But Bill just spurred his horse some more,
And went down the road pell-mell.

That's when a survey team
Flashed a steel tape in front of Bill's fast steed.
The critter turned toward the east,
A turn that Bill didn’t heed.

Bill smashed upon the blacktop,
We could give him little heed.
The other horses followed his.
We had to catch that steed.

Wally fell first of all
After the first fence was leaped,
Along with several others,
Almost in a heap.

Larry and I tried to stop the horses,
But they just kept running.
We knew we were in trouble now,
The wranglers saw us coming.

The second fence dropped the rest of the troop,
All but me and Larry.
We reined up before the last fence
Waiting for the wrangler's fury.

"You two know better than to run these horses!
You've been here every day.
Get down from there and don't come back.
We're sending you away!"

We slithered down and caught their boots,
Making our poor rumps pain.
"We don't ever want to see you two!
No, not ever again!"

We walked back across the fields,
With our friends we did belong.
We saw ol’ Bill, his red hair flashing,
Limping right along.

His clothes were torn,
His face was really bleeding,
All because to my voice
He never thought of heeding.

It was my yell to stop riding
And not to be so bold
Like Jerry Colona charging
Down The Rio Road.

I often think of that trip,
We worked so hard to go.
We rode up eleven and thirteen to a car,
The old tires loved to blow.

We swam in freezing lakes,
We hiked for twenty miles.
Those were the days of splendor in Wyoming,
Being with my pals.

I looked at Bill's son,
He looked back at me, a smiling, happy lad.
He said, "Dad never told me about that ride.
I really wish he had!"