Boy Scout Life Lessons...

A Scout Is:

Trustworthy, Loyal,

Helpful, Friendly,

Courteous, Kind,

Obedient, Cheerful,

Thrifty, Brave,

Clean, and Reverent.

Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, cheerful, and clean were all OK, but I substituted crafty for brave, and resourceful for thrifty. Obedient, is a reflection of the of the perception of others and I’ve always been skilled at manipulating that perception. I wasn’t obedient at all, but I sure looked like I was.

You can forget about reverent altogether. “A feeling or attitude of deep respect tinged with awe.” Nope, never been big on that one.

But yes, I was a Boy Scout, as most boys were back in the 1950’s and 1960’s. Like the other kids, I enjoyed getting together with our small group of guys to do fun stuff. You know, go camping, build fires, cut everything in sight with knives and hatchets, and seriously stress out some other kid’s dad on “project night” once every other week, on a rotating basis. My own dad would have nothing to do with any of it. Not very giving, perhaps, but smart.

Like the time when Robbie Rink said “fuck” while we were cutting out four foot Santa Clause images from large sheets of plywood in Mr. Robinson’s basement. The room appeared to be a war zone, he had expected as much. But back in those days, for an eleven-year-old Boy Scout to say the evil “F” word, was pretty much on par with committing a double homicide. Mr. Robinson heard it and went ballistic. Zero to 100 in no time. Everybody out! Go home! Where did you even hear such a thing? We’re never doing this again! I try to help you kids and you behave as if you grew up in a gutter! Of course, we heard it all the time among ourselves, but to give it voice in front of an adult was a high crime. He turned so red, all the veins on his forehead were pulsing, spittle spraying from his mouth as he yelled at us. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm and was looking forward to ramping up the excitement with a flood of paramedics rushing down the basement stairs as we talked Jon Rodgers into giving Mr. Robinson mouth-to-mouth.

I was glad when Mr. Robinson recovered and let us come back into his basement to finish the project the following week though. Those wooden Santa’s were cool. Kenny Kimmel drew a penis on his, but Mr. Robinson never saw it. I still have mine around the house here someplace. I think I slid it behind one of the bookcases. Every December I tell myself that I’ll really look for it this year, but I never do.

Our Scout master, Mr. Scott, was a manly guy, an outdoors man who appeared to be able to conquer any survival challenge. A hairy chested man, Teddy Roosevelt in Khaki regalia. Bully! He was great; most of the kids were in awe of him. I wasn’t so much but knew better than to cross him in any way. The assistant Scout master, Mr. Irvin, was just the opposite. A creepy wannabe leader who circled the Scout master like a submissive pup but was a bully when he was alone with the boys.

One particular weekend, I was super excited to go camping with the Scouts. We were going to build a fire in the woods, cook dinner there, and sleep in tents. Cool! Both Scoutmasters were in attendance. After hiking to a prearranged clearing in the pine forest, Teddy Roosevelt told us to dig a long trench in the ground inside some staked-out lines he had marked out. The plan was to fill it with dry wood that we were to gather from the surrounding area, and build a fire to roast chickens on. He had large grill plates to put over the fire.

Grilled BBQ chicken and corn. That sounded pretty great to me. When Teddy started to hike back to his truck to get the cooler full of chicken, he left Mr. Irvin in charge. That was fine since we all had our assigned duties anyway, so some guys got busy digging the pit as instructed, and the rest of us went foraging for dry wood. The plan was to build a nice bed of coals and cover them with the rectangular grill plates that Teddy owned. I dragged a heavy dead branch over next to the pit, eager to cut it into proper size with my ax. Any excuse to cut stuff and act like a frontiersman was most welcome.

Fess Parker played Davy Crockett on TV in those days. We all wanted to be like him.

While I was chopping away, Mr. Irvin pointed to a small dead tree wrapped tightly with brown vines and told one of the boys to cut it down and put it on the fire. I believe almost any of the other boys, myself included, would have ignored his instructions, pretending not to hear. But Irvin picked on my friend because he knew the boy to be quiet and obedient and would do as he was told. That’s exactly what he did.

About a half hour later, Teddy came crashing back into the clearing, pulling a large cooler on wheels. Marching straight up to the fire pit to critique our progress, he stopped cold and pointed at the chopped up pieces of that vine covered tree that Mr. Irvin had my buddy put on the stack of firewood, ready to light. “Poison Ivy! That’s all Poison Ivy there, get those logs out of there, the smoke will put us all in the hospital!” He yelled. Careful to only touch the tree parts themselves, several of us quickly removed the offending branches and vines, carrying them off to drop well away from our clearing. Walking back slowly, I could hear the Scout Master in a loud voice: “You guys know better than that! That’s a rookie mistake that could have been a huge problem! Who put that mess on the fire anyway?” I looked over at my friend who seemed to be frozen with fear. It’s not that he wouldn’t take any blame that he had coming, but he was silenced by his own usual lack of self-confidence to speak up. That was when I saw Mr. Irvin raise his right arm and point his finger at him. “That boy, I saw that boy put those logs on the fire.”

My friend lowered his head and I could see his shoulders begin to shake. Teddy Roosevelt, the manly man, rushed over to him and dropped to his knees, kneeling face to face. Telling my friend that it was OK. No problem. The good news is that we caught it. No harm done, and now you know. He handed the boy his kerchief to wipe away his tears and have a good blow. As he gave the boy a big hug, I watched my friends face lighten up, the immense relief that he got from the warm reassurance of the big guy himself was palatable to all of us. I remember thinking: That man, that is what real leadership is all about. He leads by example. I would follow him anywhere and feel lucky to have him lead the way.

Throughout all of this, I noticed that Mr. Irvin had been slowly backing up, behind everyone, almost in the tree line. He was waiting to see if my friend told on him, told the Scout Master that he had put the logs on the pit because he had been told to do it by the assistant Scout Master, Mr. Irvin.

But my friend never squealed and I’m sure the whole incident was forgotten by most, but not by me and certainly not by him.

That’s about all I remember from that weekend, and how indelible an impression the two leaders had made on me. One great, one pathetic and horrible.

Most of us knew that Mr. Irvin was a pedophile, having been seen going into some of the boys tents at night on two different camping trips. I assume he got fired because he suddenly stopped showing up at the big meetings. But before he disappeared, he made the mistake of trying to lead the large group meet in the auditorium of our local elementary school. It was our monthly gathering and Mr. Scott, the Teddy Roosevelt clone, was out of town. Mr. Irvin lost any semblance of control as soon as he marched up front and started barking out orders that were absurd and definitely not routine. The image is burned forever in my head of him turning to his left, looking at the far windows, as one boy with a great arm, stood up and threw an apple in a vicious fast pitch that would have made Whitey Ford proud. That Golden Delicious hit Mr. Irvin squarely in the temple and shattered into a spray of applesauce, a wet halo that soaked his hair and shirt. One large piece of apple stuck out from his right ear like a garnish on a hairy plate. Stunned, he immediately stumbled out of the auditorium as the kids cheered. He knew that if he tried to enforce any discipline at all, he would be covered like a beetle under a swarm of angry army ants. We got our vengeance and went home. Justice had been served.

Now I’ve been challenging all 12 of my remaining brain cells to come up with at least one thing that I actually learned in Boy Scouts. Come on, there must be something? There must be some lasting nugget after earning all those Merit Badges, right? Crickets. The whole thing was barely controlled mayhem, like convicts on a work release program who got a hold of some illegal booze. Our local group was 126 boys, age eleven and up. A bit like herding Ferrets, at least it was when Mr. Irvin was in charge. Lots of laughs and memories, but I suspect that most of the memories would not be something that the BSA would want to talk about.

Wait, I do remember something useful that I learned, and I’m proud to share it with you here. The next time you are out in the woods, caught in a driving rain, hundreds of miles from a Motel 6 or a Holiday Inn, and you have no dry wood for a fire because you fell asleep after drinking excessively in your tent all afternoon and your fire went out when you were unconscious and drooling, look for a Birch tree.

Birch bark will burn even when it is wet.

There you go! Valuable information from an experienced ex-Boy Scout!

Even the bark from a living tree will burn. Of course, if you are in a National Park, stripping a living tree is a felony. You can explain your survival needs to the Park Service guys when they come to rescue you. You’ll be charged with destruction of Government timber, a misdemeanor, and converting and disposing of Government property, a felony. If convicted, you can face up to 11 years in prison and a $350,000 fine. You could also could be ordered to make restitution.

So bring matches, and only camp in Northern States if you forget them. Birch trees don’t grow in the South.

Better yet, don’t ever go camping at all. Just book a room someplace nice, with a pool and an attentive bartender.

That’s your official Boy Scout lesson for today. Make it last; I’m all out.