Who Benefits?

It's Cash for Clunkers time in America! Wildly successful, people are dragging out the old SUVs and Detroit iron to get a $4500 break on a new car. Congress dumped, or will dump, $2,000,000,000 more taxpayer dollars into this program in the next few days. That's our money, boys and girls, it's not "federal money". There is no such thing as federal money. Every dollar the government spends comes from the taxpayers. If they spend dollars they don't have yet, it because they are borrowing on dollars they expect to get from future taxes. If it's taxes they are getting from corporations, those corporations just pass those costs along in the price of the products they sell, and we pay those taxes too. It's a closed system.

Now that we have the basic facts of how taxes work and what federal money really is, there's another trick in this program. The guy who owns that gas guzzling, air polluting behemoth doesn't get anything. The car companies do. Because if I get ol' Red running, I can't take it down and turn it in for $4500. No, the only way this works is if I buy a new car, sign up for the payments, and the dealer destroys the engine in the vehicle, and submits all the right paperwork. Then the dealer gets the money, and the car company makes a sale.

So, once again, the American taxpayers are directly subsidizing the auto industry, to the tune of an extra $3,000,000,000. In the case of GM, we are giving money to a company that is already 60% owned by the government. What am I going to get out of this? Not a damn thing except more debt for my children grandchildren great-grandchildren to work off.

Right now we have a program that President Obama said "...has succeeded well beyond our expectations and all expectations" that is having it's budget triple less than a week into operation. What sort of planning and cost structure have they got for the federal health care plan? Who's going to pay for that?

I don't like Communism because it hands out wealth through rationing books.
--Omar Torrijos Herrera

Cit Nation, Requirement 6

I had an interesting discussion with a friend concerning yesterday's post, and decided to do requirement 6. I picked Patrick Henry and his famous speech in March of 1775.His biography can be found on the Official Williamsburg website. It describes his life and how he came to be in a position to give his speech. Another biography I found has a more comprehensive account of his later years, and how he served during the Revolution and in the early years of the country.

I read his speech, and you can read it here. This speech was given after the Boston Tea Party and less than a month before the battle of Lexington and Concord. The southern colonies were grappling with how they were going to respond to the excesses of the British, with some people counseling compliance due to the seeming power of the British military. It was very important because it influenced Virginia to join the rebellion. It lays out the issues that concerned them, touches on the power of the British, and then moves into an impassioned call to arms. It is still important today as a benchmark for what liberty is and what means may be morally justified in the defense of that liberty.

As a quote, I chose this:

The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery!

It is not the most famous passage, but it is the ringing truth of these words, both then and now, that made me choose this quote. Our freedoms are not free, they have been bought time and time again in blood. Patrick Henry's words helped moved the colonies into open rebellion, and the war, turmoil, and death that ensued. To have these words today helps me remember the fires that forged this country, and the kind of men the Founding Fathers were.

What famous speech would you pick if given this assignment?

As nightfall does not come all at once, neither does oppression. In both instances, there is twilight. And it is in such twilight that we all must be aware of change in the air, however slight, lest we become unwitting victims of the darkness.
--William O. Douglas, US Supreme Court Justice

Citizenship in the Nation

One of the required merit badges for Eagle Scout is Citizenship in the Nation. For the purposes of discussing this, I'm going to post the full requirements below. I had to go look up number 5. Number 4 could be the subject of a book. Numbers 4 and 7 could be the subject of a discussion about the proper role of the federal government. Any Scout that made a sincere effort to fulfill these requirements would have a basic understanding of the workings of the federal government. He'd learn a little history with numbers 2, 4, and 6 and some current events with number 3.

This is not pioneering, campcraft, or hiking. This goes to the heart of the Scouting program. Knowledge of these things is how we truly become informed and are thus capable of participating in the life of our country. It is citizenhip.

Citizenship in the Nation Requirements


1. Explain what citizenship in the nation means and what it takes to be a good citizen of this country. Discuss the rights, duties, and obligations of a responsible and active American citizen.
2. Do TWO of the following:

a. Visit a place that is listed as a National Historic Landmark or that is on the National Register of Historic Places. Tell your counselor what you learned about the landmark or site and what you found interesting about it.
b. Tour your state capitol building or the U.S. Capitol. Tell your counselor what you learned about the capitol, its function, and the history.
c. Tour a federal facility. Explain to your counselor what you saw there and what you learned about its function in the local community and how it serves this nation.
d. Choose a national monument that interests you. Using books, brochures, the Internet (with your parent's permission), and other resources, find out more about the monument. Tell your counselor what you learned, and explain why the monument is important to this country's citizens.

3. Watch the national evening news five days in a row OR read the front page of a major daily newspaper five days in a row. Discuss the national issues you learned about with your counselor. Choose one of the issues and explain how it affects you and your family.
4. Discuss each of the following documents with your counselor. Tell your counselor how you feel life in the United States might be different without each one.

a. Declaration of Independence
b. Preamble to the Constitution
c. The Constitution
d. Bill of Rights
e. Amendments to the Constitution

5. List the six functions of government as noted in the preamble to the Constitution. Discuss with your counselor how these functions affect your family and local community.
6. With your counselor's approval, choose a speech of national historical importance. Find out about the author, and tell your counselor about the person who gave the speech. Explain the importance of the speech at the time it was given, and tell how it applies to American citizens today. Choose a sentence or two from the speech that has significant meaning to you, and tell your counselor why.
7. Name the three branches of our federal government and explain to your counselor their functions. Explain how citizens are involved in each branch. For each branch of government, explain the importance of the system of checks and balances.
8. Name your two senators and the member of Congress from your congressional district. Write a letter about a national issue and send it to one of these elected officials, sharing your view with him or her. Show your letter and any response you receive to your counselor.

I think this could be expanded into a required high school class, and every student could benefit from understanding the system that governs us. I don't remember anything like this from high school, either personally or from my children. Just understanding that the Constitution is designed to establish limits on the power of the Federal government and protect the power of the states and the rights of the citizens would go a long way toward repairing the mess we are in now.

Citizenship is a tough occupation which obliges the citizen to make his own informed opinion and stand by it.
--Martha Gellhorn

Overheard at the Gun Store

Was looking at ammo I can't afford, talking with a friend, when the lady filling out a 4473 spoke up. She looked up at the clerk and said, "No wonder Obama doesn't like guns, he couldn't buy one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it asks right here, "Are you an American citizen?" and if someone answers no to any of these questions, you won't be able to sell them a gun, right?"

Humor is a spontaneous, wonderful bit of an outburst that just comes. It's unbridled, its unplanned, it's full of surprises.
--Erma Bombeck

What will you do?

Here's a new addition to the blogroll. Straight Forward in a Crooked World has a series called Dark Arts for Good Guys. He's writing about being a tourist in a foreign country when civil war breaks out. Someplace where you're stranded, unarmed, unprotected, and the cavalry isn't coming.

I'm posting this here because many of us work in or visit places where we are not allowed to be armed with legal firearms. Schools, universities, banks, restaurants that serve alcohol, places that charge admission, churches, and others are on the list in my state. So what are you going to do when someone, or many someones, show up with weapons? Rules are only for the law abiding. Asks the passengers on those planes on 9/11.

He's not writing about a specific situation or weapon. He's talking about mindset. Hand tools, lab equipment, fire extinguishers, things in a kitchen drawer, anything you can put to use can be a weapon in a desperate situation.

Weapons are an important factor in war, but not the decisive one; it is man and not materials that counts.
--Mao Tse-Tung

On the Island

It was 32 years ago this week I went to Parris Island for 3 months to become a Marine. I was on the island on the anniversary. I still dream about it occasionally. It is clear from the moment you arrive that the rules, standards, and expectations have changed. In very short order you lose your clothes, your hair and your identity.

If you complete your training, you will become one of them. Until that day, your fate rests in the hands of the Marines that wear the Hat. They seem to set an unreachable standard, of fitness, training, appearance and attitude. How they got like that isn't something recruits think about, they have their own set of concerns.

Marine Corps Drill Instructors undergo a training regimen that would make boot camp look like a simple summer camp. These Marines, while not at war, are still paying a high price to meet the demands and expectations of the billet they are assigned to. In a way that few other jobs are, even in the military, the job of a Marine Corps Drill Instructor is an all consuming one. They work training recruits, not just pushing the recruits, but pushing themselves to be the living example of what it is to be a Marine.

This picture was taken last Friday at Morning Colors:

These recruits are entrusted to my care.
I will train them to the best of my ability.
I will develop them into smartly disciplined, physically fit, basically trained Marines, thoroughly indoctrinated in love of Corps and country.
I will demand of them, and demonstrate by my own example, the highest standards of personal conduct, morality and professional skill.
--The Drill Instructor's Pledge

Just a Reminder

Because that price gets paid every day. Army Sgt. Joshua J. Rimer, 20, was killed over the weekend in an attack in Anbar province. A soldier is gone, a family is devastated, and all of us are diminished. Others fell the same day. More will fall today. They are doing it for us, for America, and for each other.

September will be eight years and I am tired of hearing about IED deaths and injuries. Eight years after Pearl Harbor, we were the victorious occupiers of Germany and Japan, and had been for three years. We have forgotten what war is, and what we owe those that we send in harm's way.

Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.
--Winston Churchill

Once a Marine

In July of 1977 I entered the Marine Corps. If the Scouting stories seem to have no end, I haven't even opened the door to writing about my time in the Marines. Most of them will start with, "This is no shit, I was there..."

I did six years of active duty. Most of that was with a RADAR shop working on the RADAR and missile firing controls on F4-J and F4-S Phantom II fighter jets. That shop was headed up by a Marine Staff Sergeant. He was the NCOIC, the Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge. A group of us that served under him have gathered for a reunion in Beaufort, S.C. It looks like an even dozen will be at dinner tonight, along with wives, children, and one grandchild.

It is difficult to describe any of this. What it was like to be part of that shop and what it is like to be back together after 25 years. We went to Parris Island this morning, we went to Morning Colors, and then to a recruit graduation. We have begun to tell each other stories, some from way back, others about our lives between then and now.

All of us did at least six years, several made the Marine Corps a career. Only one is still on active duty. He will retire in ten months after thirty years. I knew him as a Corporal. He's a Lt. Colonel now.

So many stories and all the different paths our lives have taken. We are tied together by shared experiences and memories. Beyond that, we are connected by all having worked for that Staff Sergeant that expected our best and tolerated nothing less. There was no better RADAR shop than that one, and he was the reason. Working for him was a life changing experience on par with going through boot camp.

The wonderful love of a beautiful maid,
The love of a staunch true man,
The love of a baby, unafraid,
Have existed since time began.

But the greatest of loves, The quintessence of loves.
even greater than that of a mother,
Is the tender, passionate, infinite love,
of one drunken Marine for another.

"Semper Fidelis"

General Louis H. Wilson
Commandant of the Marine Corps
Toast given at 203rd Marine Corps Birthday Ball
Camp Lejueune, N.C. 1978

Out of a Box of Books

He was one of the smallest, youngest kids in the orphanage. His mother had died when he was young, and at the height of the Depression, his father had been convinced the best thing was to place the children in a Catholic orphanage. It was a strict upbringing, not a lot of love or frills.

Occasionally there were donations made and one day someone brought a box of books. The older children crowded around, and by the time he got to the box there was only one book remaining, so he took it. He read it. Parts of it he read many times.

Years went by. He worked at tasks assigned by the nuns, went to school, and eventually became old enough to make decisions for himself. He joined the Army, went through training, and was assigned to an infantry unit. In 1950 he went ashore at Inchon, and fought with the Army on one side of the Chosin Reservoir while the Marines were on the other.

He survived Korea, came home, got a college degree, became an officer. Served two tours in VietNam, and retired from the Army in 1972. He relocated, and went to work teaching ROTC. His church did not have a Scout Troop, so he started one. Found a sponsoring organization, recruited parents to help, got it off the ground.

In addition to being Scoutmaster, he lead the local Council 50 miler every year. He was involved in Adult leader training, and served on Wood Badge courses every couple of years. He went to National Jamboree several times, to a World Jamboree, and lead crews to Philmont.

I met him in 1991, when my oldest son joined the Troop. "The Colonel" is what everyone called him. Tough, at 63 he was still an imposing figure. I started as an active Scouter, and for several years many times he and I would be the only adults on the campouts. I got to know him. I came to understand how he got the exterior shell he wore, listened to his stories, and became his friend.

Sometimes as we settled in for the night, he would tell me stories, usually the funny ones, but sometimes the ones that left no doubt what serving his country had cost. One night he told me about living at the orphanage and the box of books. How he had picked up the old Scout Handbook after everything else had been taken.

All he knew of Scouting was the Handbook. He never was officially a Scout, wore a uniform, or went to summer camp. What he never got to experience himself as a boy he has provided directly to hundreds of others.

There is a large wooden panel at the church, covered with small pewter labels, each one has a name and a date. They represent the Eagle Scouts that have achieved their rank while part of the Troop. Several years ago, a second panel was attached because the first one was full.

Books can be dangerous. The best ones should be labeled "This could change your life".
--Helen Exley

On the Beach

Camping at the beach in the South Carolina Lowcountry. The park has some hike in remote sites, and we got the last one on the trail. Here's the view sitting at the campsite: Everything on the island is accessible by bicycle. We got up this morning and rode out to the beach for the sunrise. Here is the best of what I took as the sun broke through the clouds on the horizon.

Don't grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach.
--Michelle Held

Light Blogging

Ok, no blogging. I will be back in a few days.

Comments are open, and I invite you to leave your own Scout stories.

When I return, I will tell one of the most memorable stories of Scouting, honor, and patriotism I have heard.

Absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
--Ambrose Bierce

Mementos

Scouting is filled with memorable events. Summer camp, canoe trips, Pinewood Derby, National Jamboree, Philmont, Appalachian trail hikes, whatever it is, we want to remember it. There are pictures, of course, but beyond photography, Scouts look for other ways to remember.

Our Scoutmaster Emeritus, the man who founded the Troop I have been affiliated with as an adult Scouter, has collections of stuff. Pins, patches, T-shirts, and coffee mugs. In the Scout hut he put up shelves in what was his office. A few Army mugs, one from the 82nd Airborne in the center, and then rows of mugs from OA, summer camps, and Jamborees.

He also has T-shirts, a footlocker full of T-shirts. All celebrating events long past, decades of summer camps, National and World Jamborees, and Wood Badge courses over the years. With hundreds of hat pins and patches to match.

I always bought the T-shirts when I went to an event, but I wore them, in some cases I wore them to rags. I have only a few now, most of them have been retired. What I mostly have are patches. Here's the ones I'm currently displaying on my uniform.

Summer camp 1968 was the first one. I kept every one I ever got. I sewed some of them on a red wool jac-shirt when I was a Scout, but they have been recovered from that. All the recent ones (the ones in the last 20 years) look new. They are all different, and yet all the same. All of them have a Scout fleur-de-lis, most of them are round, 3 inches in diameter, and have the name of the event and the year.

If you asked me about some of the events, I might not be able to tell you anything, but the patches jog my memory. The art work and the colors somehow serve to anchor the event, and I can remember what we did, sometimes what we ate and how the weather was. They are worthless to anyone else and when I am gone, there will be no one to remember so their meaning will disappear.

Summer camp always ended with a campfire on Friday night. When I was the leader in camp, after dinner on Friday, I would gather the Troop in uniform in the campsite. I would have them form by Patrols, give a stack of summer camp patches to the Senior Patrol Leader and say, "The SPL has your summer camp patches, and he will be handing them out in a minute. You all did well this week, and I am proud to say I am your Scoutmaster. Remember these days in the woods, because this camp is unique. This exact group of people will never camp together again, someone will move or leave the Troop, and new Scouts will join in the fall. Remember who we were, what we did, and what it meant to you. Sometime, years from now, you will find this patch in a drawer or a box, and I want you to pick it up, and think back to this week, this camp. Let your patch serve as a reminder of these days."

To understand a man, you must know his memories.
--Anthony Quayle

Scouter Humor

In every endeavor or field of study there is humor. Pilots, surgeons, even combat soldiers all have inside jokes that make sense only to them. Scouters are no different. Because you are outside the norm as a Scouter. Camping every month, learning to do interesting and arcane things with rope and sticks, cooking on open fires, dressing up like a Boy Scout, and trying to set the example to a Troop of Scouts with your behavior and spirit. We must look like we could benefit from cult deprogramming.

Here's one list based on the old "You might be a Scouter if..." I'm not going to list them here, but some of them are funny while others are just true.

Another site, put up by Troop 88 has things like the Top Ten Signs You're in a Bad Troop, and Top Ten Signs You're at a Bad Summer Camp.

Then there is the "letter from camp". I had seen it years ago, and found it on a site called the Retired Scouter:

Dear Mom,

Our Scout Leader told us all write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and worried.

We are OK. Only 1 of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Justin when it happened. Oh yes, please call Justin's mother and tell her he is OK. He can't write because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search & rescue jeeps. It was neat. We never would have found him in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.

Scout Leader Phil got mad at Alex for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Alex said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him. Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas can will blow up? The wet wood still didn't burn, but one of our tents did. Also some of our clothes. Phil is going to look weird until his hair grows back.

We will be home on Saturday if Scout Leader Rich gets the car fixed. It wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked OK when we left. Scout Leader Rich said that with a car that old you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance on it. We think it's a neat car. He doesn't care if we get it dirty, and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the tailgate. It gets pretty hot with 10 people in a car. He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the highway patrolman stopped and talked to us.

Scout Leader Rich is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Tim how to drive. But he only lets him drive on the mountain roads where there isn't any traffic. All we ever see up there are logging trucks.

This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out in the lake. Scout Leader Phil wouldn't let me because I can't swim and Justin was afraid he would sink because of his cast, so he let us take the canoe across the lake. It was great. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood. Scout Leader Phil isn't crabby like some scout leaders. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets.

Scout Leader Rich has to spend a lot of time working on the car so we are trying not to cause him any trouble. Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Daniel dove in the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a tourniquet works. Also Dylan and I threw up. Scout leader Rich said it probably was just food poisoning from the leftover chicken, he said they got sick that way with the food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and become a scout leader. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time.

I have to go now. We are going into town to mail our letters and buy more ammo and fireworks. Don't worry about anything. Scout Leader Phil said the weather is going to be really hot and dry now. We are fine.

Love,
Timmy

If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide.
--Mahatma Gandhi

Playing with Fire

Scouts like fire. That's too much of an understatement. Scouts are drawn to fire like iron filings to a magnet. They gather around it. They throw things in it. They poke it with sticks, then pull the sticks out and wave them around. They want to make the fire bigger. Much bigger. If Scouts had chain saws, every campfire would look like the Aggie bonfire at Texas A&M.

I have concluded this is a natural behavior and all Scouts display it. It must be tempered, however, or a Patrol can get completely out of control.

So Scouts have rules. No flammable liquids of any kind may be used. Fire only in designated fire rings or preapproved pits. A fire the correct size for the task, small cooking fires, larger troop campfires, no bonfires. No playing with fire. Once a stick is in the fire, it stays there. No waving burning marshmallows around. And nothing like this:
Most Scouts test these boundaries. Some test you more than others. I have been Scouting, camping, and working with campers off and on for forty years. There had to be one that was the worst, didn't there? The one that would have made that fire in the video if he could have. The one that would not follow the rules, the one that only stopped when directly threatened with expulsion from the Troop.

It was just after taps. I was sitting with the other leaders and I could see light behind the tents, flickering light. One of the dads noticed it and commented that they were in the woods with flashlights.

"I don't think so. That's fire, " I said as I got up. Motioning the others for quiet, we moved along the tents. I knew who it was before I ever got there. I wasn't fully prepared for what I found. He was crouched behind a tent watching his creation. In the 18 inches between the back of his tent and the high brush that bordered the open campsite sat a burning tennis ball. With a wick.

I took the fire bucket from in front of the tent and doused it. Left the can upside down over the ball until it cooled. The Scout was standing there so I asked him, "What were you thinking?'

"I dunno."

"What did you soak it in?"

"Lighter fluid and bug spray."

"What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought it might blow up."

Sometimes the answers, honest as they are, just overwhelm you. In the leaf litter, up against the dry brush, a foot from the tent, and he did it hoping it would blow up. It did not, and so we were not having to abandon all the tents and retreat with the Scouts to the lake while camp burned before us.

His dad was there and I thought he might blow up. I tugged the dad away and we had a short conversation. I prevailed, using the logic that if it had been my son, one of the other leader would have worked the issue. So, dealing with this Scout was my responsibility.

I sent the Scout to his tent, told him to come see me after breakfast. Time and sleep would give me perspective, or at least some calm, and my decision making would be better.

In the morning, I sat down with the Scout. I gave him the handbook, and a couple of merit badge books, Fire Safety and Safety. I told him to make a list of all the rules about fire that the could find in the books, and write one page about the event, and I would come back when he was done. Then I went over and sat down with the Dad. I extracted a promise from him that whatever action I took would be the end of it. That because it happened in Scouts, it stayed in Scouts. He gave me his word.

When the Scout had finished, and I came back and read what he had written, one obvious thing stood out. "You know what I think?" I asked as I read down the list of 9 or 10 rules he had gleaned out of the books, "I think if you had followed any one, just one of these rules, you wouldn't have done what you did."

I explained to that Scout in no uncertain terms how close it was, how it could have been a major fire. It was the only time I ever told a Scout that any further misbehavior in this area would result in my bringing him, with his parents, before the Troop Committee and recommending that he be expelled. I had found my limit. To my knowledge, he got it. He never tested my resolve.

Two years later, as I addressed the Troop and their families, I asked his Dad to come forward, "On this, the day we celebrate your son achieving the rank of Eagle, I want to present you with something, as a memento of your time in the Troop."

I presented him with that tennis ball, set in a clear glass jar. Burnt mostly black, the remains of the wick still poking out, it symbolized to both of us the journey we had taken together. We stood there and laughed, and someone took our picture, like I was giving him an award.
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
--Proverbs 22:6

Vespers

All these Scouting posts are really like reaching into a seabag full of memories and grabbing one, pulling it out and taking a look at it. 3 Boxes of B.S. has a picture posted, and I will use that as a starting point today. Scouting Vespers is the name of a short song, usually sung to close a campfire. The name comes from an old word for the evening prayers of the Catholic Church. Sung to the tune Tannenbaum, the lyrics go like this:

Softly falls the light of day,
While our campfire fades away.
Silently each scout should ask:
"Have I done my daily task?
Have I kept my honor bright?
Can I guiltless sleep tonight?
Have I done and have I dared
Everything to be prepared?

A simple closing, no grand religious theories, no particular creed mentioned. A series of four questions, to be considered by each Scout in his own way, against the standards he sets for himself.

Have I, today, lived out the Oath and Law? Have I lived this day with honor? Can I lay down content with my thoughts and behavior, with how I treated others? Have I done all I could to be prepared for tomorrow, whatever it might bring?

These are not just ideals for Boy Scouts, these are questions all of us might do well to ask ourselves every evening. Day to day, I will not pretend that I live up to this simple standard.

Ceremony and symbolism is important in our lives. Solemn funerals, joyous weddings, or a church decorated for a Christmas service all evoke different emotions and enrich the events. So too, a circle of Scouts and Scouters standing around a campfire, their hands raised over the embers, singing Scouting Vespers, serves to give substance to the words. We always closed our campfires with Vespers, then left the circle in silence.

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

Mile Swim

The Mile Swim is not a merit badge, it isn't worn on the uniform. It is a small patch, to be sewn on the swimming suit. Something to do at summer camp usually, an extra for an older Scout who is a strong swimmer.

The border of the buddy tag is broken out into sections, designed to be colored in if the Scout swims that far. I have never seen the edge colored in except when the whole mile is done, and then it always colored in with black, so the tag stands out on the buddy board.
You had to have 4 hours of swimming prep time, usually done with an early morning swim every day at camp. This weeded out the posers, because you had to get up early, get to the waterfront by 0700, and swim for an hour, then race back, change and join the Troop at the morning flag ceremony in front of the chowhall.

If you got up every morning and made the swim, you got to attempt the mile on Friday. Where I camped as a Scout, there were three guard towers and three "H" docks at different points around the lake. The mile swim was done by making the triangle between them. Starting at the Area 3 swimmer's area, you moved out beyond the ropes, swam across to area 1, then turned inside the ropes and swam a longer leg to Area 2. Ducking under those ropes, you then turned on the longest leg, along the marshy section back to your starting point at Area 3. Never resting, never touching the boat or the bottom, you didn't have to go fast, but you had to keep swimming.

The swim was made behind a rowboat, so if you failed, there was a tow back to shore.
It was so different out beyond the docks and the floating platforms, swimming alone out into the lake. A mile is a long enough distance that you tire, switch strokes to conserve some energy. I would use the sidestroke out along the long distances because it's easy to glide and breathe. The sound of the oars creaking and thumping set a rhythm. Time seemed to stretch out, there was only the lake, the receding back of the rowboat and the sky.

Finally you pass back under the ropes where you started. You climb out and walk down the dock to the tower. The Staff member looks at you, shakes your hand, and fills out the card for you to give your Scoutmaster. More importantly, he goes over to the buddy board and takes your tag down and colors the border with a black marker.

At the end of the week, after the last free swim period, I took my tag with me. 40 years later, that paper tag sits in a box with the rest of my Scout awards, a set of chevrons from each rank I held in the Marine Corps, and the rest of the mementos I have accumulated and can't quite bring myself to throw away. Not a merit badge, but still a goal faced and achieved by a young Scout, and remembered by an old man with pleasure and pride.

It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.
--Edmund Hillary

Just for fun

Let's all of us get behind the President and Congress on health care. I am willing to support Obamacare for everyone. Everyone, starting with Congress and the President. Whatever health care plan we get, they get. Ya know, healthcare of the people, by the people, for the people. Just to be fair.

A leader is a dealer in hope.
--Napoleon Bonaparte

The Bermuda Triangle of Scouting

Older Scouts disappear. Moving along through the ranks, they make 1st Class, or maybe Star, go to summer camp for the 4th time, and then never return in the fall. You call once or twice, but you already know. It's an age old story.

He has found his first real girlfriend. He wants to take her to the movies, or to the malt shop.
Maybe not that girl, but the girl. The one he's going to love forever. Well, if he want to take her out without his mom having to drive them, he needs a car.
Maybe not that car, but a car. A car with insurance, and gasoline, and maintenance costs. Since it is most likely a very used car, lots of maintenance costs. So now he needs a job. Maybe not that job, but any job. Something to pay for the car and the dates.

He's a good kid, and he was a good Scout. He is now caught on the same slope that claimed us all sooner or later. He has to go to school. He has to sleep. There are only so many hours left over. The dates and the job both take place in those free hours. What gets jettisoned?

It worked out every year that Spring Camporee was the same weekend as the prom. I expected it. Since every year is the same as every other year, why would this one be different? The acting Senior Patrol Leader was usually a 14 year old 1st Class or Star Scout, the highest ranking Scout that went on the trip.

The older Scouts were sailing out to the prom. If all went well, we would see them at the June beach trip. If not, you needn't go looking for them. The deadly Bermuda Triangle of Scouting had claimed another one.

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.
--Albert Einstein

Contradictions

I am an honorably discharged Marine Corps veteran. I have been married over thirty years. I have been a Scout leader, including Cub Scouts, since 1988. I am an NRA certified Range Safety Officer. I have a permit to carry a firearm, and exercise that right.

This means that at one point the federal government saw fit to trust me with a fully automatic M-16. My state government has faith in my decision making and judgment and has issued me a concealed carry permit. The NRA decided I had the skills to be a safety officer. The Boy Scouts of America and the parents of the Scouts in the Troop have entrusted the lives of young men to me when we went to a gun club and shot rifles and shotguns.

That's right. A group of us, including myself, were responsible for putting loaded firearms in the hands of Boy Scouts. Instructing them on how they operated, how to aim and shoot, and how to remain safe while do so. The same thing happened in Scout camps all over the country today. It will happen again tomorrow.
My guess is that it happened without a single incident. Because if Boy Scouts were being shot in Scout camps, it would sure enough be front page news, no matter what the circumstances.

So, I can do those things. I have earned that trust and respect, and been faithful to all the rules and regulations.

What I cannot do is also a list. I cannot carry a weapon on any school property. I cannot carry in any State Park. I cannot carry in the County courthouse. I cannot carry in any restaurant that serves alcohol. I cannot carry at an airport or on a plane.

So, safe enough to be an instructor, handle loaded firearms and instruct Scouts. Safe enough to carry in McDonalds, Walmart, while driving my truck, or while out walking the dog. But not safe enough to carry while walking the dog across a college campus, or while picking up my permit to carry at the courthouse, or while riding in an airplane.

Do they think the criminals follow these laws? That a felon, who already is restricted from owning a firearm by law feels anything but relief when he walks up to his next victim on the campus, knowing that if they are law abiding, they are disarmed? That the 9/11 murderers didn't figure into their plans the knowledge that all the other passengers were disarmed? That robbing people after they leave a restaurant is now as simple as picking a restaurant that serves beer?

My compliance, and the compliance of all the law abiding citizens, with those laws comes at the price of being unarmed in situations where an armed and trained citizen would be the only thing between a criminal, a terrorist, or a madman and his intended targets.

How many people died on 9/11/2001 because of the unjust, immoral, and unconstitutional policies that disarmed the law abiding citizens on those planes? How could it have been worse to have dead terrorists, and citizens standing at the cockpit doors until the planes could have been landed safely?

There exists a law, not written down anywhere, but in our hearts; a law which comes to us not by training or custom or reading; a law which has come to us not from theory but from practice; not by instruction but by natural intuition: I refer to the law which lays it down that, if our lives are endangered by plots or violence or armed robbers or enemies, any and every method of protecting ourselves is morally right.

--Marcus Tullius Cicero

Sand Castles

Doc Russia hits one right out of the park. He describes the general feeling that great many people have when they look at the changes we are seeing. Here's a quote that sums up Doc's post for me:

And I think that the reason why we see this rising tide of uncertainty is that at some level, everybody knows it. People who normally do not worry about violence or strife ever entering into their lives are now concerned with food shortages and firearms training. They worry because somewhere deep down "that they don't like to talk about at cocktail parties" they know.. THEY KNOW!!... that the principles of brotherly love, communal happiness, pacifism, selfishness and groupthink are not the pillars that a society can survive on.

Go and read all of it. We'll talk about Scouting and the sort of values it does take to build a civil society some more when you get back.

The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.
--Winston Churchill

Reveille

First one up, so the camp is still quiet. It's cool in the morning. Slip out of the tent to the leader's chuck box and get the stove going. Fill the coffee pot and set it to perk, then walk over to the latrine.

By 0615, the smell of fresh coffee is coming from the pot, you turn it down and wait for a few minutes, then pour a cup. Sit down in a chair by the leader's desk and look at the day's schedule. The birds flit around above you, trilling their songs. When you look up, the sun is filtering through the trees.

The sky is clear and there is just a hint of mist rising where the sunlight is causing the dew to evaporate. It's a few minutes to appreciate your life, to look back at all the mornings you had in camp, and add this one to the list.

A minute or so before 0700 you ease back to your tent to wake up your assistant. He's an old Marine, and he's still snoring. You wait. The hiss of the speakers coming to life let's you time it. You grab the bottom of his cot, pick it up about six inches and drop it as the first note plays.

"Sarge, hey SARGE! Wake up, the coffee's ready! What are you doing sleeping the day away?" He sits straight up as Reveille sounds across the campsites, then realizes where he is and takes the cup you're holding out. He shakes his head, "Pay you will, just you wait, nasty little payback when you least expect it."

"Hey, not bad, you even look like Gollum when you wake up."

Tent flaps flip back and Scouts crawl out like zombies, moving slowly in the light. The Troop needs to leave the site to be at the dining hall for Flag ceremony in 45 minutes. There's no sign of stirring in the SPL's tent, so you head that way. The early coolness is already giving way to the July sun. It's reveille, and camp has come to life.

I have a "carpe diem" mug and, truthfully, at six in the morning the words do not make me want to seize the day. They make me want to slap a dead poet.
--Joanne Sherman

Taps

A line of tents under the trees along the lake. The sky is losing the last glow of the summer sun on the western horizon. A Troop of tired Scouts have finished washing up and are bedded down for the night. The Adults sit by the fire, lingering over their conversation. At the top the hill, outside the OA Lodge, the camp bugler sounds out Taps. The end of another day at summer camp.

That scene is real, but there is a lot more going on. There hasn't been a Staffer in camp that could play a bugle in the last decade, so Taps is a recording, as will be the bugle calls in the morning. It wouldn't be quite so obvious if it wasn't a tape recording made from a record and amplified so that every pop and scratch is audible through the trees.

The Scouts are in their tents, but they are not asleep. The older Scouts are sitting by flashlights and lanterns, reading merit badge books and studying, or talking about whatever older Scouts talk about (girls, cars, jobs). The younger boys are definitely talking, moving from tent to tent, playing cards, or listening to the radio you know they have, hidden somewhere in their gear. Muffled laughter, not quite loud enough to make out who it is comes from the tents at the far end of the campsite.

Camp itself is not yet bedded down. It's just that the trails now belong to the Scouters and Staffers. There's a Scoutmaster's swim at 2200, if you've got any energy left. A time to horse around, grabassing like Scouts, dunking each other, or practicing for BSA Lifeguard.

The water sounds inviting, and the bonus of a shower after seals the deal. You call out, "Senior, is everyone in camp?"

"Yes, sir, all accounted for."

Your Assistant Scoutmaster is already in a swimsuit. He needs the time in the water if he's going to pass the BSA Lifeguard test on Friday. Grabbing your towel and suit off the line, you call again, "Senior, you have the camp, we'll be at the waterfront."

Five minutes later you enter the water, swim out a few yards under the lights that have been added to allow night swims, and turn to be the "victim". Unconscious, conscious and passive, panicky and struggling. He rescues you over and over, working on confidence and technique, ring buoys, rope toss, reach poles and water entries.

At 2300, the Staff throws you out. You hang your tags back on the buddy board and check out. Padding back up the trail, you decide the water was enough, no shower tonight. You can hear the sounds of the Troops rise and fade as you pass the campsites. As you enter under the archway of your own site, you can hear your Troop too.

You change into clean shorts, put on a layer of bug spray and quietly walk over to the SPL's tent. He's asleep, as the Guide and the Quartermaster. Deciding not to wake them, you move on, toward the last two tents at the back of the campsite. A smile plays on your face, sometimes things just work out.

They have the back flaps open, the ones facing the woods, and a couple of 1st Class and three 2nd Class Scouts are talking and listening to music. You pause, waiting to hear the punchline of the joke, then step around the end of the tent. In the darkness they still have not noticed you.

Striving for a low guttural whisper you say, "Taps was an hour ago." It comes out pretty good, maybe not like Batman in that last movie, but one of them actually shrieks a little.

"Hand me the radio." It's turned off and handed over. "You know the rule, I see it, I keep it until the end of camp. Whoever owns it can come see me after the closing campfire on Friday, and I'll return it."

"Now, find your own tents, Scouts, and don't let me hear you again tonight."

At 2320, you lay down on the cot, wondering what those Scouts think of you. You're already fading, and in ten minutes you are asleep. Now the camp belongs to the night creatures. Raccoons move through the campsites, an owl takes a field mouse on the archery range, and the mosquitoes feed on the young and old alike. Now it is Taps.

Day is done, gone the sun, from the lakes from the hills from the sky, all is well, safely, rest, God is nigh.
--The first verse of Taps

December 1947

Gregory Peck is on the cover of the December 1st, 1947 edition of Life magazine. The articles are interesting, but the ads tell the story. Ads about an America where young people back from the war are marrying, and buying all the stuff needed for an growing family. Ads like this one.More of everything. That's what we wanted. We had saved the world and the future was bright. Where did that America go?

We Americans are the lavishest and showiest and most luxury-loving people on the earth; and at our masthead we fly one true and honest symbol, the gaudiest flag the world has ever seen.
--Mark Twain

Back in the Campsite

A well laid out Troop campsite. Separate Patrol sites and an area for adults. Each Patrol camping, cooking, and tenting individually. Coming together for a Troop campfire in the evening. The adults sitting back, drinking coffee and offering sage advice to the Senior Patrol Leader and the Guide.

There's pictures of this in the new handbook. There's drawings of it in the older ones. I heard of a Troop like this once, a mythic tale of a mighty Scoutmaster and his trusted sidekick, the SPL. Or maybe I'm mixing that up with a Lone Ranger episode.
It's more complicated. The Scouts are there to learn things, lots of things, from camping, cooking, and pioneering to leadership and citizenship. If they knew these things already, there would be no need for Scouting. But the Scouts are in charge, and they don't know how to do it. So they are going to learn the same way Scouts learned last year, and boys on their first elk hunk learned ten thousand years ago, by making mistakes.

Set up a camp after dark after driving two hours on Friday night, with the gear the Scouts managed to pack up back at the hut and when the Scouts get up Saturday morning, and start dragging out the cooking gear, the campsite is not going to look real Scouty.

There is no point in even getting frustrated. Scan the memory banks and think about the way the campsites looked thirty years ago when you were 1st Class. Yup, nothing has changed. This is so important I'm going to repeat it. Nothing has changed. Because every year is just like the year before. Every Troop of a decent size is just like every other Troop. This, also, is a theme I will return to.

So you call over the Senior, and offer him a waffle. Cooked to a golden crunchy brown, with real maple syrup. As he sits there eating this gift from the heavens, the Patrols are struggling to keep runny pancakes from sticking and burning on overly hot griddles, the Scouts that aren't cooking are running around in some sort chaotic game, and the gear trailer looks like a bomb went off in the Army/Navy store.

You tell him you think he did a great job getting camp set up last night, and that's true. He's 15, going be 16 in a couple of months. He got elected Senior Patrol Leader in June, stepping up from Quartermaster. He doesn't know this job, he hasn't fully figured out how much he's going to learn this year, and it may be twenty years before he understands how profoundly it's going influence the rest of his life.

As he finishes eating, ask him to look around and tell you what needs to be done before the scheduled hike. He's probably going to surprise you. He'll notice the trailer, and the way the tents look, maybe even the ongoing disaster in the cooking areas. So you take notes as he talks, make a list. It's okay at this point to add a couple of things you think are important too, you're collaborating on this. When you get the list made, give it to him. Tell him to come back when breakfast is cleaned up with the Patrol Leaders for a short PLC.

Then go sit down. Look at the lake, talk to the other adults, and wait. It is not your job to fix the camp. It's your job to provide the opportunity for Scouting to occur. When the four of them show up an hour later, you may already know the hike is a fading dream, but remember, it's the Senior's PLC, so let him run it.

When he runs down the list, assigns Patrol tasks, and puts himself with the youngest Patrol, and asks the Guide and Quartermaster to help the other two, tells them they have an hour and dismisses them to get to work, it doesn't matter that the hike will only happen that afternoon, and it will have to be shortened. It doesn't matter that it will be time to break out lunch before they come back to report their progress and invite you to come take a look. It doesn't even matter if the campsite never looks like the picture in the book. It matters that they are Scouts and they are learning by doing, not in spite of the mistakes, but because of them.

Don't tell people how to do things, tell them what to do and let them surprise you with their results.
--George S. Patton

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 speeches.

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 military 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 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

The Tradition of the Ashes

I started to look through my Wood Badge stuff and found a ziplock bag full of ashes. In the folder with it is the following explanation and then page after page of Scout events, listing the the event, the country, and the year.

These ashes have been carried by American Scouts around the world, and have come from campfires dating back to 1907, with Scouts from nearly every country.

Ashes taken from one campfire are sprinkled into the flames of the next campfire. The next morning, when the ashes are cold, they are stirred and each Scout takes some along to mix with his next campfire. If more than one Scout brings ashes to the next campfire, the lists are pooled with the dates and places of all campfires recorded and passed on. It is traditional that only those present at the ceremony carry ashes away from the campfire. When you add your ashes to the campfire you should say something to this effect:

"We carry our friendships with us in these ashes from other campfires with other comrades in other lands. May the joining of the dead fires with the leaping flames symbolize once more the unbroken chain that binds Scouts of all nations together in the World Brotherhood of Scouting. With greetings from our brothers around the world, I add these ashes, and the fellowship therein, to our campfire."

Lord Baden-Powell took a group of boys camping on Brownsea Island in 1907, testing the first versions of his brand new Scouting program. In 1985, Scouts visited the site of his first Scouting camp. They found the fire ring, and dug up ashes. It is the first fire on the list, and the only one where ashes were collected without participating at the event.

The list begins it's chain in 1933, it continues, in countries all over the world. The Phillipines, Japan, Germany, Egypt, Ireland, VietNam, Morocco, New Zealand, and many more. I have read them all. Little events, like a district Camporee, that happens to have been held at the Scout camp in Maryland where I went as a boy. Big events like the 1950 Jamboree at Valley Forge. World Jamborees, Wood Badge courses held at Gilwell Field, National Jamborees, OA Conclaves, Troop events, all listed with equal importance, single spaced on 20 pages. Here's a page from the middle of the list, click to enbiggify:

The list was given to me, along with a bag of ashes taken from the previous fire, a chain of camping and Scouting memories that now dates back over a century. The last event is the closing campfire at my Wood Badge course.

Symbolism is no mere idle fancy, it is inherent in the very texture of human life.
--Alfred North Whitehead

Close to home

My son came clomping in last night, clearly pissed about something. His car was broken down in the street about 20 feet from our driveway. He said it went, "Bang", then slewed to the right. He broke a tie rod end.

20 feet from home, getting ready to turn in, going 10 miles an hour.

It got towed to the shop today. I don't even think it will be very expensive to fix. He is 19, and all he was thinking about was having to pay for the repair and the towing.

I was thinking about him out on the highway, running 70+, and having that tie rod let go.

It didn't happen. Not to him, not today. But it felt a little too close to home.

It's no use reminding yourself daily that you are mortal: it will be brought home to you soon enough.
--Albert Camus

Pay it Forward

In our lives it is not possible to pay back those who worked with us, gave us their time and experience, and helped us overcome the obstacles along the way. This is true in many situations, but, as usual, we are talking about Scouting.

I had been an adult Scouter for a few years when I learned about Wood Badge. I cannot describe it any better than the synopsis available at that link. If you want more, read the history of Wood Badge. It was both a lot of work and a lot of fun. There will be more about Wood Badge in the coming weeks. I came out of the training with the skills and motivation to improve myself and offer more to the troop.

In one of the reflections we did about Scouting, it occurred to me to find my old Scoutmaster if he was still alive. It took about ten minutes on the internet. He still lived in the same house. I called him that evening. In his 80's, and retired from active Scouting, he only vaguely remembered me. He remembered my father much better. But he remembered a great deal about the Troop.

I told him of my current active involvement and the debt I felt I owed him and his assistants. He demurred, saying he did for his own satisfaction and felt it was the most worthwhile thing he had ever done outside of his marriage and children. We laughed at some shared memories, how differently I remembered them as a Scout compared to his memories as Scoutmaster. As the conversation ended, he asked me for my address.

A few days later I got a box. It had a VCR tape, a bunch of old photos, and a large pile of old training manuals and information. The VCR was a dub from 8mm film that one of the dads had shot on camp outs and OA functions over a ten year period. It overlapped with the years I was there. I know I am in the group shots, but cannot pick myself out. My best friend is there, though. He runs past the camera into a doorway at one of our winter camps, forever twelve. I am in the Troop photos. A little kid with jug ears and big plastic framed glasses, staring out at the future I can't even imagine.

I cannot not repay him, but I have tried to pay it forward.

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.
--Albert Schweitzer

The Latrine

There's one in every campsite. There's even sort of a standard design. It has a roof, and about half the space under the roof is open. That has a faucet and a pipe with a series of holes in it, so a patrol could stand on either side and all wash up at the same time. A metal tray catches that water and funnels it into a drainpipe. There is another faucet set off to one side, slightly away from the rest of the facility, for filling water jugs, canteens, and fire buckets.

The other half is enclosed, with a "L" shaped doorway, so that you have go around a privacy wall to enter. It's a two holer, usually. Nothing more than an outhouse, except that this is an outhouse used by Troops of Boy Scouts all summer long. Pungent, some might say, foul, vile, disgusting, gross, even. It would make the old farm outhouse, used by just a family of 4 or 5, a cheery pleasant place to sit and read the Sears catalog.

Even if the Patrol assigned to clean it gives their last full measure of devotion to the task, it takes detachment, a strong stomach, and great need to make a Scout venture into the latrine for a sit down visit. Because most of the smell rises from the hole. But visit they must. For this is the only facility provided.

There are exceptions. A porcelain throne in the new First Aid hut, a couple of old stalls for the leaders in the back of the OA Lodge, and the ever present possibility of going into the woods and digging a hole being the most likely. There is one other possibility I had never considered.

I had a sick Scout. It had been a hot week in camp and having one feeling bad wasn't unusual. What was a little surprising is that it was the Troop Guide, a sixteen year old Life Scout. As Guide his job was watching out for the new Scouts, helping them with Scouting in their first year. He had been coming to camp for five summers.

On Thursday morning of camp week, he did not want to go to breakfast. As I get ready to walk him up to sick call, I asked him all the usual questions, including the one I usually ask the younger Scouts, "Have you had a bowel movement in the last day or so?"

"No," he says.

"When did you last have one?"

"Last Saturday, before I left home."

I stood there for a while, trying to process this bit of information, "Saturday?!?"

"Yes, sir, it shouldn't be the problem, I never poop when I'm in camp."

More processing time, "Never? You mean, every year, you go the whole week without going to the bathroom?"

"Yes, sir."

I walked him to sick call. The camp paramedic went through the same conversation, almost word for word. We sent the Scout down the hall to the air conditioned porcelain, and a little while later he felt much better.

Friday evening, when his mother came to pick him up after the closing campfire, I related this story to her. She got an odd look on her face as I was speaking. When I finished she burst out laughing.

"What?," I asked.

She giggled some more, "Every summer, the first thing he did when we got home from camp was go in the bathroom and lock the door. He would be in there for an hour or more. I always wondered what he was doing. Now I know."

Nothing has more strength than dire necessity.
--Euripides

The Scoutmaster's Minute

At the end of a meeting, or the closing of a campfire, there is a tradition in Scouting to give the Scoutmaster a minute. He can have something prepared, there are books of ideas, or he can speak off the cuff. I did a few hundred of these through the years. I doubt that anyone remembers most of them. I tried to be brief, and to have a point.

Sometimes I would pick out a Scout or a Patrol. Particularly at a campfire, at the end of a day, if I had noticed a Scout doing something noteworthy, I would praise him in front of the Troop. If a Patrol had done an especially good job on a project, they got personal recognition. Always positive, and always tying it to the Scout Law.

Usually it was something I had read, or something from the news, tying it into Scouting and giving my thoughts. I took this opportunity seriously, it was one more way I had to make some personal statement to the Scouts.

One Scoutmaster Minute stands out, even eight years later. In September of 2001, when the Troop gathered for the first meeting that occurred after the Islamist attack on the United States, it fell to me to have something to say. I remember that meeting. The solemn way the Scouts handled it, the colors of the flags in the opening, the depth of richness in the words of the Oath and Law, the way they stood as we saluted and said the Pledge of Allegiance.

At the end of the meeting, I had them in a circle of chairs and I sat in one. I looked around at the faces and thought again of the trust and responsibility of the role of Scoutmaster. And I said:

Those attacks were terrible and they made us all come together. Everywhere you look today there are American flags. People think they have discovered what it means to love their country. But, I'm going to tell you something you won't believe. It won't last. Those flags will fade, or be taken down. People will forget.

We sending men to fight, and that means some of them will be hurt, and some will die. And when that happens, there will be protests, and all of this patriotism will be forgotten. So remember me and my words when you see it happen.

Because I was a patriot when it wasn't cool, I am a patriot now, and I will be a patriot when all this flag waving is done. I want all of you to think this evening about what being an American, and being a Boy Scout, means, about what real patriotism is. Your answers don't have to be the same as mine, but they deserve your thoughts and your time.

Goodnight, Scouts.

I don't know if the Scouts that were there that night especially remember that Scoutmaster Minute. It isn't always given to us to know if we have made a difference. That might not even have been the right things to say to them at that moment. Like all Scouts and Scouters, all I can say is I did my best.

What do we mean by patriotism in the context of our times? I venture to suggest that what we mean is a sense of national responsibility ... a patriotism which is not short, frenzied outbursts of emotion, but the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime.
--Adlai Stevenson

Hope

This is hope. We knew what it was. We know what it is.

The artist is Leslie Fish. She is a well known writer of filksongs, folk music for science fiction fans. Her new album is called Lock & Load. Oleg Volk did the album cover and is inviting people to repost it on his site.

She is offering one song from the album in mp3 format, the title is Flight 93. There is hope in the lyrics of that song, too.

...then pray that the law lets you carry a gun, but fight back however you can.
--Leslie Fish, in the lyrics of Flight 93

Initiation

Some things are very different. Any hazing or initiation of new Scouts is now forbidden. As an adult leader, I did not permit it in any fashion. It was and is Troop, District, Council, and National policy as well. No snipe hunts, no sending the Scout to the next Troop to ask for a left handed smoke shifter, and absolutely nothing like the story I am about share. Times have changed, and in this case, I think for the better...

It was Wednesday in summer camp. Always Wednesday. Troop initiation day. Everyone took part. From the Scoutmaster on down. All the Scouts in the Troop that were at camp for the first time had to go through it. The SPL led the effort. I think, looking back, that it was done this way to prevent it from being done randomly, and it was done to all of us at the same time so no one was singled out or picked on individually. It was only this day, and not tolerated at other times.

It started with your uniform. You had to put it on backward and wear it all day. This meant having help. We helped each other, but still, an effort to even get dressed.

You were given a raw egg. You had to carry it, keep it unbroken, and get ten people to sign it. Invariably, someone would dot the "i" and you would have to request a new egg and start over. You still had to do all your classes, participate in camp, and the fun had just begun.

Because after the evening activities, when you returned to camp, the rest of the initiation began. We were blindfolded with our own neckerchiefs. Seated around a large campfire. The rest of the Troop seated around us. We were called out by our Patrol Leaders, and every mistake we had made in camp was listed. Then a list of punishments was described. In the end, the Scoutmaster would interrupt, and declare that this was undoubtedly the worst group of new Scouts the Troop had ever seen, and all of us would have to undergo the complete process to have any hope of being allowed to stay in the Troop.

The complete process. There was probably more to it, this is what I remember.

Bowing to the fire as we underwent OWA TAGU SIAM. Say it over and over. Say it faster. It will be revealed to you.

When you realize what a goose you are, you may inform the Senior Patrol Leader and move on. As a group in the dark, blindfolded, holding onto the shoulder of the Scout before you, you move up and down the trail past the other Troop campsites singing "I'm a Little Teapot". As you return, you are brought to the latrine.

Upended, with two people holding you by the legs, you are, still blindfolded, lowered into the hole and told to "Grab a lump". That there is a bucket, filled with clean water, sticks, toilet paper and Baby Ruth bars suspended in the opening just does not occur to you until later.

Returning to the fire, you are put on a lashed together platform, suspended by ropes from the trees above. You can feel the fire, but the blindfold prevents you from appreciating what has been prepared for you. They raise and lower you for half a minute, leaving you feeling like you are 20 feet off the ground. Actually about 10 inches off the ground, the platform has been slowly turned so you are pointed away from the fire. Laying on the ground, the SPL tell you to jump, jump hard to clear the purifying fire. You hear his voice from below you. If you hesitate, they all holler, "Jump, jump now or be dropped when we let go of the ropes!".

You jump. They scream. You land in a kiddie pool full of cold water and ice. A moment of shock where you think you have landed in the fire. They remove the blindfold, and you see where you are. The SPL gives you the Scout handshake and says, "Welcome to the Troop."

The Scoutmaster and the other adults have cookies, cake and drinks, they invite into the leaders area where you join the ones who jumped before you and await the ones to come. Initiation is over and now you are truly part of the Troop. You promise your silence about the events you have participated in, so that next year the new Scouts can begin their Wednesday in camp by putting their uniforms on backwards.

Beyond a certain point, the whole universe becomes a continuous process of initiation.
--Robert Anton Wilson

You Just Can't Make This Stuff Up

Surfacing again for a moment, I see that Minnesota has declared Al Franken the winner of the contested Senate race.

President Barack Obama's Democratic supermajority is anchored by Al Franken.

Al Franken used to be a comedian on NBC's Saturday Night Live. He was even occasionally funny. Here he is, talking about himself in 1980.

You just can't make this stuff up.

Democrats are the only reason to vote for Republicans.
--Will Rogers

Norman Rockwell

Norman Rockwell was a 20th century illustrator and painter. He did magazine covers and paintings of Americana. He was considered overly sentimental. His work is still often discounted by serious artists and critics. His paintings provide a glimpse into a time past by, and if it is a little too perfect, a little better than it was, well, sometimes memories are fond.

He painted for the Boy Scouts of America for 50 years. Calendars and posters. Loving images of the best that Scouting was. Here's an assortment to view or download. They capture in an image the core of what I have been writing about.

Here's the older Scouts, with the canvas knapsacks, leading the way up the trail. If the younger Scouts, red faced and struggling, aren't yet in the picture, they can be imagined.

He painted the best of Scouting, the dreams of all that was possible. And Scouting remembers him. His posters and calendars are collectors items now. My favorite Scoutmaster's Handbook has this image on the cover.

A captured moment, at the end of a day in camp. The Scoutmaster in a moment of reflection, his Troop asleep, the fire low. It is not always necessary to be factual. The ability of a painting to capture the essence of a thing is what makes it art.

Rockwell is terrific. It’s become too tedious to pretend he isn’t.
--Peter Schjeldahl, New Yorker art critic. 1999

Sometimes You Can't Watch

Just down the trail from the campsite, on the way to the Nature Lodge, was the Handcraft Lodge. There, industrious Scouts learned Basketry, Woodcarving, Woodworking, Leatherwork, and Metalworking merit badges.

With the possible exception of basketry, these skills all have something in common. Sharp and pointy tools. Metalworking has the added bonus of working with sheet metal, shears, punches and metal heated to the tempering and annealing point.

As a Scout Leader in camp, one of the things I tried to do during the week was visit all the program areas. I usually looked at the SPL's activity roster for the Troop and went to the program areas when our Scouts were in class.

Striving to not be voted the Scoutmaster that the Staff most wanted to use as a pinata, I would slip in, sit in the back, and watch the class without speaking unless the Staffer spoke to me. I understood his job. I taught merit badges, too.

If you looked at the link for Metalworking, you can see there are two primary areas, one is knowledge. The information necessary to pass the requirements is found in the merit badge book. The other is practical application. The making of things, using tools. The aforementioned sharp, pointy tools.

So, one hot July morning in camp, fortified with coffee, I took my hiking stick and one of my assistants, and began a tour of camp. The archery and rifle range, the climbing tower, a stop at the trading post for pogie bait, and then back along the trail past our campsite to the Handicraft Lodge.

The 10 AM class was just beginning, and we sat at an unused picnic table under the shelter. The table top was gouged with tool marks and splattered with the paint from a thousand projects, along with some deliberate carving of initials, Troop numbers and dates.

One of my sons, then twelve, was in the class. We watched as the instructor, an eighteen year old Scout, went through a quick rehash of tool safety, then had the Scouts get out the projects they were working on. Sheet metal, tin snips, punches and hand drills were brought out. They were making candle holders. Striving perhaps for something like this:
The can had to have the top and bottom cut off, then be cut up the side and hammered flat to get a starting rectangle of metal. It was then punched out to make the patterned openings, reshaped with mallets and riveted together.

I watched for a few minutes. One young Staffer working with eleven Scouts, my son among them. I watched him struggle make the cuts, leaning over his project, the ends of the can curling as he worked. Finally I nudged my companion, "Let's go," I whispered. We got up, gave a wave to the Staffer when he looked up and headed back to the main trail.

As we got out of earshot of the class behind us, he looked at me and grinned, "Couldn't stand to watch that, could you?"

I shook my head, "No, I couldn't, but I couldn't say anything, either. This week, I'm the Scoutmaster. How many Scouts take that merit badge in a summer, 40, maybe 50? How many get cut?"

He laughed, "Probably all of them."

I laughed too, "Ok, but how many of them need stitches, or a trip to the emergency room? None. I've never had a Scout get badly hurt at camp. Probably not going to happen today, either."

We walked along in silence. I shook my head again, "It's Scouting. He has to have his own time, and I have to let go. Let's walk down to the waterfront and see if our SPL is finished the Mile Swim."

You have to do your own growing no matter how tall your grandfather was.
--Abraham Lincoln