I was a Boy Scout from the age of six until I was eighteen. It all began with my Mom as the Den Mother of our Cub Scout Pack. We met weekly at our house and had a monthly meeting at the School. In those days a complete and proper uniform, including the blue cap, was the order of the day. We began every meeting with the Pledge of Allegiance to the United States of America, during which we gave a two fingered salute to the Flag. Most meetings were attempts to complete ongoing craft projects. After snacks we read from the Cub Scout Manual and were finally dismissed with CSA benediction. The day of the meeting we were allowed to wear our uniform to school. In those days belonging to a Scout group carried with it a sense of pride that was evident when walking down the school hallways.
When I was 10 years old I transitioned into the Boy Scout Troop that held meetings at the Church on Monday evenings. The Random House College Dictionary lists the definition of Boy Scouts as ” an organization of boys having as its purpose the development of character and self-reliance”. I’d say that explanation was pretty close. Except, we ten to sixteen year olds weren’t clued in on that goal. We came together so we could have fun with knives, go camping on the week-ends and wear cool uniforms to school. Our Scout troop was mostly run by men who were World War II veterans. As such, we were run as a para-military organization. After the Pledge of Allegiance began the meeting, with our now grown-up three fingered salute, we were called to attention and made to dress right dress. This was a military technique to get us ready for inspection. Inspected we were , every unbuttoned pocket was a demerit. Un-shined shoes were two demerits. Pity the kid with uncombed hair, he might be sent home for the night. We did not look forward to inspections but secretly had a certain sense of pride if we passed without demerit.
Camping trips is where the real fun began. We would load up our enclosed wooden trailer about every six weeks and go to the woods, regardless of the weather. Some of my most fond memories are of camping in the snow. On these adventures we learned how to use hatchets, carving knives, bow and arrows and first aid kits. On one of these trips, my little brother missed the log he was chopping on and sunk the axe into his knee about three inches. While the Scout leaders were applying a tourniquet and drawing straws as to who was going to take him to the hospital for stiches, I decided it was a good time to work on my Hiking merit badge. It was my fear that I was going to have to accompany him and lose my weekend in the woods. When I returned later to the campsite I was assured that he as going to be fine and not to worry. The only thing I was worried about was if I had missed Supper. As it turned out he had missed all the major arteries but retained a pretty nasty scar. That scar became the subject of stories than became more outrageous every year. By the time he got to college he had obtained it by fighting off a Bear at a Boy Scout outing.
All of the equipment we used was WW II Army surplus as was evidenced by the U.S. Army stamped on it. We had the ubiquitous green wall tents, as well as metal canteens and water canisters know as “jerry cans”. If a casual observer were to happen by , we appeared to be miniature Army clones on weekend training. At the time I did not realize it but we were receiving some of the most valuable training that could be given. These hardened combat veterans had learned things in Europe and the Pacific during the War and it was their mission to prepare us for that inevitability.
The goal of every serious Boy Scout was to advance to the rank of Eagle Scout. The award was a source of pride for the whole troop if the rank was achieved. It was awarded at a Court of Honor meeting in which your Parents and siblings were allowed to attend. I achieved Eagle Scout in the Spring of my 15th year. My Mom cried and my Dad shook my hand and had a picture taken with me. It was one of the proudest moments of my young life. My picture appeared in the newspaper and I was popular at school for about a week. My brother balanced everything out that night before we fell asleep. He mentioned that I would probably, eventually, lose the silver Eagle that was hanging on a red, white and blue ribbon on my bulletin board. He however, would always have his famous scar. He was wrong, I still have it on my desk at home and am still just as proud of it.
A little over four years later I was assigned to a Recon Unit in the First Cavalry Division of the U.S. Army operating near the Cambodian border. It was here , I realized that the training I had received from my Scout Leaders was the marrow that would get me through the catastrophe called the Vietnam War.
