Dorothy Hamill, the Boy Scout and the Attack of the Yellow Jackets

By Patrick Best

I rode my bike up to the Stark’s house to see if Dean and Lucy wanted to play. It was the summer of 1978 and I had just celebrated my eighth birthday. They had a sister a few years younger than me named Traci, but I had no interest in playing with her because she was in kindergarten. I'm surprised I even remember her name. Dean and Lucy never wanted to play baseball or jump ramps on their bicycles, but I still enjoyed hanging out with them. When you’re a kid who lives in a town with a population of 1,500 or so, you learn to deal with differences or you’ll spend a lot of time talking to your imaginary friends.

The Stark family lived up the street from my grandfather’s house on Washington St. in Ft. Gaines, GA. They had a nice little yellow house with fresh paint and trimmed bushes and flower beds that were tended with care. Dean was in the Boy Scouts, and, for some reason, always seemed to be in his uniform. Always. I don’t know if he had meetings every night of the week, or if he just really liked wearing that tan and green get-up with the yellow neckerchief. I went to one meeting with him and I knew within five minutes that I wasn’t a merit badges kinda guy. I have nothing against the Boy Scouts, but tying knots and lighting fires with sticks wasn’t - and still isn’t - my idea of a fun Friday night.

Lucy had a haircut like Olympic gold medalist figure skater, Dorothy Hamill, and a smile just as bright. Unfortunately, Lucy was not blessed with Hamill’s coordination. Watching her weave and wobble down the road on her bike with its over-sized wheels and fat cushiony seat made me crazy. We were friends during my I-Want-To-Grow-Up-To-Be-Evel-Knievel stage, so anyone who couldn’t ride a never-ending wheelie down the sidewalk was prone to get the occasional eye roll and slow condescending head shake from me. My fascination and adoration for Knievel was off the charts. I had the toys, posters, t-shirts and the patented Evel Knievel red, white and blue number one license plate that I attached to the front of the handlebars on my bike.

“Let’s go into the woods behind the house,” Dean said. “I need to get some leaves from different kinds of trees.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Scouts,” Lucy said, exasperated. "He needs to get the leaves for some Scouts thing."

“Oh,” I replied. “Okay, fine. Let’s go into the woods.”

Dean, Lucy and I jumped the fence behind their house and walked into the trees. Dean was our leader because he was the oldest and in uniform. 

“We can’t go to the stream today,” Lucy said as she walked. “I’m wearing my new shoes and Momma will kill me if I get them wet.”

“You should have changed before we came out here, Lucy,” Dean barked. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Hush, Dean. I wanted to wear them!” Lucy snapped back. “I’m still out here, aren't I?”

“I hate new shoes,” I said. “They make my feet hurt.”

“My new shoes feel just fine. They make my feet feel good - a lot better than my old shoes.”

“I want to go to the stream, so you’ll just have to stay away from the water,” Dean said emphatically.

“Fine,” Lucy said. "We'll do whatever Dean wants."

We got to an area of the woods where the trees were so close together that it was impossible to walk. Lucy and I got on our hands and knees and started crawling underneath the branches.

“What are y’all doing?” Dean said. “We can just walk around if we go that way a hundred yards.”

“It’s okay,” Lucy said as she trudged through the leaves. “I got my shoes off the ground.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I added, careful not to put my face into a spider's web. “This is the faster way.”

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Lucy shouted. She sounded like a pistol firing three times in a row, but instead of “Pow!” she was said “Ow!”. The quick little gunshot sounds were followed by a blood-curdling scream that scared the bejesus out of me. I jerked my head up and struck a branch that was just above me. When I opened my eyes, wincing from the pain caused by the knock on my noggin, I saw Lucy flailing her arms in all directions. She was slapping at her face and neck like she was possessed by the devil.

“Yellow jackets! Yellow jackets! Lucy! Get out of there!” Dean shouted from behind me. The first stings I got were on my face and neck and it felt like I was being pinched with needle nose pliers that were being slowly twisted to increase the pain they inflicted.

"Shiiiiiit!" I yelled. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

The world became a blur as I began to hit myself and shake my body in much the same way I’d seen Lucy reacting to the yellow and black attack. Dean grabbed my ankles and pulled me toward him. I didn’t make it easy for him to drag me out. It was if the yellow jackets’ stings were injecting paralyzing venom into me that made my arms and legs dead weight.

Dean had dragged me out for enough for me to stand and run away, but I couldn’t get up. I watched as he bravely moved to where I had been under the branches and grabbed his sister’s legs to pull her away from the mass of yellow and black demon bugs that were dancing from side to side in the in the air around Lucy’s head. There were so many around my body that I was able to grab hands full of them and smash them in my palms. No matter how many I knocked away there were more behind them.

“Go!” Dean said as he lifted Lucy off the ground. “Go, Pat! Run!”

I stood up as they moved past me, Dean dragging Lucy like an old rag doll that’s stuffed with cotton that’s become clumped and hard from being thrown in the washing machine too many times. I started running toward their house as fast as I’ve ever run in my life. I could feel thorn bushes tearing the skin from my shins and thighs, but I didn’t pause or look down to see the damage that was being inflicted. We were all screaming as we ran. Not words. Horrible, animalistic howls of agony and fear.

The yellow jackets were still with me, still buzzing in my shirt and hair. I could feel the skin on my face swelling and tightening. Dean and Lucy got to the fence that separated their yard from the woods, and they were climbing over together as they bellowed for their parents to come out and help them. For some reason I thought I could jump the fence. I was eight years old, and the top strand of barbed wire was at least four feet high, but I never slowed down. I ran and leaped like a hurdler. Believe it or not, I almost made it. Almost. My front leg made it over, but the fence caught my back just above the ankle of leg number two. In an instant I was hanging upside down, the barbed wire holding onto my blue jeans with a death grip. A few yellow jackets were inside my shirt and straining to get free from my heavy sweat-drenched hair. I hung there, weak and whimpering, for what seemed like an eternity.

“Help!” I called out weakly. “Help me!”

Dean and Lucy’s father burst out the back door and ran over to me. His voice sounded frantic... on the verge of hysteria. “You’re going to be okay, son. We need to get you kids inside. You’re all going to be okay.”  He lifted me up and away from the fence. I closed my eyes and hugged him as he rushed me into the house.

“Take off your clothes,” Mrs. Stark said, her eyes filled with tears. Lucy was standing next to a window unit air conditioner in just a t-shirt and white cotton underwear, her arms lifted at her side. She looked like a baby bird whose about to jump from the nest and test her wings for the first time. Her face and neck were swollen and red and she was making a wheezing noise that scared me. She marched in place and looked at me with the blank stare of a blind person.

“Take off your shirt!” Mr. Stark said to me. “We need to make sure they’re all gone.”

I didn’t move fast enough, so he grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head. My arms flung up in the air then flopped back down like a marionette whose body parts are being controlled by a toddler puppeteer. He knocked away the remnants of a few yellow jackets that were on my back and chest. I could feel my pulse in my eyebrow.

“Do you feel any of them on your legs?” he said as he kneeled down and stared at my face. “Do you have any in your pants?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. I could feel the wetness of the blood sliding down my shins thanks to the thorn bushes and barbed wire, but I didn’t want to take off my pants. “I wanna go home.”

Dean was standing next to me with his shirt off. He was crying, but it wasn’t for the same reason as me and Lucy. We were crying because we were in pain. He had been stung a lot, but Dean was worried about his sister.

“Is Lucy okay, Momma?” Dean said through sobs.

“Yes, Dean,” she said as she patted a wet wash cloth on Lucy’s cheeks. “Everyone’s fine now. Don’t worry.”

I saw him in a completely different way than I had before. He had saved us. He was a hero. He had dragged Lucy and I out of the brush even though he was getting stung, too. I still didn’t want to be a Boy Scout, but my opinion of them had definitely been elevated by his actions. 

We were all taken to the hospital and treated by my grandfather and his nurses. He gave me a shot that made me sleepy and a little less worried about the painful lumps all over my body. I don’t remember going home, but I do remember Momma helping me out of my clothes and into my bed.

“You poor thing. You were stung more than 40 times, Pitter,” Momma said as she rubbed my head. I liked when she called me Pitter. Made me feel special to have a nickname.

I could barely see her face - both my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Momma was sitting on the bed next to me and it felt so good to have her there, no matter the circumstances.

“Is Lu-pee okay?” I asked. My lips and the inside of my mouth had been stung several times, so my speech was being affected. I sounded a lot like Mushmouth from the Fat Albert cartoon.

“She’s going to be okay, baby,” she said with worried eyes. “Your Papa said she was stung more than a hundred times, but she’s going to be just fine.”

“Hunbred times?” I said. This probably sounds crazy – and I still feel guilty about it all these years later - but I was a jealous of Lucy at that moment. She was in the hospital getting treated by my grandfather and the nurses, and I knew the news of our incident in the woods would spread around town quickly. ‘Did you hear about that poor Lucy Stark?’ someone would say down at Hall’s Drug Store. ‘She got stung more than hundred times by yellow jackets,’ another would say at the City Market. ‘That boy who always wears the Boy Scout uniform and Patrick Best got stung a lot, too… but Lucy’s still in the hospital, bless her heart.’ Dean and I would be an afterthought. Forty is a lot, but it pales in comparison to more than 100.

“Are wu sure I onwee got stun forbee times?” I asked.

“Only? That’s more than most people get stung in their whole life, sweet boy. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Momma continued to stroke my hair as the medication dragged me toward sleep. My jealousy was fleeting.

“Lucy’s going to be fine, baby. You rest now.”

“Don’t leeb me, Momma," I said sleepily, but desperately. "Stay wib me.”

“Momma’s right here. I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled at me as she bent down and kissed me lightly on my forehead. She stroked my hair, and even though it hurt just a little when she touched the places on my scalp where the yellow jackets had been, I didn't say a word. I would have taken 1,000 stings if I could have guaranteed that feeling would last longer.

‘Is this why momma’s always sick?’ I thought.  ‘Does it make her feel as loved as I feel right now?’

“I lub you, Momma,” I said as I closed my eyes. “I lub you more dan any-ting.”

“Momma loves you, too, baby. More than anything.”

Some names have been changed to protect the innocent.