Fenton Black
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hi =] i just would like to know about some cool hair places in michigan =]?
Yeahh,
i live in Mt.Morris, Michigan
(go to flushing schools, pretty much live in Flushing i guess)
I was wondering if anyone knew any hair salons that were really good at styling/cutting, and had crazy colors for hair
like,
i kin d of wanted to get a raccoon tail with black and purple
I'm willing to drive pretty far actually.
Fenton is probably far enough.
like, Fenton/BurtonMAYBE Troy?
I would really appreciate your answer!
=]
thank you so much!! =^_^=
OH, i also wanted to know if u know anywhere that would put rainbow colors, JUST in the front in my bangs.
like this!!
http://photobucket.com/mediadetail/?media=http%3A%2F%2Fi274.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fjj255%2Fkaceedear%2Frainbowhair.jpg&searchTerm=rainbow%20hair&pageOffset=8
!!!!!!!!!
thank you!!!!
Hmmm... try going here.
www.kudzu.com
Just type in your zip code and type hair salons
Hope it helps!
Paint It Black @ The Fenton, Leeds
Fenton Black
The Day Matt Saved Scoutmaster Davies' Life
First of all, let me clearly state that I love the Boy Scouts. I loved ‘em when I was a Scout and I love ‘em now – Don’t get any weird ideas, I love ‘em in a Boy Scout way.
I enjoyed the comraderie, the campouts, the Jamborees – the works. Thirty years later I still count four scouts from our troop as my best friends. Yes, I loved Scouts –maybe a little too much.
Our troop didn’t exactly fit the typical Boy Scout mold. I am sure my being Senior Patrol Leader had something to do with it. We loved camping and were, to a man, hardy outdoorsmen, but we never quite mastered all those knots. Trying to plot a course with a compass was beyond our ken. And Signal Flags? Forget about it! We never learned much Morse Code other than S-O-S (and I still can’t remember if it’s three dots and then three dashes or the other way around).
What we lacked in Merit Badges we made up for with raw enthusiasm. We got creamed at most Scout competitions. Nonetheless, though short on scouting skills and technique, we were a physical lot. The only places we did well were footraces, swimming, tug of war and our favorite – the obstacle course. We were also creative. We were forever making up new sports competitions and challenging rival troops. My all time favorite was the time we dammed a creek with a log lying across it, cut staffs and held “Robin Hood” fights midstream. The objective was to knock your opponent into the stream and cross to his side and declare victory.
Needless to say the Scout Leaders were not happy with our un-authorized games. I will admit to some injuries and a couple of near riots, but no Scouts died or were permanently disabled and everybody had a lot of fun. Unfortunately the Leaders lacked our vision and banned Troop 498 from Camp Whitsett and The Steckel Park Jamboree for three years – long enough to ensure that all of the offending troop members had graduated from Scouts and moved on.
Now jump ahead a couple of years – the old crew is gone and my little brother Matt and his friends have become the troop - similar attitude, but under new management. The new Scoutmaster was a disciplinarian and a true Scouter. We were discussing his management style rather disparagingly one morning over breakfast when my mother called us on it. She said, “It sounds like you hate him”. We all protested, but Matt outshone us all when he claimed that not only did he not hate him, but he even saved his life once! That got everybody’s attention and we had to hear the story. Matt said it happened on one of the first campouts with the new Scoutmaster.
Scoutmaster Davies was the real thing. He had been involved in Scouting most of his life. He had a couple of sashes covered with Merit Badges. He was an Eagle – Order of the Arrow – the whole nine yards. He knew BSA protocol and observed it strictly. On this particular summer evening he was standing on the beach in full uniform with black polished shoes, badges, sashes, clipboard and his official BSA neckerchief tied perfectly.
He had just called the boys together for an unscheduled meeting. Moments before they had all been involved in a wild water balloon war that had raged up and down the beach and out into the ocean. They slowly gathered round panting, giggling and wet. Still jostling, talking smack and trying to sneak tosses at each other. Each hit would score a laugh and of course invite retaliation. Most were holding their water ballon ammo just waiting for the Scoutmaster to stop talking so they could resume the battle.
Scoutmaster Davies was undaunted by his unruly crew. After all, he worked for the Sheriff Department at the local Honor Rancho (minimum security prison) and he handled unruly felons every day. He knew the value of structure and discipline and he intended to enforce it. After one too many interruptions he decided to single out the ringleaders and disarm them.
Did I mention the Scouts were in high spirits? They were having a blast. This is what they came for. Beach camping was a time for fun! Being excitable boys they completely missed the fact that they were in soaking wet swimsuits and the new Scoutmaster was in full uniform including glossy black shoes, standing at attention with his mighty clipboard of power and very serious about this meeting.
So when he confronted my brother and demanded his water balloons Matt asked as innocently as he could, “you want my ammo?”. “Give them to me now!”, ordered the Scoutmaster, holding out his hand. With a twinkle in his eye, Matt said, “You want them? You can have them” and he tossed them all at once at Scoutmaster Davies chest. The other Scouts howled when Matt’s balloons broke all over the Scoutmaster’s chest.
Scoutmaster Davies was not amused. In a stunning reversal of character the normally composed authoritarian went berserk. With a roar he lunged at Matt, but little brother was already gone, running down the beach. He said later that he had intended to keep away just long enough for the Scoutmaster to cool down, but when he slowed down and looked back the crazed Leader was hot on his tail. Matt poured it on intending to outrun him, but he kept right with him and was showing no sign of tiring. In fact , he was gaining ground and closing the gap. Matt was astonished that the old guy could run like that in full BSA regalia - and in those stupid black street shoes - and in sand!
Incredibly Matt began to tire. He zigged and he zagged. He ran down by the water and up on the dry hot sand to no avail. He couldn’t shake him. Finally Matt decided his only chance was to run out into the water – surely the Scoutmaster wouldn’t follow in his uniform and street shoes, he thought. But when he suddenly swerved out into the surf the Scoutmaster plunged in after and caught him in waist deep water. Still enraged, he grabbed Matt from behind and began dunking him violently over and over from side to side.
The commotion caught the attention of a group of body builders on the beach. One big, muscular bruiser ran down and waded out until he was standing a few feet in front of the struggle in the water. Perceiving imminent danger, Scoutmaster Davies stopped and held my brother in front of him. The bruiser sounded pretty angry when, ignoring the Scoutmaster, he asked Matt, “Is this guy your father? Because if he’s not, I am going to kill him”. Matt looked at the Scout Leader, then at his rescuer and back at the Scoutmaster. Scoutmaster Davies never said a word. Finally Matt said, “He’s my father”.
The body builder looked long and hard at Scoutmaster Davies and said, “Your son just saved your life. Father or not, touch him again like that and I will kill you”. “And that”, said Matt, “is how I saved Scoutmaster Davies Life”.
Epilogue
Neither Matt nor Scoutmaster Davies ever mentioned it again. Matt and his cohorts eventually grew to like and respect their new leader and he turned them into a real Scout Troop. They helped him ditch the street shoes and the clipboard and learn to loosen up a bit, The Scoutmaster became a family friend and stayed close until he passed away. If Matt had not saved his life that day who would have guessed?
About the Author
B D Fenton is a freelance writer living in So. California
Elliott spars for Black Belt
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