My Amateur Naturism Experience -- A Tale Of My Existence

Greetings and Salutations, Y'all!

Today's blog post is going to be a somewhat different animal than many of y'all are used to from this simple small-town country writer as it deals with a somewhat interesting topic, followed by another personal tale of my existence that deals with this subject. 

When it comes to public displays of nudity, I have a somewhat moderate view on the subject. 

Certainly I don't think that people should walk down the street with their private places hanging out for all the see. I am also no voyeur in terms of having any real desire in watching such displays either. To be perfectly honest, I don't think many people look very good naked personally. 

Now I do know that people will sometimes engage in private displays of nudity in more secluded places like, oh say, the somewhat aptly named Skinny Dip Falls on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. Some are couples who want to be adventurous, and others are people who just do it to be comfortable with themselves in their own bodies, or commune with nature in their own way. Sometimes families, or groups of people will forgo bathing suits in their family pools -- behind hedges and large walls, of course. 

There's even an unofficial Hike Naked Day on the summer solstice (June 21st) that some adventurous folks take advantage of yearly.

All I have to say is I hope they're wearing skeeter repellent
and some really good sunblock.

Believe it, or not, on some U.S. National Parks and federal-owned  land, public nudity is not technically illegal. 

Yeah, shocker huh? 

Federally owned U.S. Forest Service and BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land doesn’t have any federal law specifically banning public nudity. However each national forest, grassland, and all BLM lands does largely honor state and county laws, which vary widely and can result in public nudity warranting a ticket. Most National Park Rangers and BLM officials will take situations of public nudity on a case-by-case basis and will only ticket naked visitors if their nudity "presents a nuisance or hazard to public land users". While a group of nude hikers may get a few weird glances (for obvious reasons), but as long as the intent of such public nudity is solely to be naked and is not to "incite or satisfy sexual arousal," then such people are totally within the boundaries of federal law.

Yeah, there in lies the big issue here in America and our culture. Most people in America and Western Culture -- particularly in secular cultures -- wrongly consider nudity as specifically sexual in nature. In and of itself, nudity isn't predominately sexual, but for the most part many people view it that way. 

Specifically some deeply religious people are offended by the display of nudity outside of private places -- and in some cases even then. Indeed there are certainly some people who specifically engage in public nudity as a form of protest against secular morality, or to engage in public displays of sexual gratification, or voyeurism. An internet search will show you almost at once a number of people engaging in sexual acts, or provocative poses for the sake of self-glorification. This does not make such people the norm in particular, but it does blur the lines a great deal on the subject of the acceptance of public nudity.

Sexual predators almost certainly use public nudity to their advantage. Many would also argue that public nudity could lead to more sexual harassment, or sexual assaults. There are many unfortunate precedents for this. By their own twisted nature, sexual predators view nudity as completely sexual. 

I would agree that there are already legally defined places where people can be naked in public (nudist colonies and nude beaches for example), and extending these into all public places would be very problematic and would violate other people's moral codes.

Legalizing public nudity could create, or even deepen, cultural barriers and rifts between peoples. That I would deeply disapprove of. At best I could support the idea of public beaches being top-optional for bikini tops like other countries have with little fanfare. My feeling being that after awhile such displays become common and the novelty would wear off for most people.

Of course, in the case of those who privately engage in public nudity when not specifically flaunting it in front of others, such as the people who go to secluded places and engage in au natural displays for personal comfort, or go skinny dipping, I say screw it -- just be sure to wear lots of sunblock and skeeter repellent.

If you aren't hurting anyone, or setting out to offend people, then such limited public nudity in such cases should not be regarded as either malum in se, or even malum prohibitum -- evil because government, or religious authorities say so. I also don't personally feel that an individual's morality is specifically determined by whether or not a third party can see their private areas.

But that's just my two cents on the subject.  

Now in the interest of full disclosure, I have gone skinny dipping myself a few times in my youth (on at least two of these occasions not alone, and never in public) and I have once unfortunately streaked a quarter of a mile around my old neighborhood late one very cold night on a stupid dare when I was 16 and a dumbass, but otherwise, I've never actually hiked, or gone naked in a public place.   

Well, except for once, and that is the tale that will be telling y'all today. The story of my one and only amateur naturalism experience. 

Eastern-facing view from the overlook at Crowders Mountain.
It was on that rock that I enjoyed my amateur naturalist moment.

It was sometime in early August of 2004 that I took what was my second official visit to Crowders Mountain State Park in Gaston County, North Carolina. I was 28 at the time.

Unlike my first trip, the second one was my first solo journey up the mountain. The trails to the top are easy enough for a single hiker. I don't remember why I decided to take the 35 mile trip from my home to the mountain that particular day, just a whim on my part. That and a desire to enjoy one of my days off from work. 

One thing I did not anticipate that day was one of those quick hit-and-run summer thunderstorms that the South is famous for. Then again it didn't really start getting cloudy till I got to the parking lot at the access near the mountain, nor did I start hearing thunder until I was part of the way up the mountain. I did notice that lots of people were hurrying down the mountain and going back to their cars, some of them already wearing emergency ponchos -- which I didn't have at the time. I did have a couple of plastic bags in my backpack, but I just had time to put my food and supplies in them and seal them when the first drops fell through the canopy of trees.

Now I could have turned back and gone to my car. I would still have gotten soaked in the process, but your favorite blogger isn't the sort to quit over a little rain. So I soldiered on with raindrops pouring down the brim of my wide-brim hat. There was only a few streaks of lightning in the distance, and a lot of thunder, but none of it came close. 

The fact that there is a damn large lightning rod in the form of a transmission tower at the top of the mountain did kind-of concern me. I wasn't planning to go anywhere near that end though, just the overlook facing Charlotte, North Carolina in the distance. I judged the risk to be a minor one -- it probably wasn't, but then again I was resolved to get to the top. 

When I got to the top, it was still raining, but no longer thundering, or lightning. It was a simple downpour with the more dangerous stuff having moved off to the east. From the overlook I could see the lightning and darker clouds off in the distance over Charlotte 30 miles away.

Not surprisingly, I found that I was the only person there. I had the whole top of Crowders Mountain all to myself. Except for God's beauty all around me, I was alone up there; the usual tourists and visitors having run off and sheltered at the bottom in the rain. My inner introvert was jumping up and down for joy. I closed my eyes and smiled lifting my head to the rainy sky overhead through the trees. 

Then a somewhat risque thought came to me and I almost laughed out loud. Since I had the whole mountain to myself, I thought: why not? Again I made certain I was in fact alone up there....and then I stripped out of my rain-soaked clothes and hiking boots and set them out on one of the larger boulders.   

I removed my beach towel from my backpack and set it on the boulder and then sat cross-legged on it wearing nothing but my wide-brim, which was still dripping water from the rain. I sat there with my eyes closed just listening to the wind and rain, letting myself feel the rain wash over me. I remember praying to God and thanking Him for the rain and the empty mountain.

Did I feel any more "liberated" being sans clothes? Did I commune with nature in any significant way with my display?

No, not really. 

I mean I wouldn't exactly describe the experience as unpleasant, it actually wasn't. But I didn't experience anything different, aside from the fact I was sitting nude in a summer downpour on top of a boulder overlooking 35 miles of North Carolina. I didn't feel weird -- at least no weirder than I usual do. For me the experience was just different. 

I remained that way for about half an hour as the rain eventually slacked off to a small drizzle and then stop. I sat there letting my mind wander most of the time, and ate the small lunch that I packed. Eventually I got down and pulled out my (thankfully dry) spare underwear, shorts, t-shirt and socks from my backpack. My boots were still wet, but that didn't matter. 

I was again dressed, packed up and just about to pick up my hiking stick and start back down when I heard people coming up the nearby stairway. The tourists were back now that the rain was gone. I almost laughed at the close call, then I greeted the first ones as they came arrived. 

And there you have it folks, the story of my one -- and so far only -- amateur naturalism experience. My display of public nudity, even though nobody (aside from God) was a witness to it as far as I am aware. Would I ever do it again? Probably not. 

While it was pretty good to let loose, it wasn't a huge deal. Even if someone had popped in during the rain and seen me sitting there on that overlook boulder in all my 6 foot, 2 inch 215 lb (at the time) glory, I likely wouldn't have made it any bigger a deal. I wasn't excited, and it didn't give me any particular thrill. I didn't consider the moment to be all that wild, or crazy.

It was just another moment in my life, another unique experience. Another tale of my existence. 

Have any of y'all ever done anything similar that was wild, or crazy? Let me know in the comments section below. Also let me know what y'all think of this story, or ask me about any particular experience in my life that I might be willing to share y'all might be interested in. 

Until next time have a wonderful Dixie Day and y'all come back now, ya hear?

The White Privilege Of Black Confederate Denial

A perfect example of the juxtaposition between the reality of
Confederate heritage defense and regressive anti-Confederate
heritage bigotry.

For the first time in my life, I think I finally understand what the term "white privilege" truly means. 

Of course, to clarify, it doesn't mean what modern-day Regressive Leftists believes it to mean. Much like the mental gymnastics that go into their arguments for why people who are ethnic minorities cannot be racist, their definitions of what they define as "white privilege" practically needs a GPS device to navigate the twists and turns of logic needed to justify the term. 

No folks, the white privilege in question that I want to address today comes from the Don Quixote of History himself, Kevin Levin, author of the historical parody blog Civil War Memory Amnesia.  

Very recently there was a rather quizzical article published by The Guardian by David Smith entitled: Black Confederates: exploding America's most persistent myth. This bizarre article (dated Sunday, October 13th) widely quotes Mr. Levin, is a mixture of the usual debunked Black Confederate Denial historical negationist talking points, mind-twisting conjecture on Mr. Levin's part, and modern-day Leftist political ranting aimed at our current American President on the part of Mr. Smith. 

To say the article is informative on the subject of Black Confederates in general is laughable. I have read so many historical fallacies from the Denier community that their inability to articulate proper historical fact from their own personal political and social biases lost all of its shock value to me long ago. 

Indeed Mr. Levin has used the same exact talking points in this article that he has used since roughly around 2008: mentioning the Confederate monument at Arlington National Cemetery, siting the famous image of the Chandler boys and his own version of their story, and throwing in a few digs at non-white Confederate heritage supporters.

It is the latter that I want to address today. 

One of the people sited in the article, and largely in many articles written by Mr. Levin over the years, is a Southern gentleman and noted Confederate heritage activist named H.K Edgerton. 

Compatriot H.K. Edgerton (pictured on the right with the flag)
at a Confederate Heritage Youth Day event in 2007.

Mr. Edgerton is African-American and a former head of the Asheville, North Carolina chapter of the NAACP, is well know to much of the Southern heritage community. He is also an associate member of the North Carolina Division Sons of Confederate Veterans (NCSCV) and a noted public speaker.

One of his notable achievements, at then 53 years old, was to march across the deep South from Asheville to Austin, Texas back in the early 2001 wearing a gray Confederate uniform and carrying a battle flag. He averaged about 20 miles a day and stopped on occasions to talk to groups of school students and curious onlookers. Many people walked with him also carrying Confederate banners in a show of solidarity. 

Mr. Edgerton was also a notable figure at the 2004 funeral for the final crew of the Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley in Charleston, South Carolina where he helped lead the funeral procession from Battery Park to Magnolia Cemetery. Several years ago, Mr. Edgerton also attended the funeral of Mr. Anthony Hervey, another Confederate heritage supporter of color from Mississippi who was tragically killed in an apparent road rage incident in July of 2015.

Through all of his actions in respect and defense of both the Confederate dead and the heritage they gave to their descendants, Mr. Edgerton earned the respect and admiration of his peers in the Confederate heritage defense movement. 

I've had the honor of meeting Mr. Edgerton on several occasions over the last decade, or so. Y'all might remember one or two of them mentioned here at Southern Fried Common Sense & Stuff from a couple of years back. In all my meetings with him, I've thoroughly enjoyed sitting under his learning tree and listening to him speak eloquently about his experiences as a pro-Southern heritage activist fighting to help defend the good name of the Confederate soldier -- particularly Black Confederate Veterans. 

His actions standing up for our shared Confederate historical heritage and fellow Southern heritage activists has also resulted in Mr. Edgerton being the target of mockery and hatred on the part of anti-Confederate heritage reactionaries. Much of that mockery consisting of racially charged stereotyping of a nature I won't permit on this blog and will not provide screen shots of -- a simply five minute Google search will provide y'all with more than enough of these obscene examples. 

There are several examples of this sort of stereotyping present at Mr. Levin's blog, and those of some of his most loyal circle-jerkers. Several examples include terms that I would never feel comfortable repeating even as an example. The least of these is a mocking comparison between Mr. Edgerton and the stereotypical character Uncle Ruckus from the Cartoon Network Adult Swim cartoon block series The Boondocks. Again no, I will not post links, nor give that sort of bigotry a voice on this blog.

Mr. Levin and the loyal followers of his personality cult take every effort they can to attack not only Mr. Edgerton, but other Southern heritage activists of color virtually every chance they get. 

In fact just recently a friend from facebook posted a screenshot from Mr. Levin's Twitter account (dated Sunday, October 20th) making another slightly passive-aggressive attack against a Confederate heritage supporter of color. The image shows two friends of this blogger standing together to pose for a photo. On the left in the photo is Mr. John "Zak" Zakrzewski, a fellow SCV member from my home state of South Carolina, and the lovely Southern lady is Miss Teresa Roane, a member of the Virginia Division, United Daughters of the Confederacy (UDC) and former archivist with the Museum of the Confederacy in Richmond, Virginia. The caption written by The Don Quixotie of History himself is, of course, his own warped interpretation of what he is seeing.

BTW I replaced the image of Mr. Levin's obscenely
ugly mugshot with something a little bit less
unpleasant to look at. Once again the Don Quixote of
History is tilting at windmills.

Now I often refer to myself "The Man Deniers Fear The Most" largely as a running gag and a means of sticking it to Black Confederate Deniers. Even though it was a moniker given to me by several heritage activists after delivering a humiliating defeat to Mr. Levin on his own blog once upon a time -- and then being subsequently banned for it. Still one of my greatest accomplishments to date.

That and the fact most of these Deniers largely avoid coming to this blog and debating me only reaffirms the title. All the same, I'm not here to toot my own horn. Like Confederate General Thomas Jackson when folks called him "Stonewall" for his brigade's stand at the 1st Battle of Manassas, I feel the term belongs to people far worthier than myself.

One of those people is Miss Teresa Roane.  

As an archivist who worked for decades with the Museum of the Confederacy, she has had access to all the source materials available there in her study of Black Confederate Veterans and their service during the War. Her conclusions and the beautiful way she articulates their stories in her own presentations across the South on the subject of these largely forgotten veterans also makes her a frequent target of Black Confederate Deniers. Not just because she proudly tells the story of Black Confederates, but because she is a proud Confederate descendant and African-American Southern woman who does.  

Miss Roane is a truly beautiful Southern lady and a fashionable woman who seems to own hundreds of outstanding and impeccable hats; an outstanding and courageous woman that I have had the great pleasure of meeting on several occasions documented here on this blog. I respect her and proudly call her my friend and fellow Southerner and Confederate descendant.

So with Mr. Edgerton and Miss Roane, you have two outspoken people singled out for attack by our Denier friend for standing up for other Confederate heritage supporters, and defending the memories of Confederate veterans of color.

Now an interesting little fun fact about Mr. Levin's loyal blog posters: with a couple of exception, all of them are white -- the Don Quixote of History himself included. 

In fact, from a demographic standpoint, virtually all Black Confederate Deniers and outspoken "historians" who oppose the memories of Black Confederate Veterans are both white and politically Leftist. Almost every one of them has, at one point or another, used some stereotypical term, or racist comparison, to describe a Southern heritage supporter who doesn't share their particular skin tone. 

Despite being among the so-called "tolerant" and "sensitive" people, these self-described white knights feel comfortable being as racist and bigoted towards someone of another racial ethnicity who does not share their views of American history and racial identity. More so their particular brand of bigotry is tolerated by traditionally Leftist organizations and institutions controlled exclusively by non-white activists, so long as one of them doesn't actually get bold enough in their zealotry to actually cross over into using the n-word -- though a few have on occasion. 

In both the article and in his weird twitter post, Levin makes the point that modern-day non-white heritage activists and members of Southern heritage groups are just props, or tokens, used by Confederate heritage organizations to play some ridiculous shell game. It is a consistent theme in his blog, and in his recent book, argued over and over again. 

All the while, he indulges his largely white fanbase as they throw around new twists on old stereotypes to describe people who don't share their ability to easily burn in long-term exposure to sunlight. Ugly, racist stereotypes that your average Christian conservative would be crucified over the internet for using, yet seem to be tolerated and encouraged by the "woke" crowd. 

Y'all want to know the real definition of "white privilege" folks, there it is. A bunch of virtue-signaling, lily-white knights comfortably using soft racism and passive-aggressive bigotry from the safety of their "safe-spaces" online towards people who reject their racial identity political views on history and heritage.  

Mr. Levin and his Denier cult can only mock them. For all of their current influence in academic circles none of them could ever measure up to, or show an ounce of the strength of character and moral courage shown by these two proud defenders of Southern identity and truth. 

Not only do I consider Mr. Edgerton and Miss Roane my friends, I consider them both -- as well as those tens of thousands of other proud descendants of color worldwide who proudly proclaim their Confederate ancestry -- to be the bravest people among us for standing tall against the forces of hatred and reaction who would continue to divide us for their own personal political and financial gain. 

I am proud to share a unique part of my own Southern identity with them, and I could only hope that, through my own contributions here on this blog, I could live up to being even a tenth as courageous as both of them put together. 

God bless all of you.

Robinson Crusoe On Mars And My Childhood Journey To The Red Planet

The opening scene to the science fiction cult classic Robinson Crusoe On Mars (1964).
US spaceship Mars Gravity Probe One "Eleanor M" on final approach to Mars. 
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

Robinson Crusoe On Mars
And My Childhood Journey To The Red Planet  

By C.W. Roden 

The planet Mars holds a special interest for the human race. Ancient human civilizations worshiped the Red Planet as a god. In more recent times Mars has been a major inspiration for many science fiction and fantasy writers for over the last century. It is certain to be the first planetary body beyond Earth's moon that human beings will set their first footprints.

As a lifelong science fiction fan I've always held a profound fascination with stories and films about Mars. There have certainly been a number of influences over the years, but it all began sometime around the early part of October 1984 with an old science fiction movie and an old modular jungle gym.

At then eight years old I was completely obsessed with two subjects: dinosaurs and space travel. My overactive imagination and tendency to daydream at off times made me sort of an oddball among my peers -- a fact that I must admit still hasn't changed all that much today. Many times I would find myself sitting alone in one corner of the playground, or classroom, with nothing but my trusty collection of dinosaur toys, a stack of library books, and my imagination to keep my company.

Also unchanged since my youth has been my enjoyment of reading and thirst for knowledge. Whenever I became interested in a subject I would go to my local library and seek out as much information about it as my mind could soak up. These days I get my information mostly through the internet and online sources, although I still manage to find my way to the local library that I practically grew up in. In my humble opinion nothing can replace the actual weight and feel of a good book in your hands, or the smell of the ink and glue binding, or the feel of the paper at your fingertips. Screw Kindles!

My obsession with the Red Planet came about sometime in the summer of 1984 when I was first introduced to the ridiculously titled cult classic science fiction film Robinson Crusoe On Mars (1964) directed by the legendary Byron Haskin, the genius behind the 1953 film version of H.G. Wells' 1898 science fiction novel War of the Worlds. The screenplay for the film, written by screenwriters Ib Melchior and John C. Higgs, is based on source material from Daniel Defoe's 1719 classic novel Robinson Crusoe. The film was independently made and distributed by Paramount Pictures. 

The robinsonade film follows the adventures of Commander Christopher "Kit" Draper, USN, (actor Paul Mantee) -- astronaut and copilot of the US spaceship Mars Gravity Probe One (MGP-1) "Eleanor M". Draper and his commanding officer, Colonel Dan "Mac" McReady, USAF,  (actor Adam West -- before he put on the Batsuit) and a female monkey named Mona (actually a male monkey named Barney, though the credits simply refer to him as "The Woolly Monkey") are the first human explorers from Earth sent to the Red Planet.

Commander Christopher "Kit" Draper (Paul Mantee) and
Colonel Dan "Mac" McReady (Adam West) aboard
Mars Gravity Probe One "Eleanor M" examining the
surface of the Red Planet.
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

In orbit observing Mars, they encounter a large meteor that forces a course correction that sends the trio into a the lower orbit of the Red Planet and uses up their propulsion fuel. With no means of leaving the planetary orbit, the two astronauts and monkey are forced to use a pair of attached landing vehicles to make an emergency landing on Mars and take refuge.

Draper's lander crashes into rocks, leaving him stranded in the middle of what appears to be a fire-covered planet with roaming fireballs. With a limited supply of air and emergency supplies, Draper sets off across the barren and apparently lifeless planet in search of shelter until he can make contact with McReady, who landed nearby.

After encountering some strange yellow rocks that appear to be like some form of coal and the source of the fires, Draper finds a shelter cave. Using a handy device called an Omnicomp (a form of computer, recorder, transmitter and receiver) Draper chronicles his time on Mars, which he admits will be brief. He realizes that the air of the planet is much too thin for humans to breathe for very long, and once his air supply runs out, he will not survive, unless he can make contact with McReady.

Kit Draper discovers the possible source of the fires.
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

The next day he goes off in search of McReady's lander over a group of mountains (the film was shot at picturesque Zabriskie Point in Death Valley National Park, California, USA) and eventually finds -- to his disappointment -- both Colonel McReady's crashed lander and McReady's dead body. He also discovers that Mona has survived the crash and can tolerate the thin air of the planet.
 

Rest in peace, Mac.
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

 
Upon returning to the shelter cave, Draper's air runs out and he accepts his inevitable death, collapsing beside the yellow rocks he'd gathered for his fire. To his amazement, he wakes still alive to find that the yellow rocks somehow produce oxygen, possibly the source of the planet's oxygen since there is no vegetation on the planet. Draper manages to learn how to harvest breathable air from the rocks and rig up a breathing apparatus, and conserve air through moderate exertion.

Kit Draper refilling his air tanks.
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

   
His biggest problems are now food and water. The spaceship Eleanor M continues to orbit low in the planet's atmosphere, but all attempts to contact the computer and order it to land fail. The ship has no fuel to land or maneuver, and all of the supplies for the journey to Mars remain aboard. Draper himself has only enough supplies of both to last barely two weeks through strict rationing. Mona however doesn't seem to need water much, which puzzles Draper until he follows her and discovers that she has found a pool of water. Draper also finds some form of sea pods growing in the water, that contains edible sausage-like protein.

Kit Draper (Mantee) and Mona (Barney The Woolly Monkey).
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

As the film progresses, Kit Draper encounters the same problem that Crusoe did in Defoe's novel: isolation. With only a woolly monkey for company, Draper argues with an echo of his own voice, and then later begins to hallucinate about his dead friend Colonel McReady visiting him one night after becoming sick from the cooked sausages. 

Despite the dread of being without human company, Draper makes the most of his time on Mars, building a bunch of Robinson Crusoe-type inventions, including a primitive alarm clock in order for him to wake every hour to take in boosters of air from his breather. Another interesting gadget is a primitive bagpipe that he plays Dixie on -- another nice touch this Southern boy thought. He even announces his intentions to Mona that they are going to explore this new world of theirs, since their mission to Mars was for that endeavor.

"Oh I wish I was on Mars, hurray hurray..."
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

It is during one of these exploration trips that Kit Draper discovers a grave and the skeleton of what appears to be a human with a hole in the middle of his forehead, indicating that he was murdered. Realizing he might not be as alone as he thought, and dreading the people who might have done this, Draper removes all outside evidence that he is there, including ordering the crippled Eleanor M to self-destruct.

A short time later, Draper witnesses what appears to be a spaceship landing nearby. Believing them to be a rescue party from Earth, he rushes out to find them, only to see that the ships are not from Earth, but rather some type of alien ship -- the same ones used for the Martian invaders in Byron Haskin's War of the Worlds (1953)....another personal favorite classic of this writer.

Hey those ships look kinda familiar!
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

While observing the strange visitors, Kit Draper encounters an escaped slave (actor Victor Lundin -- best known as the first onscreen Klingon from the original Star Trek series: Errand of Mercy, Season 1, episode 26) whom Draper takes back to his cave and names Friday -- another nod at the film's source material.

Meeting Friday (Victor Lundin).
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

As the movie progresses, we see Draper's attitude towards Friday go from one of mistrust where Draper has Friday do manual labor for him (a fact that bothered me more than a little as a kid, and apparently didn't sit well with actor Paul Mantee either) to one of sympathy when they discover that the alien slave masters slaughtered Friday's fellow slaves and friends before departing with the mined ore. Then when a falling meteor nearly kills Draper, Friday saves his life by pulling him from the choking ashes and giving him a breath pill -- which apparently helps make oxygen in the lungs and bloodstream. This act ultimately causes Draper to trust Friday more and the two walk back to the cave arm in arm, with Kit reciting from the Twenty-Third Psalm.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

Speaking of faith, the movie has an interesting scene later on when Draper and Friday are on the run from the alien slave masters and find water. There is a discussion between the two of them about God and the nature of divine order, something that is rarely done in science fiction films these days, except maybe as a way to mock or debunk Christian faith. The scene is well done and shows a dynamic between the two characters and their growing friendship.

Eventually, Kit is able to remove the slave bracelets the alien slave masters use to track Friday and they arrive at one of the polar ice caps of Mars. There after surviving yet another large meteor strike that buries them in an avalanche, the Omnicomp picks up a radio message from an Earth rescue ship. Kit and Friday cheer as they respond to the message, and are greeted by the surprised exclamation: "My god, a voice from Mars!" (the voice provided by director Byron Haskins himself). 

The movie ends with Draper, Friday and Mona rescued and Mars receding into the darkness of space as they return to Earth. 

Kit Draper, Friday and Mona being rescued by an Earth landing craft that apparently doesn't cast
a reflection in the water.
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)

Thanks to the adventures of Commander Kit Draper, Friday, and Mona -- as well as the creative vision of director Byron Haskins and the people who put together Robinson Crusoe On Mars -- I developed a young boy's fascination with the solar system, particularly with Earth's small red neighbor. The idea of astronauts landing on and actually exploring Mars had the most profound impact on me. The visionary effects in the film (at least for 1964 Hollywood) including the landing craft used by the movie's main character (visionary for its time since it was portrayed several years before the famous Apollo Lunar Module was even off the drawing board) inspired me to read up on the Apollo Moon Landings and space travel theories in general.

As a result of this film, I gathered up every library book about Mars in the junior and adult non-fiction section of my local library and soaked up every little detail about the Red Planet that I could find. After that I found the fiction stories like: The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury, Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis, and certainly A Princess of Mars by Edgar RiceBurroughs. By the time summer vacation ended, I was a regular Martian expert - well, at least I thought so at the time.

The movie -- which I recorded from television back the days when VHS tapes were beginning to come into wide use -- became a favorite of mine. That summer I watched it until I had the dialogue memorized word for word. Even today there's a DVD copy of Robinson Crusoe On Mars from the Criterion Collection complete with extras and commentary from the actors, writers, and director that holds a special place of honor in my movie collection.

Now obviously the entire premise of a man surviving any length of time on Mars without a pressure suit, let alone finding standing water or plant life is ridiculous. Mars as we know it in today has next to no air and no atmospheric pressure tolerable for human life. The images the NASA Mariner 1 and Mariner 2 Probes sent back to Earth in 1965 showed the cratered, moon-like Martian surface devoid of the so-called canals, or ancient cities that astronomers like Lowell and Schiaparelli "discovered" around the end of the 19th century - which also inspired classic science fiction writers like H.G. Wells and Edgar Rice Burroughs to create amazing stories about life and civilizations on the Red Planet. A decade later in June of 1976 (same month and year I was born) NASA's Viking 1 and Viking 2 probes showed just a cold, dry desert landscape with violent dust storms, rock, and lots and lots of red sand dunes. No ancient city ruins, no vast canal systems artificial or otherwise, no "little green men" or large, four-armed giants, and no nearly naked red-skinned princesses clad only in jewels (damn it!). No surface life of any kind at all.

Of course none of that mattered at all to an eight year old small town Southern boy with a huge imagination and a tendency to daydream constantly during math classes. To that youngster, Mars was the next great frontier.

One of my favorite places at elementary school was an ancient modular jungle gym set between the playground and a dusty red activity field where outdoor P.E. classes were sometimes held. The jungle gym was the exact shape of how my imagination envisioned a Mars Landing Module complete with cockpit and airlock. The red dirt and virtually weed free activity field looked almost exactly like the surface of Mars from the Viking landing probe photos -- minus the pine trees in the background and the blue sky.

So thanks to a (then) twenty year old science fiction movie and my active imagination, on a moderately cool, but slightly sunny day in October of 1984, eight year old NASA Major Carl "Beau" Roden from South Carolina, USA, became the first human being from Earth to set foot on and explore the planet Mars in my unbuttoned light weather jacket, planting humanity's first footprints on the Martian surface in my worn and dirty sneakers.

For the next couple of months, or so, while my other male classmates were into contact team sports, or the popular classic G.I. Joe and Transformers action figures, I was an astronaut/space explorer; a combination of Kit Draper, Neil Armstrong, and James T. Kirk, making huge scientific discoveries by collecting rock, soil and plant samples in my empty lunch containers. I even got to discover (with the help of my trusty dinosaur toy collection) the existence of miniature dinosaurs on Mars! At other times I pretended to be a castaway who crashed on Mars, writing out S-O-S in huge letters in the red dirt, or with lined up rocks big enough for rescue ships to see. Every once in awhile a couple of classmates would act as my crew members, at least for a few days before getting bored and again leaving me marooned all alone on the "Martian" surface.

The gears of a young boy's mind turn very quickly though. By the time spring arrived "Mars" was again an activity field and taken over by the rest of my third grade class. I would soon be joining my classmates in group soccer games, where I had the distinction (usually against my will) to be goalie and collecting bumps and bruises when I was not daydreaming between goal attempts. Mars and my adventures there were soon replaced by my next big obsession, namely trying to -- and usually failing -- to be a good goalkeeper. 

Soon other obsessions and short-term life goals took higher priority in my life, not least of which was later surviving the urban jungles of Middle School and High School -- not an easy task for a tall, skinny kid who was shy, socially inept and possessed zero athletic ability to speak of outside being fairly average at kickball. 

Even so I've never quite forgotten my boyhood dreams of Mars, dreams kept alive thanks to great science fiction writers like Kim Stanley Robinson, and others. Those dreams continue to be kept alive with the growing popularity of ideas like Robert Zubrin's Mars Direct and great movies like The Martian (2015) based on an excellent robinsonade book by Andy Weir. 

Mars continues to invite us through fiction and science to explore its many mysteries. We know that liquid water once existed on the surface of Mars. Did life exist there, and does it still do so under the surface? If we find fossilized microorganisms there, and those organisms appear like similar ones here on Earth, then what does it say about the origins of life in our solar system and the universe? And finally the ultimate goal of human expansion into the solar system and possibly beyond. Could we build a successful colony on Mars? Build terrariums in the craters and smaller valleys of Mars and create Earth-like biospheres? Could we even develop the technology in a few hundred years to successfully terraform the planet and make it Earth-like on the surface with an atmosphere that can sustain human life? Could the Red Planet someday be a second home for humanity?

It is possibly we will actually see human exploration of Mars within the next 30 years. If so I also wonder if someone will be stranded there by some accident, like Commander Kit Draper and my highly imaginative eight year old self, and if they could find a way to survive through good ole human ingenuity.

Alone on Mars.
(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures & The Criterion Collection)