Most guys I know probably have had some memory as a Boy Scout. Most of us, I think, have more positive recollections rather than trauma. But as Clay Risen points out, in a recent op-ed piece in the New York Times, the Boy Scouts may be gone, but scouting remains. All the skills and experiences connected to camping, nature study, and community service still survive. Now, I suppose, we will have an inclusive organization that gives young people, male and female and non-binary those same opportunities and experiences. My time as a Boy Scout was lifechanging. Fortunately, it was not marred by any irregularities, though there were a few close calls and definitely many memorable times.
My Boy Scout troop was atypical. We were a rag-tag group that met at our elementary school auditorium. Dues was 50 cents, and meetings always began and ended with the Scout oath. Our Scoutmaster was an LA cop who ran a tight ship and took his role seriously with intelligence and empathy. Our camping trips were atypical as well. The Scoutmaster and his assistants had procured an old telephone company stake truck that laden with pounds of camping gear and about 15 9-12 year-olds would chug along, spewing diesel fumes. We went to some beautiful places in the Angeles National Forest and even to Kings Canyon National Park.
I learned to fish while a Boy Scout. I froze in a pup-tent hoarding Oreo cookies and playing Crazy 8s. I laughed, worried, itched from insect bites and poison oak and stinging nettles, and learned to make perfect pancakes.
When a neighborhood friend in my troop decided to go for Eagle Scout, I went with him. By age 12, we both attained this high honor. I'm still proud of this accomplishment all these years later because I learned to become a stronger swimmer and overcome other fears along the way.
I can probably still tie a few of the knots I learned. Don't think I've forgotten them all. What else is unforgettable are the people I met along the way.
Those stories in the next post.
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