Patch-Trading Craze Turns Boy Scout Jamboree Into Frenzied Swap Meet

FORT A.P. HILL, Va. —  As thousands of Boy Scouts feverishly trade patches under a night sky, an angry throng emerges from the darkness, their faces illuminated by a flaming swatch.

“Burn it! Burn it! Burn Yoda!” they chant, as the patch featuring the “Star Wars” character goes up in smoke.

The boys have staged the protest to show their pique over the fact that other Scouts have been commanding more than a dozen less popular patches in exchange for Yoda.

Controversy over this patch highlights what some of the 30,000 Scouts gathered at the quadrennial National Jamboree recently cite as an alarming trend: Patch-trading is becoming a ruthless business fueled by an intense desire to return home with the coolest, most colorful collections.

“It’s become totally crazy,” said Scout Tim Walters, 14, of Arlington, Va. “My dad told me that when he was a Scout, patch-trading was just a way to meet new people and take home some nice patches, trading one patch for one patch. Now it’s out of control. It’s, ‘Get as many patches as you can.’ ”

How cutthroat is it? Scouts are devaluing patches by spreading rumors that massive shipments of certain ones have arrived and are easily obtainable. They’re claiming that common patches are rare misprints, and concocting tales about strenuous feats they performed to earn them. And, yes, reports of patch theft abound.

Then there’s this: Military police at this Army facility are investigating a report that a “young adult” dressed as an Army officer confiscated popular patches, saying they violate copyright laws. An Army spokeswoman says investigators believe the culprit was an impostor with his own design on the coveted cloths.

Patches are traded a lot like baseball cards, with values determined by supply and demand. Their popularity usually has to do with designs--this year’s favorites feature a skiing cow, Cap’n Crunch and Yosemite Sam.

Most of the patches don’t wind up on Scout uniforms but remain stashed in a box until trading time. Scout councils and some troops make their own patches, which they give away or sell.

Typically, the patches feature designs that relate to something in the Scouts’ region. Marin County, Calif., made Yoda patches because the county is the home of “Star Wars” creator George Lucas’ Lucasfilm Ltd.

Scout officials said patch-trading teaches important lessons about business and economics, and gives Scouts from different parts of the country an excuse to talk to one another.

“When you do it right, it’s lots of fun; patch-trading builds great social skills and geography skills,” said Jerry Jackson, a Woodbridge, Va., Scout official who helped oversee the 430 boys at the Jamboree from the Washington area.

In early jamborees, boys traded souvenirs from their home states, including wood carvings and live horned toads, which Scout officials said were popular at the 1937 Jamboree. That evolved into patches that gradually included more sophisticated designs.

With the elaborate patches has come crafty salesmanship that many of the Washington area scouts were warned about in a two-page list of guidelines. “The most sinister and mercenary patch-traders--the ones out to take you for all you’re worth--are likely to be the older Scouts,” the guidelines cautioned. “You should be really careful out there.”

The Yoda controversy erupted with the heavily disproportionate patch trades, evoking offers to sell Yodas for as much as $70. A cadre of Scouts managed to knock the bottom out of the Yoda market by protesting and spreading rumors that thousands of new Yoda patches had flooded the market.

Trading at the Jamboree went on all day. But at night the dealing was so intense that it looked like a cross between the New York Stock Exchange and a used-car lot.

Thousands of sweaty Scouts staked out high-traffic areas to display their wares on towels, sheets and blankets. Some lugged boxes, backpacks and binders of patches and set up lanterns and flashlights to illuminate their trading areas.

Quinn Ramsey, 13, of Alexandria, Va., was holding his patch collection in a plastic bag when Justin West arrived. Justin, 14, of New Castle, Del., flipped though Quinn’s collection and announced he wanted the patch from the Grand Teton council.

“I’ll give you this Finger Lakes patch for it,” said Justin, clutching a blue and green patch.

On cue, two of Justin’s buddies ran up. “That’s such a cool patch!” one of the shills said, pointing to Justin’s patch. “Oh, can I have that patch? What do you want for it?” the other interjected.

Quinn quickly consummated the deal with Justin, who shook hands with him and then vanished into a crowd of boys, where he gave a high five to one of his comrades.

“It’s like a used-car salesman,” Justin said. “You know they lie--they say, ‘This car is one in a million.’ It’s just like a patch salesman. That’s basically what we’re doing.”

His troopmates consider Taggart Hutchinson, 15, of Gaithersburg, Md., a pro, having parlayed a bunch of less desirable patches into a set of colorful ones from faraway places.

He was about to broker a deal in which he would score the popular Yosemite Sam patches from the Yosemite council in California in exchange for less popular D.C. patches featuring the White House.

“I want a few good patches I can look back on,” Taggart said. “The great thing about these patches is they connect you to interesting, faraway places.”

Excited about the pending trade, he declared: “If I make this deal, I don’t think I’m going to do much more trading.”

After much back and forth and a nearly failed deal, Taggart declared victory and, despite his earlier comments, looked for the next swap.

“Now that I have these,” he said, “I can get a better one: the skiing cow.”