I was standing in the road

As nice as I could be

When a big, hairy man came up

And tied his horse to me

Introduction

 

Five years ago I led a quiet life. My days were spent creating and selling software, and nearly every night I was home with my wife, Pam, and my 10-year old son, Pete. Once a year the three of us would go on an exotic vacation, but between times my life was predictable and without much complication. And, I liked my rut just fine.

Wednesdays, Pete and I would walk over to the basement of the Lutheran Church for his Cub Scout den meeting. Those nights were very like my own experience in Cubs back in the 50's, when I was called 'Mike' instead of 'Hank'. Cub Scouts was still "crafts in a church basement" --- mildly interesting, but not what you would call high adventure.

Three other dads often came to these weekly meetings of my son's den, and we would occasionally help out with whatever the Cubs were working on. Usually though the men sat to the side and talked, and I guess that is what got me into trouble. What I most liked to talk about were my real adventures as a Boy Scout long ago --- camping trips to wild places where we caught and cooked crayfish till they turned red and edible; nights so cold we buried red-hot rocks in the ground under our tents to provide a little warmth; afternoons spent in heated competition chopping logs and sending Morse with flags.

I found the other dads willing listeners. Steve Shreffler and Dick Beck were men with outdoor experience much more current than mine. Buck Heeter had been a Scoutmaster for donkey's years and had his own hair-raising Scout stories to tell. We all longed for the time when our boys would leave Cubs and join the Boy Scouts. Then we would have a much more rough and active time in the woods. The only problem was we would not have those good times together. The Boy Scout troop in Clarion was inactive, and our boys would likely end up in large and thriving troops in Knox or Limestone. I thought this a shame, since we all got along so well, but I swear I never said anything to cause what happened next --- I was asked to lunch by two hairy men, so to speak, and they tied their horse to me.

 

* * * * *

I walked into the Clarion Clipper restaurant knowing that something was afoot relating to Scouting. Fred Foster was a man involved with a den of younger kids in our Cub Pack, and Ray Tennant was the District Scouting Executive --- the professional Scouter responsible for making the program work in our part of the world. I figured these two had something up their sleeves. They would be asking for money for some worthwhile project or for computer programming help or would want my involvement in some big project having to do with the Pack --- maybe the Blue and Gold Dinner.

We made some small talk, ordered lunch and then I said, "What can I do for you guys?"

"We want to restart the Boy Scout troop in Clarion, and would like you to be the Scoutmaster."

Whoa! I was flattered. I was even excited at the prospect of making a new troop work but was not ready to commit the amount of time that would surely be required of the Scoutmaster. We talked for an hour. Fred was an officer in the Clarion Masons and they would sponsor the troop, while Ray would see that I got all the support I needed for the Boy Scouts of America. It would only take an evening or so a week. I walked out of that restaurant unconvinced, but intrigued by the challenge of restarting my old troop. I thought about their proposal a lot that afternoon, and at supper I told Pam and Pete about it. They were both enthusiastic, and I guess that tipped the scale. Later that evening I called the hairy men and said, "Count me in."

First thing, I made arrangements with the Owens-Brockway Glass Plant to use their employee clubhouse for our meetings. Once that was set up I really began to get excited --- this was the same old place where my crowd had met back in the 50's. It was going to be like old times, and I had nothing but fond memories of my days as a boy in the Boy Scouts.

My three buddies from the Cub den signed up as assistants. I wrote an article for the newspaper to get the word out about our new troop. I bought a uniform and read the Boy Scout Handbook from cover to cover. I could hardly wait to begin.

Twelve boys showed up for our first meeting, and I was ready for them. I explained the Scout ranks. I talked about the things they would be learning. We played a couple of energetic games. To wrap things up, I told these new Scouts my old camping stories, and that really got their attention. They all wanted to know, "When is our first campout?"

I walked out of that meeting very pleased with the men and boys who would be part of this new troop, eager to get them out into the woods where the real action was. Once they camped out they would be hooked on Scouting for years to come.

 

* * * * *

My brother-in-law, Paul Hambke, was editor of the Clarion News at that time. He kindly ran that first little column I wrote calling for boys to join the troop, and said that he would be happy to print anything else in that line that I cared to write. I didn't think much about it at the time. Our first campout turned out to be at my old Boy Scout camp, and I figured there would be lots of other old Scouts in the community who would like to hear how the old place was faring. So on the day of our return, I sat down and wrote 500 words describing our adventure. Paul ran it the following Thursday, and I was pleased when later four people told me they had enjoyed it --- maybe I would write another.

It got to be a habit. We would go camping, and then I would drag myself up to the office to write about it on the Sunday of our return. The first half-dozen were very hard to do. I was more accustomed to writing business letters and computer manuals. Over time, though, writing these stories became easier, and I think I got better at it. Perhaps I just found that the best length is longer that 500 words, and the best time to write is not the day of your return. In the end, I wrote over 30 newspaper articles concerning the doings of our troop.  I have tapered off in recent years, and when I do write something now, it tends to be long and well after the fact. The longest of the pieces was called The Third Day about our time at Philmont in the year 2000. This ran to 8000 words.

* * * * *

This book is a compilation of the newspaper articles I wrote about our troop. Most are about nights spent "under canvas". The pictures, newsletters, maps and announcements that dot the book are of varying quality. Many were converted from videotape. Although they are not high art, this extra material will, I hope, add to your enjoyment of the articles.

So, read on and enjoy these adventures in the woods, meadows and parks of Pennsylvania, and deep in the mountains of New Mexico. Hear about the good times we had in spring rain, summer heat and winter snow. Watch those young kids of 1996 grow into young men as they spend their weekends and summers out with the boys.