Current Events

Yea, the United States is backing the wrong side in Honduras, MJ's fans are committing suicide, Cap&Trade passed the House, and Al Frankin is officially a Senator. I know the world rolls on. I just can't bring myself to comment on it. Neptunus Lex has a good post up about the death of a real American hero, kind of puts the recent overcoverage of Michael Jackson in perspective.

If you've been lurking here and the Scouting stories are of interest, please leave me a comment. I'll open unmoderated comments for this post.

The American people deserve to know that they're not just watching the administration's spin on their local newscasts, they're paying for it, too.
--Senator John Kerry

Dedication

Getting a Troop out camping every month requires dedication. Most of your active adult leaders have jobs, wives, homes, and personal lives. As Scoutmaster, part of your role is to get them to forsake sleeping in their own bed, cutting the lawn, spending time with their wife, or any of the other activities that a weekend might promise. In return you offer them the opportunity to sleep on the ground in a tent full of snoring fat men, eat camp cooking, work with a group of Boy Scouts, and participate in the life of the Troop.

Lots of people refuse. They are known as "sane". They drop Johnny off with his pack and equipment on Friday afternoon and pick him up Sunday around 2:30 PM after all the gear has been stowed. They have obligations and things that "just came up". Vague promises to make some undetermined future camp out are made, and forgotten like old campaign promises.

Some people will help when asked. They will drive so the Troop can get to an event. They will take a Patrol Leader and another Scout to the grocery store midweek so they can buy food for the weekend. Sometimes they'll serve on the Troop Committee, or teach a merit badge they have some expertise in.

In that second group are your potential recruits. You look for signs. Someone who enjoys a camp out, a veteran who coolly appraises the the way the Scouts handle a flag ceremony, a new dad who asks how he can get involved.

When you get one, you sink the hook deep. As Scouters, we usually cooked and camped as an adult Patrol. We got competitive with our cooking. I would make Belgian waffles and bacon on Saturday morning. One of the other long time Scouters specialized in cast iron cooking. Big stews, biscuits, dutch oven desserts. You make it look effortless, and at least for most of the time, you don't have to fake how much fun you're having.

You get him uniformed, "Just get one", you say, "a summer uniform". We'll give you the patches. Here's a couple of Troop T shirts. You don't tell him you have 3 full uniforms, two summer and one winter, and 6 pairs of green socks, four of them the old knee high ones. And a red Scout jak-shirt so you can look Scouty in the fall.

"Get a pack", you tell him, sitting by the campfire one night, so you'll be ready for the fall hikes. Later he'll figure out that you don't pack your pack every month. You leave it loaded. You have bought duplicates of anything you used to take in and out, and you know where everything is. The pack sits in the corner of the bedroom behind your wife's rocking chair. The bottom compartment is unzipped because that's where the food gets put just before you leave.

Once he's coming along regularly, send him to Scoutmaster Fundamentals. Tell him it's part of what every Scouter should do. It is, but training breeds confidence. By now, you know he's on the way. He's not self-conscious wearing the uniform. He whittled himself a walking stick. He's gaining a Scout persona, his own place in the Troop.

Allow yourself a little pride the first time he turns to his own son and says, "I dunno, Billy, better go ask the Senior."

Enjoy the time you ask him why he's doing something a new way and he shrugs and says, "It seemed like a more Scouty way to do it" , and you just nod and tell him he's right and it looks great, because you know the tests are coming.

Test like the camp out where it starts raining Friday night and is still raining when you slop over to your cars after hanging out all the troop tents to dry on Sunday afternoon.

Or the week at summer camp where every day is over 100 degrees, and the younger Scouts are struggling with the heat, the program, and the homesickness.

Or the weekend where everything went fine on the Scout trip, but his wife spent the weekend dealing with a plumber because a pipe burst and flooded the upstairs bathroom.

When he passes them, and he stills shows up, with his pack slung over his shoulder, a hour early for a weekend camp out, smiling and saying, "I got off early so I could come help load.", he's a Scouter.

And later that year, on the coldest camp out you can remember taking Scouts on, where the two of you set up the big old army tent and filled it with hay for the whole Troop to use, and you make a huge pot of chili to feed them all, and you see him getting a third bowl, and he grins, "I'm only eating this so I don't hurt your feelings, ya' know."

When a Life Scout goes to him and asks him to be his advisor for his Eagle project, and he accepts, and he easily handles the job of guiding that Scout over the last hurdle on the trail, he's a Scouter. Three months later, it's when he's standing next to that newly minted Eagle Scout at his Eagle Court of Honor with tears in his eyes that you'll know that the Spirit of Scouting has been passed on.

I have Scouted with men like this. If you walked up and thanked him for his work with the Troop, he'd wave you off, in a self depreciating way, saying, "I'm doing for the fun of it, just like you. What did you tell me back at the beginning, an hour and a half a week, and a weekend a month?"

A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove. But the world may be different, because I was important in the life of a boy.
--Forest E. Witcraft, writing in Scouting Magazine, October 1950

Camp Time

On weekend camps, we did patrol camping. For summer camp, we always went to a Council summer camp. The facilities, the merit badge opportunities, the chance to interact with other troops, everything about an organized summer camp just seemed to fit our program.

Even so, there is a lot of planning. The date is picked at the Patrol Leaders Council in September. Merit badge and class selections usually had to be done and sent to camp by March. The tents and cots were provided, but there is still a trailer full of patrol gear and adult leader's equipment to be considered.

The day before camp is usually a time for the Scoutmaster, his assistants, the Senior Patrol Leader and the Quartermaster to have one last meeting at the Scout hut. Final plans and final packing. Working from a list that had morphed into an Excel file, we would pack everything we thought we needed for the week, leaving room on the trailer for the locker boxes and assorted equipment the Scouts would bring the next day.

In keeping with tradition, there was always something important we needed sitting on a shelf as we drove off to camp. No matter, it could always be added to next year's list. In a day or so it would seem unimportant in comparison to the things the Scouts would forget.

Check in at camp is a circus. Imagine 12 to 15 Troops of Scouts showing up on Sunday afternoon, everyone needs medical check in, swim checks, every Scoutmaster has to inspect and take responsibility for the Troop campsite. New Scouts have no idea where anything is, so an orientation hike around camp is necessary. All the gear and footlockers have to move from the parking lot to the campsites. All before evening chow and the opening campfire.

But soon enough, all that is over, and the first night in camp arrives. The camp staff puts on a rousing opening campfire, then the Troop makes it's way back to the site. The Senior Patrol Leader reports to the Scoutmaster that everyone is accounted for, and heads off to his tent. The Scouts stay awake too long, talking and joking, finally fading to whispers and then to silence.

There is an final shift that happens with Monday's reveille, your primary job is done. You got them here, the background work is completed. Now it's time to step back and let Scouting happen. The Senior Patrol Leader starts by waking the Patrol Leaders and the Patrol leaders wake the Scouts. Duty rosters are already posted. The inevitable questions to the Scoutmaster are now met with a shrug and a smile, "I don't know, better ask the Senior."

After cleanup and breakfast, the Scouts all head out to their first scheduled activities and classes. There's a fresh pot of coffee in the OA Lodge for Scoutmasters, and a meeting at 0900. It's usually a weather forecast for afternoon thundershowers, a time to discuss any problems on both the Troop and the camp sides, and a reminder that it's going to be hot so be sure to keep the Scouts hydrated.

With a fresh mug of coffee, you amble back to the campsite to find your assistants putting up the leader's dining fly and arranging the adult equipment for the week. You sit down in the shade. This day seems connected to the last day of last summer camp, and that camp to the one before it. The intervening years has disappeared.

Because every Troop of any size is in many ways the same each year. The older Scouts are confident and in charge. There's Patrol Leaders, finding their style as they take on real leadership responsibilities. Lots of young Scouts, away from home for the first time, some of them diving into camp with abandon, others homesick and unsure. In some way, you are connected to every Troop that ever held a summer camp. There is nothing outside of camp and no plans except what ever is on the Patrol duty rosters. It's camp time.

Calendars and clocks exist to measure time, but that signifies little because we all know that an hour can seem as eternity or pass in a flash, according to how we spend it.
--Michael Ende

One Breath

It wasn’t a Scout camp, but it was a camp for boys. I had a job as the senior counselor for the the Pioneers, the younger boys group. Four junior counselors and twenty-five campers, six to eight years old. As Senior counselor, I was responsible for program activities, ensuring that they ate, took an occasional shower, and had fun. I was the person they talked to when they were homesick or hurt, and I was responsible for keeping them safe. I was sixteen.

Camps don't run with young staff anymore, you'd have be eighteen, and I bet a lot of camps would want you to be twenty-one. But times were different, and I had the job. My junior counselors were all from the city, none of them had any camping experience, and none of them could swim.

What comes next is one of the core stories of my narrative. It is one of the defining events of my life. I have rescued a fair number of kids at swimming pools and lakes. It usually consists of using a reach pole, a couple of times having to jump in. There's always someone else a step away and the safety plans and equipment minimize the risk to next to nothing. There's only been one rescue like this.

One of the highlight events for the Pioneers every session was the long hike. The hike began on a trail that meandered through the woods. From there, it was onto an old farm road that we followed for a couple of miles. When we turned off that road, it was onto another road that followed a creek up past a paper mill dam and into a small, mostly unused park. The camp director would drive the truck down later in the day and bring lunch. Looking back, it also gave him a chance to check on us. We would let the kids play in the shallow water along a sandy bend, run around in the open area, and late in the afternoon, retrace our steps back to camp. For most of the kids coming out to this camp, it was like a day on another planet.

The woods we started the hike went through a part of camp that was undeveloped, and for a group of young boys, walking under the canopy of huge beech and oak trees along an old trail was an adventure in itself. It was shady and quiet, birds calling and flitting away as we passed.

It had rained most of that week, but on the day I remember, it was hot and clear. The hike through the woods was pleasant, but when we left the woods, the sun was bright and on the road the July heat was oppressive. Usually deserted, the road went up and down some hills, past fields and faded barns. Corn fields dominated the area and off in the distance sometimes you would hear a tractor running. Mostly it was the chatter of the boys, the smell of the fields and heat. By the time we trudged down the last hill and turned to follow the creek into the park, the campers were hot and cranky.

As we crossed the bridge I could see that the rain had swollen the stream. Instead of the usual trickle making a mossy green descent over the face of the dam, there was roaring wall of water. I knew wading was going to be out of the question and had started to wonder what we could do until lunch arrived.

When we got to where I usually sat and watched the campers, the water was deep and running fast enough to knock them down. It was a couple of hundred yards upstream from the old dam and normally would have been knee deep and still. I got the staff together and told them playing in the water was definitely out of the question. There were some campers who had been on the hike before and as I was turned away from the water, one of them jumped in.

There is no getting away from this. I let myself be distracted. Maybe I could have stopped him if I had been paying better attention. Maybe I should have had more staff. Maybe the camp should not have hired a sixteen year old to do this job. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. It was 35 years ago and I still have strong feelings about it.

The other campers started shouting. Hearing the alarm in their voices, I turn around to see a boy in the water. He was being swept downstream, moving at an alarming rate toward the dam.

Everything that happens in the next two minutes is Scouting based. I owe it to Baden-Powell, to my Scoutmaster, to the Scout Camp staffer that had taught me Lifesaving merit badge the year before, and to the thousands of other individuals that have given of their time to see Scouting prosper since 1910.

Without thinking, I sprinted across the grass, judging my entry into the water to intercept him. An open entry, keeping him in sight, it took only a few strokes to get to him. He had rolled face down and was underwater when I reached him and pulled him back to the surface. He was not struggling, he was limp. I rolled him onto my hip in across chest carry and began to swim.

It was the water I had to fight, and a rising feeling of panic. The current was strong, the water muddy and cold. My first strokes seemed to make no headway and I was starting to think we were both going to go over that dam. I took a different angle and pulled harder, losing some distance, but making headway to the bank. I made the bank, out of the main current, and then had to pull back upstream along the bank using roots to get to a point where my counselors could grab him and lift him back up on the grass.
I half scrambled and was half pulled up the muddy bank. The boy lay on the ground. The grayish color of his face was startling. His lips were a deep blue and he was not breathing. I rolled him onto his back, tilted his head and checked his airway, then gave him one strong breath and lifted up to check for his pulse. One breath was all it took.

He vomited, mostly muddy water, and took a shuddering breath on his own. The color returned to his face and his eyes opened. He gagged up a little more water, and then he was awake. I sent one counselor to call an ambulance. As he ran off, I shouted after him to call camp, too. The boy was cold, probably in shock, and I stayed with him, having the others keep the kids under some sort of control. I had him somewhat calmed, covered lightly with a couple of towels when I heard the ambulance in the distance.

The camp truck showed up first. The ambulance crew took the camper to be checked. The truck, a big slat sided farm truck, took us all back to camp. I don't remember much else that happened that day, I do remember expecting to be fired at the very least.

The next morning I got called down to the camp office. The camp director, the camper and his parents were there when I walked in. The boy's father spoke first. “You saved his life.”

The mom was crying a little, she said “He told us he just jumped in. He's been to that place before and it was always shallow, so he jumped in.”

The dad spoke again, “He wanted to come back to camp, and we decided he couldn't be any safer than here with you. I want to thank you for what you did yesterday.”

I turned to the camp director, but before I said anything he held up his hand, “I talked to your counselors and they told me what happened and what you did.” He shook his head, “You could have died, I saw what that water looked like. You both could have died.”

The summer went on. Camp sessions continued to follow their two week cycle, in a decades old rhythm. The Pioneers came and went. I was different. Changed by two minutes on one hot July afternoon. I had passed the test. I had been prepared.

"Be prepared for what?" someone once asked Baden-Powell, the founder of Scouting, "Why, for any old thing." said Baden-Powell.
--From the Boy Scout Handbook

Lifesaving

One of the core merit badges. Along with First Aid, Lifesaving tied into the Scout Motto, "Be Prepared." I wanted Lifesaving, wanted to work as a lifeguard. The summer after I got Swimming, I took Lifesaving. It was an all afternoon, every afternoon class.

More distance, more strokes, more first aid, safe water entry, planning a safe swim, and the rescues. Rowboat and canoe rescues, throwing rings, swimming out with a buoy, and then just swimming out there. Going out alone without any equipment was the last resort, and discouraged as a good way to get two people drowned, but we learned it. The final testing on the last day of camp were all the rescues. Part of what they were looking for was the stamina, and the courage, necessary to attempt an open water rescue. The staff served as our "victims".

Since you don't ever holler "Help!" unless it's a real emergency, we used a code word. Pineapple. There you stood on the dock, tired from a series of assisted rescues, and out beyond the ropes, a 20 year old staffer that outweighed you by 50 pounds splashed the water and hollered, "Pineapple! Pineapple!" It's your turn. The rest of the class watches as you go.

In the real world, you would take a towel at least, throw him one end, never let him lay hands on you. Or wait for him to tire, even if he drowned. Grab something that floated and push it out to him. Anything but let him grab you.

Making a lifesaving entry, keeping my eyes on the victim, I swim out and when I get close enough he launches himself like an alligator and wraps his arms around my head. I sink, drive my thumbs into his armpits, force him off. I go deep, beneath his feet, the water dark and cold as I swim toward the bottom. Air is becoming an issue so I take an extra stroke and surface, turning toward the direction I think he's in. As I break the surface I get a big gulp of air and realize I am behind him. I throw my right arm over his shoulder and press him up into a cross chest carry. He struggles, but I have a grip on his armpit and chest. Swimming a modified sidestroke I manage to make the beach. I will pass, and receive my Lifesaving merit badge at the fall Court of Honor.

Two years later I would take Red Cross Lifesaving and CPR, and decades later I would requalify so I could lead water activities as an adult Scouter. It is the basics, learned young, and ingrained, that stay with me. Because once, just once, I needed these skills, and a life hung in the balance. And at that moment, all I had was what I had learned as a Scout.

Be Prepared... the meaning of the motto is that a scout must prepare himself by previous thinking out and practicing how to act on any accident or emergency so that he is never taken by surprise.
--Robert Baden-Powell

Green Bar Bill

Bill Hillcourt, Green Bar Bill. I knew of him as the author of the Boy Scout Handbook in use when I was a Scout. He also wrote the biography of the founder of Boy Scouting, Lord Baden-Powell.

I have a copy of that book, signed in his characteristic style. Two green bars made with a permanent marker, and the word Bill scrawled across it. This one is inscribed, and also includes his full signature. I found this book in a junk shop for $3.00, picked it intending to buy it anyway, and was overwhelmed to find it signed by the author.

That biography should be available in any public library. It captures the life of Lord Baden-Powell, telling the tale of his service in the British Army and how he had a second life, developing and bringing Scouting to the world.

Serving Scouting just as faithfully, Green Bar Bill had a life in Scouting that began when he was a Scout in 1916. Here's another site that attempts to capture a bit of what Green Bar Bill meant to Scouting, and the love and esteem he is still remembered with.

For even if life takes the boys away as they grow up, the Patrol does not die. For every one that steps out another and a younger one takes his place ready to carry out the traditions of the old Patrol.

That is the ideal to which the boys will aspire. The Patrol must never die. The torch must be carried on, its old name must be kept intact. But this can be done only if the old boys are animated by the right spirit, if they realize what the years in the Patrol have meant to them.

--William Hillcourt - Handbook for Patrol Leaders

Swimming

The canvas of the old Scout tents has a smell all it's own. The fabric, the waterproofing, something, but when you step into one on a hot summer afternoon, it is a smell full of memories.

Racing back into the campsite, with just minutes to get to the waterfront, you yank the flaps shut and in the gloom you change into your swim trunks. Grab your towel, slip on your shoes, and it's a run down the main trail to the waterfront.

Coming down the hill, at the last turn the "H" docks of the waterfront come into view. Already Scouts are lined up at the gate waiting for a staffer to man the buddy board. You pull off your shoes at your troop tag board, find your tag on the "Out" board and line up with another Scout in your merit badge class.

Looking down at your tag, you feel a secret pleasure that this year the tag has red and blue markings, denoting that you passed the swimmer test the first day of camp. But swimming merit badge isn't just about being able to swim. It's learning different strokes and first aid, CPR, safety rules, how to run a safe swim, dives, and jumping in fully dressed. By the time you get swimming merit badge, you can swim with confidence.

The staff open the gate, and everyone files in, putting the tags in pairs on the "In" board. You and your buddy go down to the dock and find your instructor. Tanned to skin cancer brown, he is a 19 year old staff member on his third staff summer. You don't know that he spent his first summer in the kitchen, getting up early and spending most of his first staff summer mopping floors and scrubbing pots. You only know that he can swim like a dolphin, and that standing on that dock with a reach pole in his hands, he looks like a poster for a summer at camp.

He puts you in the water, swimming laps between the platforms. The lake is cold, even on the hot afternoons, and if you dip down, the mud is soft beneath your feet. You swim back and forth, trying to hold a pace that keeps you swimming along with the group, working on breast stroke and crawl.

A whistle blast jars you from your focus. "Buddy Check! Buddy Check! 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1! You thrash over to your buddy and pull out on the dock. All the buddy pairs are sitting, holding their buddy's arm in the air.
"Swimmers, give me the count." "17 pairs, 2 staff." "Beginners, give me the count." "4 pairs and 1 triple, 2 staff!" "The count matches, the board is correct." "Staffers, resume your classes!"
It is an abbreviated buddy check, with just a few Scouts in the classes, the buddy check goes quickly and class continues. Soon enough, it is time to head back to camp. Lining up, clearing the buddy board, showing your tag with your buddy as you exit, and then waiting for the staff to call the waterfront clear and closed.

You head back up the Troop campsite to get dressed in uniform for supper.

If I were dropped out of a plane into the ocean and told the nearest land was a thousand miles away, I'd still swim.
--Abraham Maslow

Self Defense

Self Defense. It's not just for right-wing white men.


Counting on the police to protect you individually is childish thinking. The police protect the community, they arrest criminals, they investigate crimes after the fact, they come when someone calls. If you are attacked for any reason, your attacker(s) will have picked you, at the time and place of his choosing. It will be when you appear vulnerable, perhaps alone, distracted, or otherwise weak. If you survive, you can call 911 when it is over, and there is a chance someone will be arrested later.
Consider the old question, "how is a raped and strangled woman's body more moral than a live woman standing over the body of a dead rapist with a gun?" It can be turned into a question than can be asked about any victim of violent crime. All of us, every last adult, has a responsibility to see to our own needs, to provide for ourselves, to live out our lives with as much integrity as we can, and one of those responsibilities is seeing to our own defense. Pink Pistols advocates this for the gay community, and they do it with a dash of good humor.

Arms in the hands of citizens may be used at individual discretion... in private self-defense.
--John Adams

Just an Observation

If Mark Sanford had been a Democrat, would the New York Times have given him the same kind of support they gave Bill Clinton?

I think the guy should resign. Hell, I think he should have stayed in Argentina. But the NY Times, and Ms. Maureen Dowd look like the worst sort of hypocrites sounding the call. Where were all of you when the Clinton story was breaking? My memory of the Clinton/Lewinsky story is that it broke and was covered on the Drudge Report. I thought Clinton should have resigned, too. Instead he lied under oath, he wagged his finger at me on television and lied with his wife sitting next to him, and he stayed in office. Because he is a member of the right party, he gets a pass.

Ms. Dowd quoted Gov. Sanford, who when speaking about Bill and Monica, said, "If you undermine trust in our system, you undermine everything." That's true enough, Maureen, but what sort of sex Bill Clinton or Mark Sanford is getting is not undermining my faith in the system.

You and your colleagues are. I no long believe we have an independent press, probably have not for decades.

I think what has been done to the auto industry is a crime, the government has no Constitutional authority to takeover private businesses. I think the bubble and subsequent collapse of the housing market was directly related to government meddling over the last decade, also unconstitutional. I think the coming plans for health care will make the current problems look minor. I think we have enemies in the world that see us as ripe for the picking. I think our trade deficits and the loss of our manufacturing base in the last 40 years destabilizes the world economy. I think the "cap-and-trade" bill will result in huge new expenses that will be passed on to the consumers, a kind of taxation. I think the generating of non-existent money will, as it always has in the past, push through a cycle of terrible inflation.

But instead of covering any of this in depth, with balance for opposing views, this week we are getting Mark Sanford, the death of Michael Jackson, and lavish, uncritical, support for Pr. Obama and whatever he has to say.

So, Ms. Dowd, if I can't trust the New York Times to give me some balanced reporting on the issues of the day, why bother to read it anymore?

The only security of all is in a free press. The force of public opinion cannot be resisted when permitted freely to be expressed. The agitation it produces must be submitted to. It is necessary, to keep the waters pure.
--Thomas Jefferson

The Scout Oath and my Bureau

Comments on the previous post led me to do some looking. For the Cub Scout Oath I had to use the internet, and that oath was modified, changing the phrase "to be square".

For the Boy Scout Oath, I had only to go to my bureau. For several years, the top of my bureau has displayed a collection of my mementos. I took the picture this morning, just before I left for the range, and wasn't thinking about the ammo cases I was getting ready to pack. The rest of those things have been unmoved so long they are dusty.


There, on the left, is a first edition of the Revised Handbook for Boys. The cover is not in the best of shape. It was given to me by another Scouter. I have read it front to back. It is a treasure of history, information, and a window both into the Boy Scouts and into the United States before the 2nd World War.

I wanted to try to pick some pages to scan as examples. I found myself lost in the merit badges, reading about outdoor cooking, flag etiquette, history, campcraft, safety, and I keep getting something in my eyes. Click any of these images to enlarge them. First, the cover.

Here's the requirements signoff page for 1st Class. The following 196 pages are the 1st Class section, breaking out each one of these requirements in detail.

Here's one that is part of where we started these stories. The 2nd Class requirement for fire building. With pictures of various layouts.
It is a rich document, so much more useful than the Handbook of today. I referred to it, and to a 1950's copy of the Scoutmaster's Handbook, often when I was Scouting.

Looking here, and online, my best conclusion is that the Scout Oath is unchanged since 1910. Taking an oath "On My Honor" has set Scouts apart for 90 years. Here's how seriously that phrase was taken.

The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be.
--Socrates

It's Not About the Camping

Scouting, as much as it appears to be about outdoor skills, is really about preparing young men to be citizens. Here is the mission statement of the Boy Scouts of America:

The mission of the Boy Scouts of America is to prepare young people to make ethical and moral choices over their lifetimes by instilling in them the values of the Scout Oath and Law.

Here's the Scout Oath:

On my honor I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.

Here's the Scout Law:

A Scout is: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind , Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.

It has always been so. Lord Baden-Powell founded Scouting in England on the same principles. Not every Scout, or every Scout leader, lives up to the high standards held in those words. But the opportunity to learn those words and strive to live up to them is what Scouting offers.

These ideals are learned and practiced in the crucible of Scouting. Because at the same time a young Scout is learning to build a fire, the older Scout is learning to be a leader. To help when needed, to encourage, to set the example, to tell the truth, to be dependable. The values of Scouting prepare a man for life. They give him the basis for living a life of meaning and contribution. A glance at a list of famous Eagle Scouts tells us a little something about the caliber of men Scouting helped influence.

The Troop is the small society that all the Scouts get to practice and make mistakes in. The patrols and assigned positions create a structure. Each year, new Scouts join, older Scouts finish or drop out, the positions fill by voting, and the cycle begins again. This repeated cycle of training is what some parents can't understand. Letting the boys lead, really lead, decide their own campouts, plan the fundraisers and service projects, vote and hold their own council meetings is critical to Scouting.

So, if the food isn't always great, or the planning for an event is lackluster, just like a failed attempt at fire building, learning is taking place. When you see a Star or Life Scout take charge for the first time, teach a class, lead a hike, intervene to help a new Scout, those are moments of real Scouting.

As an Adult Scouter, it was my privilege to work with some of the finest people in my community. It was also my privilege to work with the Scouts in my Troop. I saw them progress, in skills and confidence. Some of the young Scouts I remember are adults now, and in some cases I have heard back from them about how important the Scouting program was and is in their lives.

I am not an Eagle Scout. I was an adult Scouter far longer than I was a Boy Scout. I'd like to think I made a contribution, paid forward what my leaders did for me all those years ago. And, along with everything else, I got to go camping every month.

Every summer, I went and spent a week at summer camp with the Troop. Each morning, all the Troops in camp and the staff would gather in formation at the flagpole and raise the flags with as much ceremony and precision as they could muster. The sun would be filtering through the trees from the east, the bugler would sound out "To the Colors", we would come to attention, and once the flag was raised, just like Scouts have for almost a century, we would salute and say, "I pledge allegance..."

See things from the boy's point of view.
--Sir Robert Baden-Powell

Backbacking, May 2009

Just a picture of the new pack is enough to begin the story. An internal frame pack, with a built in hydration bladder, an adjustable strap and waistbelt system, waterproof and comfortable.

The stove is made by MSR, uses white gas, one bottle of fuel will heat all the water and do the cooking for four people for a four day trip. This doesn't prevent you from building campfires, but it means you can cook, heat water and make coffee with ease.

The tent, with a floor, full screens, zippered doors, and waterproof, was 3 1/2 lbs.

We could talk about clothing, boots, socks, hiking poles, food options, raingear, whatever, all of the gear has been improved. But that doesn't matter as much as you would think. On this last trip, one of the group had never been backpacking. He came with the understanding that we were going as a group to enjoy the trip. Even as an adult, with modern gear, it was the experience he lacked. I saw the same thing several times on Scout backpacking trips when an inexperienced dad came along.

It is the hard learned lessons, not the gear, that makes it easy to go. You know what to pack and how to pack. Everything has a place in the backpack, so if you need something, it is immediately accessible. The pack helps. Go light is the mantra, take what you need, but no more. My pack, with food, water, stove, tent and sleeping bag attached weighed 42 lbs. The hiking, the exertion of it, when to drink water, when to have a snack, how far to go, all of that seems to happen naturally. Having a good topographic map of the area and a compass, and knowing how to use it goes all the way back to Scouting as well.

I went hiking with a new partner a few years ago. It was our first outing together, and while we both knew the other had some experience, it wasn't clear until we made our first camp together what we both knew. He had the tent, and when we had picked a level spot near running water, he started on that. I got out the stove, started a pot of water, then began gathering for a fire. This picture is one he took on that trip. On the far side you can see the MSR stove, the fire is going, and my old pack that recently got retired is in the foreground with my food bag lying in front of it. With daylight fading, we smoothly transitioned into camp. Dinner was cooked and cleaned up, gear was stowed, the tent and sleeping bags set out. As full darkness settled in, we were sitting by the fire. I said, "There, nothing to it." He looked at our camp, and at me and laughed.

I still have that Scout spirit. I still love it. To take off into the woods, to go where only a few ever go, to earn the view from a distant overlook by making the climb, to have the skills and the ability to have enjoyed these things for a lifetime is a gift. I don't go on epic treks, I won't ever climb technical rock walls, if I had wanted to do those things I would have needed to start them when I was younger. It is the trail now that is enough.

How hard to realize that every camp of men or beast has this glorious starry firmament for a roof! In such places standing alone on the mountain-top it is easy to realize that whatever special nests we make - leaves and moss like the marmots and birds, or tents or piled stone - we all dwell in a house of one room - the world with the firmament for its roof - and are sailing the celestial spaces without leaving any track.
--John Muir

Never Volunteer

The summer I was 20, I joined the Marines. I went to Parris Island in late July. It was October, and we were out in the field for exercises at Elliot's Beach. October is still pretty warm at Parris Island, and we had been marching most of the day. Full packs, helmets, rifles, canteens, etc.

We stopped in the general vicinity of where we would be digging in for the night, and the Drill Instructor called us into a formation. He walked along the front squad and bellowed, "I want a Boy Scout."

No one moved. "I want a gawdamm BOY SCOUT, Ladies!

No one moved. We had learned. Whatever this was, it could not be good. "Alright ladies, here it is. I know some of you scum sucking no loads were fucking up the Boy Scouts before you got the orders from the Kremlin to come fuck up my Marine Corps. Now, one of you step out now, or I will PT your ass until midnight!"

I stepped out. Whatever it was, I had been a Boy Scout, and we had all done enough PT for one day. He looked at me and shook his head, "I shoulda known. Alright, here." He handed me a matchbook out of a C-ration. "Build me a fire, and don't fuck it up."

"What are the rest of you no loads gawking at? Gather wood!"

I had 70 hard charging members of 3rd Battalion bringing me everything up to and including trees. I grabbed a couple of guys out of my squad and got them breaking stuff in usable size. It was dry. Had been dry for weeks. Lots of dead wood and building the fire was no problem. When I opened the matchbook, I saw exactly what I expected to see, 2 matches. I had a flashback to that first cooking fire, smiled a little, and struck a match.

The fire lit easily, and in just a few minutes it was being fed branches about the size of my wrist. Piles of wood in 2 to 3 foot lengths were stacked nearby. A small mountain of wood had been gathered. I heard, "Alright, gawdammit. That's enough. Get the fuck away from from my fire!" Everyone instantly headed back toward where our gear was staged. I got up without looking back and headed over toward the squad when he called me back, "Where's my matchbook, Boy Scout?" I handed over the matchbook. He opened it, saw the remaining match, stuck it in his pocket, and said the words I wanted to hear, "Get the fuck away from me!". I had survived volunteering without getting PTed, and that was all the victory I was going to get.

Being ready is not what matters. What matters is winning after you get there.
--LtGen Victor H. Krulak, USMC

Meeting the One

The summer I turned 19, I had my last summer working at a camp. It was my first year working at a co-ed camp, and I considered this to be a big plus. I was the senior lifeguard, taught some canoeing, and generally participated around camp. During Staff Week, just before we got campers, we had a team building day that culminated with all of us spending a night out on a hillside. It had rained the day before, and the hillside was damp, but the sky was clear and the evening was cool. Someone, I don't remember who, suggested we build a fire. Someone else said that everything was too wet.

Wood was everywhere, in all sizes. There were cedar and pine trees scattered on the edge of the field. We weren't real organized yet, so I just started working alone. In a little while, I struck a match, and shortly after that, other people were gathering wood, and soon we had a pleasant sized campfire. Not any different for me than dozens of other campfires over the years.

I met a girl at that camp. Our lives took twists and turns, and now we have been married 31 years. At a gathering at our church for married couples some years ago, we played a game of questions and answers. One of the questions was, "What was the first thing that attracted you to the person you married when you met them?". Her answer was, "He could build a fire anywhere, anytime, even with wet wood." Then she recounted this story from her viewpoint.

I'd guess we have had hundreds of fires, we heat with a cast iron wood burning stove. We've camped, and bicycled, and canoed in all sorts of weather. There have been harder fires to build, in more difficult conditions. But that fire on the hillside turned out to be the most important one, and I could not have ever foreseen what those Scouting skills would bring to me.

The only real security that a man will have in this world is a reserve of knowledge, experience, and ability.
--Henry Ford

Making Fire

Make a fire and cook a meal. Straightforward enough. One of the hurdles on the road to 2nd Class Scout. Here's the steps. Gather wood, prepare site, lay fire, light fire, feed fire, cook meal. At the end of a rainy week, where all the wood is damp, the firepit has a puddle in the center, and you have just been given a box with two (2) kitchen matches, it's not a hurdle, it's a wall.

It isn't just that we were young. Making fire is a skill. If you haven't done it, and done it often, in all sorts of weather, it is not an easy or intuitive process. We were young, though, and must have been the source of much amusement to the adults and older Scouts. Another lesson to be learned the hard way. We didn't carry stoves. I had never seen a backpacking stove until I started Scouting as an adult.

Gather wood. Everything from the finest twigs to limbs as big as you can drag. All of it dead, dry, and not yet rotten. Enough of the small stuff to get it going and growing until it is ready for the big logs. A large enough pile of the big stuff to feed your fire for a couple of hours. Then prepare the wood pile, break up the smaller stuff in 12 to 18 inch pieces, separate it into piles, tinder and twigs, pencil size, finger size, wrist size, and big stuff. If the outside is wet, everything up to the finger sized stuff must be stripped of bark and shaved with a knife into the dry. A double handful of very dry shavings should be made.

Take a short large piece, put it in the shoveled out and dry fire pit. Pile your shavings, or dry twigs against it so that you can put your fingers under the pile. If you have tiny, very tiny, very dry pine twigs taken from the small dead branches under the green branches, you have some of the right stuff. Have the next, slighter larger branches right at hand. Light the match and hold it under the tinder pile. If you have done the first two steps right, you will be rewarded with a small, but growing flame.

Love this flame, nurture it. Feed it slowly. At this point it is weak, barely alive. Fire needs three things. Fuel, heat, and oxygen. The fuel now must be small, the spacing between twigs is important. Oxygen must continue to get to the flame. Blowing gently is acceptable. As it grows, so does the size of of your fuel. When you are adding finger size sticks, you can begin to relax, you have succeeded. Fires have shapes. Get a pre-WWII Boy Scout handbook, and read about the various designs. An easy starting fire is a tepee fire, it can be knocked over and made a criss-cross fire for cooking once it big enough to have a sustainable pile of coals under it.

When you are making coals and the large wood is being added, prepare your meal. Cooking, another outdoor skill, awaits.

Do this repeatedly, in your back yard, where failure is not a crisis. Get to the point that you can make fire every time. Then you can carry wax coated dryer lint and a lighter, along with a zip lock full of fatlighter pine shavings, or some other methods that you learn about and like. But learn to do it right with what you can gather in the woods. Knowing how to build a fire might save your life. It might even get you noticed by a girl. A girl that you fall in love with and marry. It might save you from a Marine Corps Drill instructor.

Be Prepared... the meaning of the motto is that a scout must prepare himself by previous thinking out and practicing how to act on any accident or emergency so that he is never taken by surprise.
--Sir Robert Baden-Powell

5 Mile Hike

5 miles. Doesn't sound like much. On a highway you can cover that much ground while one song plays on the radio.

But load up a pack with everything you need for a weekend camping trip, get out of that car, put that pack on your back and start up a trail that winds and switchbacks up a mountain and it is a different experience. There are enough issues here to require breaking it down into smaller parts. Let's call them gear, packing, hiking, selecting a camp, setting up camp, cooking, and contingencies. This post will focus on how it was. A following post will be about modern gear, and what I learned along the way.

Gear. In 1969, it was a canvas knapsack.

Designed by golden eyed demons, the Boy Scout knapsack was such a perfect device to torture a Scout that it was essentially unchanged for decades. It had no frame, no padding, no waist belt, and it was too small to hold what you needed. You tied your sleeping bag and tent to the outside to allow for more room. You took a poncho, a steel mess kit, a first aid kit, dry socks, a flashlight (2 D-cell batteries), waterproof matches, a metal mil-surp canteen and food. If you took no more than this, you might get it all in there. The Scout Handbook, ever helpful, and oblivious to the size of both the pack and the Scout, included some other items such as the Handbook itself, a mirror, rope, bug spray, extra shoes, map and compass, a knife, soap and cloth, toothpaste and toothbrush, and so on.

Being 12, you crammed all the things on the list into the pack, and had Mom drop you off at the Scout hut on Friday afternoon. The older Scouts, giant 16 and 17 year old Life and Eagle Scouts, awaited. They dumped your pack out, undoing the careful work of ten minutes. They then kicked the stuff in two piles. "Put this back in the pack, put that in the hut." The pile for the hut invariably held something you would really need later in the weekend. The pile that got quickly stuffed back in the pack included some heavy hard item that would migrate until it rested against your spine and jabbed you with every step. The pack still weighed 40 pounds. You weighed about 105.

"Saddle up!" You formed up by Patrols. The Senior Patrol Leader led the group, the Scoutmaster brought up the rear. Patrols in the middle. Dressed in uniform, with a hiking staff, you had heavy boots, cotton socks, and almost half your body weight on your back. The older Scouts set the pace. The pack did it's job, pressing so deeply into your bony shoulders that even now I can feel the straps wearing away the skin as we hiked. The line accordionned, as all group hikes do, so you were either trotting to catch up or stumbling over the boots of the Scout in front of you. By the time we got to camp, we were hot, tired, and footsore. And it was dark.

Likely enough, it was your flashlight that got left in the hut. We would spread out by patrol, put up a motley assortment of pup tents and scatter our gear inside. Get a cooking fire going. Building fire is a story in itself. Getting enough wood to feed it in a camping area used by many Scout Troops is another. With fire achieved, cans of stew or spagetti appeared to be burned and spilled. After dinner, a Troop campfire, songs and stories. Then off to the tents to tell dirty jokes and tall tales until sleep overcame us.

Breakfast might be pancakes and sausage. Cleanup was always an issue, and the bottoms of the pans, inside and out, were not going to be right until you got home to the kitchen. Sometime in the morning, the clouds would roll in, and the afternoon thunderstorm became inevitable.

Hiking in a plastic poncho added a new level of misery. The poncho was sort of a symbolic device to ensure you knew it was raining. It didn't keep you dry. Rain ran in the top and sides. Any place secure enough to keep out the rain also prevented air flow, so your body filled that part with sweat. Summer showers are often short lived. So, once you and your gear was wet enough, the sun would come out and raise the temperature to sauté.

Late the second afternoon, you would arrive at the main campsite and repeat the events of the previous evening. Sunday morning, some dads would show up and we would pile into old station wagons, all our wet gear piled on top, and head back to the hut to be picked up by our parents.

My mother would make me strip and leave all my clothes and equipment on the back porch, then go shower and come back to take care of the stuff. We reeked of campfire smoke and sweat, and it was only worse in the winter, when all our winter wool had sat close enough to be singed for hours, marinating in clouds of pine smoke.

Basic skills were being learned, and learned the hard way. Fire with one match. Making do as a group with what you had, sharing food, clothes, a pocketknife, or whatever was needed to keep everyone going. First aid, usually on your feet, but on one or two more memorable occasions, something more serious. On those carefree hikes, going to the adults was our contingency plan. It seemed to work out, we always got home with all the Scouts we started with.

How to pack, what to pack, what not to pack. Cooking. Campcraft. Map reading. Lashing. Using an axe. Camaraderie. Leadership. The requirements for the early ranks included such things as 5 mile hikes, firebuilding, map and compass skills, 10 nights camping, cooking a meal. Every rank included a requirement called Scout spirit.

I had Scout spirit. I loved camping right from the start. I wasn't any good at it, but I loved it. I began the learning and the experiences as a Tenderfoot Scout that still continue today. Those men and the older Scouts gave me gifts I will always appreciate.

The Scoutmaster teaches boys to play the game by doing so himself.
--Sir Robert Baden-Powell

3 Boxes of B.S.

That's not just a great title, it's an addition to the blogroll. As an example of why I linked him, here is 3 Boxes of B.S.: Garrison Flag. The last picture in the series, of a group of Boy Scouts retiring the Colors, is outstanding.

Scouting is a theme that has run through my life, having so much more impact than I recognized at the time. A few posts down, I commented about the ease with which we made camp. Those skills don't come out of a book. It started with a Troop of Scouts I joined in 1969 in Maryland. I worked 5 summers on camp staff. All the mistakes, the gear I wished I had, the old canvas knapsack and 6 lb sleeping bag, the times it rained, all of them are memories laid down as the bedrock for what came later.

This is going to lead to some Scout and Scouter stories. At least it will take my mind off the political news.

Words form the thread on which we string our experiences.
--Aldous Huxley

An American Patriot

90 years old. Drives a '64 Comet. Loves her country. Carries a Taurus .38

I was born an American; I will live an American; I shall die an American!
--Daniel Webster

Now Gov. Sanford of South Carolina

The Governor of South Carolina admits he wasn't hiking on the A.T., he was in Argentina boinking some "dear, dear friend".

Let's go over this again. When caught out with "the other woman", do not bother to act sorry. You are not sorry you did this, because it was great, hot, illicit sex, and you enjoyed every moment of it. At least stand up and say, "Damn, I'm sorry you caught me."

Otherwise, tell the truth. Tell us what she was like and how much fun it was. This whiny apology crap makes you look weak and nobody, not me, not the press, not your political cronies, and certainly not your wife, believes a word of it.

Man up and say it.

Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place.
--Billy Crystal

_______________________________________________
Update
The following quote is from an email that Gov. Sanford sent to his lover. It was published in The State, Columbia, South Carolina's newspaper.

...I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night’s light...

So, cry me a river, but don't pretend you weren't having the time of your life.
_______________________________________________
Update 2

Carlos Soto, the owner of Guido's Bar, says he's seen Sanford and Maria Belen Chapur there several times over the last few months -- most recently last week.

Soto says they were "all over each other" last week in his bar, "kissing, holding hands and drinking wine."

Soto was impressed with Maria, saying she has "un cuerpazo'" -- translation: a banging body.

So I figure if he spent the last 5 days crying in Argentina, it's because he had decided he was going to stop seeing her.

Sushi

Eat raw fish, get a 9 foot tapeworm. Well, du-huh. When I was in Japan 30 years ago, I saw people eating raw fish. Looked a good way to pick up parasites then, and nothing has changed.

Not everything we import is a good idea. Sushi should have been left overseas. Meat, ask for it cooked. Or plan on hosting an internal biodiversity conference.

I don't eat anything that a dog won't eat. Like sushi. Ever see a dog eat sushi? He just sniffs it and says, ‘I don't think so.’ And this is an animal that licks between its legs and sniffs fire hydrants.
--Billiam Coronel

Into the Woods

This time it was the two of us. All the skills of a lifetime of camping makes it an easy, if not effortless, process to get there, with the right stuff, set up a camp, and enjoy the time under the trees.

This trip was to a park we had never visited before. Primitive camp sites. Pit toilets. Fire rings in the sites. There were hiking, biking, and horse trails in the park. She picked the park, as she often does, and I did the lifting.

A stream ran right behind the campsite, and with all the rain, it was flowing nicely. The sound of it was part of the background for the weekend.

We looked at birds and wildflowers, hiked to an overlook, and then to the big attraction, one of the creeks in the park that tumbles across a granite boulder field, and takes an 80 foot drop. One the best waterfalls I've ever seen.

I left that one full size, so click on the waterfall to enbiggify. We got there right at sunset, and just did get back down to the campsite before full dark. It looked like Middle Earth.

Reading about nature is fine, but if a person walks in the woods and listens carefully, he can learn more than what is in books, for they speak with the voice of God.
--George Washington Carver

This and That

Ed McMahon passed away. Colonel in the Marines, combat pilot, 85 missions, two wars. Oh yeah, and that thing with Johnny Carson on TV.

California cut the tax exemption for children. So, they didn't raise taxes, actually, they cut the exemption, but everyone will owe $210.00 more per child next year. How's that California leftist plan working out for ya'? Plan on more "adjustments", and it won't be on the rich, because everyone who has looked at it knows, the only way to keep up with the socialist agenda is to tax the middle class.

Pr. Obama finally condemned the violence in Iran. Yep, and when they really crack down he'll add a stern look and a strongly worded letter to the U.N.

VA hospital mistreatment of cancer patients made the New York Times. Tell me again how having the government in charge is going to fix health care.

The government, out of money and still spending, is offering you money for your clunker, if you meet all the restrictions. But you can turn in your old 12 mpg pickup and get $4500.00 toward the purchase of a new more fuel efficient truck. Where does this money come from?

The Bureau of Labor Statistics released their May 2009 report. Another 345,000 jobs lost. The report has the details. It's just depressing to read. I'm sure that the government will think up more taxes to make up the shortfall.

And to close on a lighter note, Sen. John Ensign apologized to his Senate Republican colleagues for having an affair with a staffer. So, it was worth throwing away his career in the Senate, worth whatever damage it caused his family, and apparently worth lying to all of us, too. Just once, I'd like one of these politicians say, "The hell with all of you smug sanctimonious bastards, it was so worth it. She was gorgeous, she was hot, she did things I never even imagined, and did them with enthusiasm. If you leave me alone with her, I'll hit it again." Because that's the truth, isn't it? Men are all horny 18 year olds in our minds. We don't have much of a stop circuit. Even the best of us are lucky to be old enough and homely enough not to get really tested.

The more one analyses people, the more all reasons for analysis disappear. Sooner or later one comes to that dreadful universal thing called human nature.
--Oscar Wilde

The face of Innocence in Iran

Neda Agha-Soltan is the name of the young woman shot and killed on video in Iran. Murdered by government thugs.

My prediction is that there will be more, perhaps many more. The Iranian government is marshaling it's power, removing military officers that it does not trust to carry out the orders, preparing to crack down. Just like the Chinese in Tienanmen square in 1989, and the Soviets in Hungary in 1968, and the British in Boston in 1770, the Mullahs have dictatorial power and will not freely give it up.

The students are powerless in the face of military weapons, and they will lose. Neda makes a good symbol, a martyr, unarmed, uninvolved in the protest. But she also makes an object lesson for us all. When the wolf comes, innocence is no defense.

If you want to take power from a dictator, it will take force. The Colonists knew it in 1776, the United States knew it in 1945, and it is still true today. If there was a way to arm the people of Iran, they could free themselves of their oppressors. It would be messy, violence always is. But if we had video of Neda, shooting back at the Iranian police instead of dying in the street, wouldn't she still be a symbol of Iran?

Democracy don't rule the world, You'd better get that in your head; This world is ruled by violence, But I guess that's better left unsaid.
--Bob Dylan

What We've Learned in the Last 46 Years

In early November 1963, the United States was the preeminent power in the world. VietNam was a tiny country in southeast Asia that no one had heard of. Foreign cars were VW Beetles and a meaninglessly few MGs, Triumphs, and Mercedes. John Kennedy was President, and had not yet taken a trip to Dallas.

The new model year had been unveiled, and Oldsmobile was your father's car, if he could afford one. If not, Ford and Chevy were competing with Falcons and Nova IIs.


I don't remember all this, or what I am about to tell you, because I was 6. The problem is, no one else remembers it either. I only know these things because I bought a stack of old magazines in a junk shop, and flipping through them, I found a number of things worth remembering.

The article was titled, "Why the Welfare State doesn't Work". Written by a man named Irving Kristol, it outlines the flaws of a number of government programs and the real outcomes. Near the end of the article, he discusses the issue of setting up a state run medical payment system.

The mute appeal of a state-run monopoly is the illusion that, over a period of time and in some undefined way, people may get more than they put in, either because the federal government will magically "close the gap" or because someone else (the rich or employers or whoever) will be called upon to make up the difference.

That's really it, isn't it? Those who favor a single payer system do so because they believe they will benefit, that the rich will pay, and the average guy will get a boost. Once again, we take the wayback machine.

This idea is appealing, but baseless. It is as appealing, and as baseless, as the belief that the steeply progressive income tax significantly reduces the tax burden of the average citizen. In a society and economy such as ours, government expenditure is infinitely greater than the ability of the rich to pay for it. It is the average citizen, the great majority, who will have to subsidize the medical care for the truly poor - under whatever program.

Remember these words, when Pr. Obama takes over ABC to promise to solve all the costs and problems of the health care system on June 24th, 2009. The costs of health care are real and they will be paid. Saving will be found, by limiting care, rationing treatment like they do in Britain and Canada. That will start almost immediately, as soon as it is the federal government paying out. Then, the pay czar will decide how much doctors, nurses, surgeons, etc. can be paid. Small hospitals will be "consolidated" into larger regional centers as a cost saving measure. The free market engine will be killed first, and the entire system will wither. New treatments, medicines, research? What will be the incentive? Private insurance will disappear over time, and only the federal system will remain. It is as predictable today as it was in 1963.

At the end of a century that has seen the evils of communism, Nazism and other modern tyrannies, the impulse to centralize power remains amazingly persistent.
--Joseph Sobran

What Libertarian Means to Me

Libertarian being a broad term describing all sorts of views from mild to extreme, I suspect I fall somewhere in the middle. I try to be consistent.

Gay rights? All for it. Same rights as straight people. Same rights as every other individual. Every group based on race, black/white/hispanic/chinese/inuit/whatever, and every group based on sexuality, male/female/gay/straight/transgendered/whatever, and every other group you can name is made up of individuals. Those individuals have rights. Groups? At best, groups exist to help protect or advance the rights of individuals.

Consensual sexual behavior between adults? Definitely only the business of the participants. I don't care what turns the motor, as long as everyone involved is making their own decision and is old enough to do so.

Gay marriage? I think the government should get out of the business of issuing marriage licenses altogether. You should get a contract from the government to form a personal corporation with your partner(s). Mormons want plural marriage, gays want same-sex marriage, someone out there might want some arraignment we haven't thought of yet. They get a contract, same as me. Then, find the organization of your choice, religious or not, and there is where you have a marriage, if you want. Same rules for everyone.

Drug use? Legalize it. Give up this useless "War on Drugs". It's really a war on personal liberty and the Constitution. Same rules as alcohol. Sold to adults in ABC stores, taxed and regulated. It would wipe out the illegal nature of the business and plenty of people working for the government, law enforcement included, benefit from the current setup.

Abortion? Here's where I come to a dilemma. I'm in favor of personal freedom, but I think that there is life in the womb. So I am uncertain. I understand that making abortion illegal will cause some suffering because women will do it anyway. I can see the statistics, and women are mostly aborting healthy babies. So, I would choose to make it illegal after some point, say the first 2 months, but I really have no good answer. My first effort would be to provide all sorts of information and birth control to make this a non-issue.

Religion? Believe what you believe, up to the point where you want to use threats and force to make others believe it. Here's my problem with Islam, there's factions that want to make me convert or die. There's lots of others that sort of go along with that, not ready to do violence, but ok with others doing it. Bad idea, and I suspect I would have felt the same way about Christianity during the Middle Ages.

Race? Hatred based on ethnicity has no place in society. Everyone is an individual. You have your freedom. Make your way in the world. I should be free, so should you. One set of rules for everyone. Racism is evil. Reverse racism is racism.

Freedom of speech? Nearly absolute. Share your ideas, see how they do in the marketplace of ideas. The fact that what you say is upsetting to others should not be a reason to limit what you can say.

Right to self defense? Absolute. I have no right to violently attack anyone who is not a threat. But in honest defense? It may be the first right. So, the right to firearms is also absolute. The Founders understood this, "the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."

Any issue that comes up can be looked at through the lens of "what creates the maximum personal freedom and justice?". Then, if you do that, it will be the right choice. Got an issue? I'll try to look at it objectively and see what makes the most people have the most freedom.

The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.
--Ayn Rand

Another Bad Idea

ABC News is going to give over control of it's broadcasting to the White House on June 24th, 2009. The program will be Pr. Obama's two hour informercial on health care reform. If you think I'm exaggerating, here's a quote from the letter Ken McKay, the Chief of Staff for the Republican National Committee sent to ABC:

In the absence of opposition, I am concerned this event will become a glorified infomercial to promote the Democrat agenda. If that is the case, this primetime infomercial should be paid for out of the D.N.C. coffers. President Obama does not hold a monopoly on health care reform ideas or on free airtime. The president has stated time and time again that he wants a bipartisan debate. Therefore, the Republican Party should be included in this primetime event, or the DNC should pay for your airtime.

This is such a bad idea that the Huffington Post expressed reservations about it. Over at Bloviating Zeppelin, his June 16th post covers the real plan in some detail. What we are being sold now is the interim plan, paving the way for a nationalized single payer system controlled by the Federal Government. There is video of the President and others discussing the real plan and how they will achieve it.

Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.
--Adolf Hitler

A Doctor's View on the Obama Healthcare Plan

Dr. Sanity lays out her plan in the event of an Obama takeover of the health care system.

Here's a quote. Go and read the whole thing.

I'm done. If Congress passes Obama's destructive zombie health plan in any form, I quit.

I will simply not practice medicine anymore. I will take my psychiatry books and my years of experience and do something else. I used to wait tables when I was in college. It's an honest living and Obama isn't interested for the time being in nationalizing restaurants--yet.

Let me be clear. I don't believe that people have a "right" to health care; because, what advocating such a "right" basically means is that you believe you have a "right" to my mind; you have a "right" to my professional competence; i.e., you have a "right" to enslave me.
--Dr. Sanity

Fighting for Liberty

Sunday morning, and I'm drinking coffee and following links, and I end up at Fighting for Liberty. His blog touches on Scouting √, shooting √, martial arts/self defense √, patriotism √, and personal responsibility √.

I'm trying to pick one of his posts, and offer him some encouragement for his writing, since his blog is fairly new, and when I look at his blogroll, there among the usual suspects is Random Acts of Patriotism. Up in northern New Hampshire is a guy who has read my words. Now I am encouraged.

He has some good thoughts, and there are pictures of an outdoor range that should make all of us jealous. He had an interesting idea, a Who am I? post. I'm going to write one.

Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish.
--John Jakes

Why Did Only One Man Die at the Holocaust Museum?

Because there were men with guns and the skills to use them before the man with evil intentions could shoot anyone else.

Remember Columbine and Virginia Tech? What was the difference? The amount of time it took for men with guns to show up and get them into use. Once a criminal or terrorist has a weapon in play, seconds matter. Minutes are an eternity. A five minute response time means a room full of bodies.

Guns save lives. Armed citizens save lives. Disarming the law abiding ensures that only the bad guys and the professionals have weapons. It makes us sheep for the slaughter. I join my voice with all the Jews who cry out, "Never Again."

If you are a warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself..."Baa."
--Dave Grossman

Hollering Down the Well

Recently, David Letterman crossed the line into genuinely bad taste. He said that the Governer of Alaska has the style of a "slutty flight attendent" and then made a joke about the Governer's 14 year old daughter having sex with a baseball player. So far, to my knowledge, neither CBS or Mr. Letterman has commented or apologized. I wrote CBS, here's what I said:

I have watched and enjoyed David Letterman's show for years. His monologue and humor sketches have become increasing partisan over the last few years, and for some time, his jokes at the expense of Pr. Bush have been extremely mean spirited. However, his recent joke concerning the 14 year old daughter of the Governor of Alaska has crossed a line that I cannot let pass without comment. His joke about a young girl being impregnated at a baseball game in the 7th inning played to crude stereotypes without concern for feelings of the girl and her family. If you do not find the joke offensive, imagine Mr. Letterman turning the joke around and using Pr. Obama's daughters as the butt of the joke. I can only imagine the tidal wave of indignation that would have generated. Mr Letterman would be in seclusion, and the heads of CBS would be spending their days apologizing.

So, consider me a lost viewer. I'll spend my time on-line, or reading books.

I don't expect a reply. If I get one, I'll post it here.

Let not a man guard his dignity, but let his dignity guard him.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Update
Dave Letterman made comment in his monologue about the Palin family's response to his jokes, "This very well could be my last show," he said, as though the controversy was making him an endangered species. "Oh, great," he said. "I pissed off a hunter."

Good job, there, Dave, insinuating that the Governor of Alaska is going to come to New York and shoot you. Sort of a slap at everyone who owns firearms for hunting, too. Clueless, tacky response, when a genuine apology was called for.
_____________________________________________
Update 2
Dave Letterman tries again and does much better. He says the right things, and takes the right tone. All you can do is go on and hope some learning has taken place.

If They Knew, Would They Tell Us?

Two radical Muslims on a list of people considered to be a threat to the French Republic were aboard the French Airbus that went down in the Atlantic. Heh.

My question is, if the government knew it was terrorism, would they tell us?

There are no secrets better kept than the secrets that everybody guesses.
--George Bernard Shaw

The Road to Hell and Good Intentions

Go read about forklifts, specifically a government program to replace old high polluting forklifts with new low emission forklifts. One of the funniest things I have read in months. Here's a quote:

So once a month, I fire up three semi-tractors and go from shop to shop, warehouse to warehouse, moving your gift forklifts to places that are busy enough to ensure they qualify for the full emissions reduction rebate...I assure you, we are now running the living shit out of these forklifts. We're burning propane as an entrepreneurial activity.

Because how do you determine that the company really needed the new machines? You look at the meters that count the running hours once a year. So the incentive is to make sure that all of them run as much as possible. Think hard about where that leads, and how it affects things if you are a true believer in global warming.

We can evade reality, but we cannot evade the consequences of evading reality.
--Ayn Rand

Not Everyone in a Uniform is a Hero

During and after VietNam, men in uniform were outcasts, called baby killers, spit on in airports. After the 1st Gulf War, they were heroes. After 9/11, police, fireman, and military were all heroes.

Both extremes are wrong. Military personnel are drawn from the society, and they reflect the whole range of that society. Some are heroes, some are just doing a job, some have to have constant supervision, and some need be in jail.

Every once in a while, you run into one that is just completely beyond .... well, here, take a look at this. The article is from military.com, the headline reads Police say Recruiter Pimped Girl, 14.

No amount of ability is of the slightest avail without honor.
--Andrew Carnegie