Are boys born with sadistic tendencies or do they grow from the mind wanderings of restless youth? Growing up in a town of 500 in Central Utah guaranteed there would be milk cows, calves, and chickens in the back yards of town. Barns, corrals, haystacks, chicken coops, and pig pens make great play grounds for the young.

We were determined we were the best soldier unit in the country. We had our BB guns loaded and ready for action. We could shoot pop bottles off the fence at quite a distance, and run with a gun in hand, drop in the field and fire off several rounds before jumping up for another charge to the ditch.

We were surprised one day when our training grounds were split in half by a new fence. Now we were used to fences so that would not, by its self, be either unusual or threatening. But this fence was different. It had a single strand of smooth wire with insulators on each post. We had heard of electric fences but assumed they were to keep prisoners of war in their place, not us from our training field.

I am sure Max thought of this as a divider for his pasture. He drove the school bus and was not around when our unit was training. I don’t think he purposely set out to interfere with the safekeeping of town, but remember we were boys.

Just how much was this thing going to stand in our way of training? We danced around this divider for quite some time before Gordon finally said. “We’re stronger than that thing.”

I am sure I did not say “no we’re not.” Just as I’m sure no red blooded American soldier would let a stinking fence get in their way.

We all liked following Gordon. He was the strongest – I never saw him cry – he had the best ideas – or at least so we thought.

With the confidence of an officer, Gordon said, “We’re in this together. What one takes we all take. Do you agree?” Of course when your commanding officer makes a declaration as clear as that, we are not going to question.

“Line up.” He said. We lined up, looking at the fence – that demon that had to be taught a lesson. “Grab hands.” We all turned 90 degrees and grabbed hands. Our fearless leader stood staring at the fence.

Did we all loose our minds? Were we brain washed? Were we stupid? Or, were we sadistic?

So picture a line of boys all determined to demonstrate their manhood. They are looking over their left shoulder at Gordon, not really knowing what was next. Gordon reached out with this left hand. I think I recall all of us in unison drawing in a deep breath and squeezing our compatriots hand even tighter.

There was no pause in the stoke Gordon made toward the demon wire. As his hand hit the wire he tried to grasp it but the shock had already begun. One might think you could see the shock move in phase from Gordon to the next and then the next. Well, you’d be wrong.

It all happened so fast it is hard to separate the moment we saw Gordon’s hand move from the pain that instantly threw us all backward. Not one of us was left standing. The bellow of boys might be called a scream, but we won’t admit to this day that we screamed out loud.

The lesson we learned that day has not been forgotten. We treated that fence as a real obstacle from that day on. We would run, gun in hand to the fence, drop to our bellies and do the soldier crawl under the fence. Up again and run to the ditch, where we were safe from enemy fire at last. 

I have often thought how many more demon fences I will have to fight in my life.