The book's chapter, "The Roots of the Game," describing that June, 1981, first game, opens with a quote: "A mans fate is but his disposition."---Menander (343-262 B.C.)
Menander was a Greek comedic dramatist. The quote was appended to the letter inviting people to play in the first Survival Game. The Game's founders, Charles Gaines, Hayes Noel and Bob Gurnsey, suggested that those who were invited should "ponder that thought as we determined our strategies."
Atwill, who wrote the book, states, "You may view that notion as a comic crock. But if you find even a glint of truth in it, you will agree that the dispositions of the men who conceived the Game have bearing on what the Game is about, and their initial concept should influence how the rest of us play the Game today."
At the time, Charles Gaines was (and still is) a writer of novels, non-fiction, and screenplays, including the novel Stay Hungry and a nonfiction work, Pumping Iron (both about body building). Hayes Noel was a very successful New York stock and options trader (and still is very successful in that industry). Bob Gurnsey lived in New Hampshire at that time, and was the president of the National Survival Game, Inc., a company no longer operating. All three are risk-takers. Atwill wrote that Gurnsey raced cars, Gaines had scuba dived in the open ocean in the company of a hooked marlin, and Hayes, when jumped by New York thugs, responded "by shrieking obscenities and damn near beating one to death with a convenient garbage can."
The games roots, wrote Atwill, "started in 1976 with a cape buffalo, one of those big, mean things with horns that roam Africa. A friend of Hayes's had returned from a safari on which he had hunted a buff. He had told Hayes of the excitement, of the surge of adrenaline and of the heightened sense of perception that came from the danger of facing that animal. He swore he could smell and hear and taste and feel more clearly in that environment of fear. It was a sensory high, a drugless high.
"Hayes and his friend were walking through the woods when Hayes heard the story. Hayes suggested that, as a lark, they try to recreate some of that feeling, that on their way back to the house they stalk one another as a hunter stalks his game. As they did so, Hayes recognized something of what his friend had told him. A tingle. A feeling of being particularly well toned and alive.
"Later in the year, on the sand of Jupiter Beach, Florida, where they were vacationing, Hayes told the story to Charles. ... The problem, they saw, was creating the illusion of a dangerous atmosphere, for few people would risk true danger for a sensory reward. Then they started talking about Hayes mock stalk, and their dispositions began to shape the conversation. Gaines argued that in such a situation, a country boy could outsmart a city boy, because a country boy knows how to hunt, knows the woods, knows, in short, how to survive.
"Not so, argued Hayes. The skills to survive on Wall Street or in the subway could be transmuted successfully to the African veld or the New Hampshire woods. Suddenly, an intellectual discussion of sensory awareness turned into a debate--a challenge. Competition. Fun."
The argument went on for a few years. The Nel-Spot marker was located and tested on a volunteer, Shelby, Charles son, who said it didnt hurt much. The invitations for the first game drew 9 people, plus Bob, Charles, and Hayes. The 9 each paid $175 each to cover equipment costs, and incidentals such as food and adult beverages.
They arrived at Charles house the day before: "Bob Jones, a novelist, staff writer for Sports Illustrated and an experienced hunter; Ronnie Simpkins, a farmer from Alabama and a master turkey hunter; Jerome Gary, a New York film producer; Carl Sandquist, a New Hampshire contracting estimator; Ritchie White, the New Hampshire forester who had told Hayes he could cut his neck in the woods; Ken Barrett, a New York venture capitalist with lots of hunting experience; Joe Drinon, a stock-broker from New Hampshire and a former Golden Gloves boxer; Bob Carlson, a trauma surgeon from Alabama and a hunter; and myself [Lionel Atwill], a writer for Sports Afield, a hunter and a Vietnam vet, who had had the unpleasurable experience of leading reconnaissance missions in Vietnam in 1968, a decidedly poor year."
The prediction the night before the game? That the hunters would do well, and that the city boys were worth less than a case of beer. Atwill had the most respect due to his Special Forces experience.
The large field had 12 flags on it. The object of the game was to capture all the flags, and it was "every man for himself" (not at all like todays two-flag team game that usually is played with each team having its own flag).
For more game details, read the book, but in summary, the first player to dye was Barrett. He surrendered to Gary. Simpkins hand marked Gurnsey. Dr. Carlson shot five people, one being Noel when Noel had three flags and was headed for a fourth. Atwill "hurled a moldy onion" at Gaines, charged and tagged Gaines in the leg--but the ball bounced off. The tables turned, and Gaines tagged Atwill.
The winner? Ritchie White, the New Hampshire forester. "No one ever saw Ritchie, and he never fired a shot. He crept through the woods from station to station, gathering flags as easily as a schoolgirl gathers flowers."
Atwill wrote, "The play was less than spectacular compared to some Games I've seen since, but there was a spirit to that first Game that will be hard to capture again. The weekend bubbled with humor, honor, fun and obnoxiously friendly, yet intense, competition. Those feelings, I believe, reflected the dispositions of the founders of the Game."
