A&E FEATURE

Stab in the park: When two tribes go to war, both end up winning.

Getting Medieval on Your Grass

Philly kids discover the joys of mock combat.

by Alicia Puglionesi

We all have days when we feel like going at somebody with a battle ax. Emmet Ortts, of the 4200 block of Osage Avenue in West Philly, woke up one recent Saturday with that thought in mind. Around 1 p.m. he grabbed his weapon and made a beeline for nearby Clark Park, where a horde of armed foes were gathered around the flagpole, testing their swords, crossbows, daggers and shields with much shouting and lopping off of limbs. With a yell that turned the heads of passers-by, 10-year-old Emmet rushed happily into the fray.

Welcome to the Saturday afternoon melee sponsored by the Wayfinder Experience of Philadelphia, where the “weapons” are made of impact-absorbent foam-core and the “fighting,” though fierce, is entirely pretend.

The rules are simple and religiously observed, says Emmet. “You get killed if someone hits you with their weapon. You have to act out your wounds, and when you’re dead you wait, like, 60 seconds and then go touch home base and you can play again.”

Staff member Melissa Baker elaborates with some pointers of her own. “The fighting is really a loose kind of improvisational theater, so you have to play along with other people. If someone hits you, you can’t start arguing—you don’t want to break the flow of the game.”

“I compare it favorably to the kind of thing you see in youth soccer, with those crazy performance-oriented parents,” says Eric Ortts, Emmet’s father and a University of Pennsylvania professor. “This is no-pressure. It’s really empowering for the kids.”

Ortts watches the action from a park bench, but in the past he’s been known to take to the field of battle. “Parents are allowed to play,” he says. “I tried it once, but those kids are fast. I wasn’t much of a threat.”

Wayfinder is an organization that describes its mission as “building community through play,” and their weekly games of capture the flag in Clark Park are the tip of the iceberg. For the truly devoted, they offer summer programs in Fairmount Park complete with fully scripted adventure narratives, costumes, and in one instance, a giant mechanical dragon made out of an old Dodge Caravan.

Most people discover Wayfinder entirely by chance. A couple years ago Sharon Rowson dragged her grandson Curtis along on a trip to the Clark Park flea market. While she shopped, Curtis gravitated toward the horde of children playing with their improvised foam weapons. Someone loaned him a toy sword. And although Curtis was hesitant to jump into the game, Rowson recognized it might be just the thing for her introverted grandson.

“It’s given him so much confidence,” says Rowson while winding a roll of neon green duct tape around the edges of a battered toy shield—evidence of Curtis’ newfound prowess. The Rowsons are Wayfinder regulars, schlepping their lawn chairs and battle gear from Francisville to Clark Park whenever they get a chance. Part of the draw is the community feel, says Rowson.

So how does one get inducted into this eclectic community? “Oh,” she nods, “you’ll want to talk to Shaggy.”

Shaggy—aka 29-year-old Philly native Aaron Hoffer-Perkins—is currently directing a charge of youngsters against the opposing team’s base from the top of a park bench. Here is the guy in charge, and he isn’t messing around.

Shaggy takes child’s play very seriously. “Play neutralizes barriers,” he says after calling a time out for the kids to get water and snacks. “It dissolves status and prejudice. It allows people to be partners who might not otherwise work together.”

It’s also his line of business. Most of Wayfinder’s foam weaponry comes from PlaySafe Swords, an enterprise he runs out of his house in Grays Ferry. Shaggy played a major role in the founding of Wayfinder, an organization built on three years of sweat equity, donated time and resources, and mountains of paperwork. “We were sort of role-playing ‘business people,’” he says.

Shaggy is evangelical about the power of play. “It’s a way of life. It keeps you physically and emotionally fit.” And while he knows people might think he has a Peter Pan complex, he can point to solid research that backs up his philosophy—like the recent American Academy of Pediatrics report that criticized the trend toward overscheduling children and praised the developmental importance of free play.

Shaggy doesn’t say no to many of the kids’ requests, unless they’re gun-related. During the water break a boy dashes over asking if he can bring a toy gun to the next game. “No guns,” says Shaggy, “and no gun look-alikes. We’ve got to keep it medieval out here.”

None of the parents stationed on the edges of the field is concerned about the mock violence of the game. “I have no misgivings,” says Eric Ortts. “If anything, they’re learning self-control, since you can’t hit too hard, and you have to drop if you get hit.”

When asked about the relationship between Wayfinder’s program and the fantasy trend in popular video games, books and movies, Shaggy admits only a superficial resemblance. “It’s kind of a selling point, saying, ‘Come here and act out your favorite video game.’ But soon they realize there’s a lot more to it than that.”

“I was kinda off-track before starting Wayfinder,” says Ari Stein, an earnest-looking 16-year-old with long brown hair who works as “staff in training.” “I actually got kicked out of school for breaking a teacher’s jaw.”

He found ways to manage his anger through role-playing, and more important, found “a culture of understanding” among his Wayfinder friends. Although some of them are on the far side of 20, Ari doesn’t think young adults need to leave the world of fantasy and swordplay behind.

“You don’t outgrow something like this, because it was never about the game—it’s the community,” he says. “I’ll always be around to help. I’ll always keep up with my friends.”