I’ve read that the Boy Scouts have unfortunately taken on some bad press lately and because of some abuse scandals, they have filed bankruptcy.  That’s tragic for the kids involved and for the organization in general, because back in the day when I was a scout, it provided me significant challenges that helped prepare me for obstacles that would come my way in the future.  In fact, without scouting I would’ve never learned how to swim or learn how to save people larger than me who were drowning, do the special ops silent swim or mile swim, among other things.

So many stories to tell, but I must say, there were always lots of box turtles around our large forested camp surrounding a muddy lake.  And then, there was that kid who was lucky enough to have a box turtle that had its insides carved out so that he could use it as a slide for his yellow neckerchief.  Damn he was cool.  The other scouts had basic ones made out of wood or metal their parents bought at the local Sears, but he was the real McCoy.   His was made out of an animal.  Must’ve been some kind of tobacco – spitting mountain boy.

I remember  that he was the same kid who at the age of 11, went on his first campout—a Camporee competition involving many boy scout troops, competing against troops all over the city and county in events like map and compass, lashing logs into towers, building fires without matches, and I guess,  well saving humanity. It was this skinny kid’s first day and he inherited some old WW2 backpack from his grandfather that smelled like a moldy basement, so he proudly filled it with camping stuff you know like filled canteens, shovels, clothes, food and I don’t know what else.  I recall that this backpack stretched all the way down this little kid’s butt while knocking on the backs of his legs and must’ve weighed almost as much as him.  You see, all scouts had to climb up a large sand dune with all their camping gear in order to find the campsite.  Poor kid was having trouble.

The others watched as he strained with all his strength up the mountainous dune, then when he almost reached the top, fell backward from the weight of the moldy backpack, rolling all the way down the dune to the bottom, upended, with his feet in the air at the bottom, like a box turtle who lay helplessly on his back with his little legs flailing in the air.  The other scouts and scoutmasters kept going to the campsite, successfully negotiating the dune, but this kid had to keep trying, and falling backwards several times, until he finally made it to the peak exhausted.  I am sure he was wondering if he was cut out for this hell called Boy Scouts of America, Troop 72, Pottawatomie Council, or whatever.  By the time he made it to the campsite, the other scouts were already putting up tents.  I always wondered what happened to that poor kid who started off so inauspiciously.

But one thing I remember about evening troop meetings at the school gym and then various campouts was that there was always an American flag and patriotism, with saluting and  of course, we needed a kid who could play the bugle because at the end of each event when we went home, taps always needed to be played by a bugler.  Not a record player.   And, at large gatherings we needed a bugler to play Reveille to wake up all the campers in the morning, and also a bugler to play To The Colors as the flag was raised up the pole before breakfast in the mess hall.  This was a special honor that we would bestow on a kid who could play the trumpet or bugle.  The scout leaders told us it was an honor to be selected to play the bugle.

So, they volunteered me.

Of course, it so happened that I was the only one who could play the bugle that had no valves, as well as trumpet.  One of the kids must’ve mentioned that fact to the scoutmaster, I don’t recall.  So, I became the troop bugler.  It was a lonely job, but I guess someone had to do it.  It had its perks, I guess, no pay, but it was a job no one else could do, and it was certainly better than cleaning latrines.  Believe me, at 6:30 in the morning, no one enjoyed hearing my brass bugle go off with Reveille, so that did not make me very popular.  However, I did enjoy the rhythm of playing To The Colors during flag raising and its kind of gave me chills watching hundreds of other scouts saluting the flag.  And Taps, well, that was solemn, and for some reason, all us young scouts felt this.  Well, at least I did, and I always tried to warm my embouchure (lip placement on the cold metal mouthpiece) so that I didn’t make those occasional cracking notes from being cold.  But it happened of course.

I guess I recalled this today, because my sister mentioned the playing of taps on Memorial Day.  This is the day we remember those who sacrificed all for our freedom we all enjoy.   I looked up the scout oath, while writing this piece and we all repeated it back then:  On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the scout law; to help other people at all times and to keep myself  physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.

It was a nice oath to have and repeat and I understood it.   But I wonder, what did they mean by ‘mentally awake’?  Avoid sleeping when the scoutmaster was talking?  No, I think it probably meant be smart and don’t do stupid things like play with fire or you’ll pee your pants at night.  And please pay attention and learn or you’ll get dumped in the mucky lake at night.

And for those readers who were curious about the kid with the turtle neckerchief and the massive backpack that rolled him over like a turtle and what happened to him, then, well, that kid was me.  And that kid eventually became an Eagle Scout.

© SRCarson 2020