Old Boy Scouts

Me and Bears, 2007. Tanya photo.

The Old Boy Scouts

Years ago—before they changed the Boy Scout date laws—you could not be a Cub Scout until you were nine years old.

A long wait when you've got an older brother in uniform!

I think you started as a “Bobcat” or something—then, when you had done some unremembered stuff, you would be a “Wolf” until you were ten, then a “Bear” until you were eleven and then you could be (again if you did some stuff) a Lion until you were twelve.

Twelve, in those long-ago days, was the magic coming of age age when you left forever the life of a “Cub Scout” and became first a “Webelos”--(a sort of in between ageless limbo state—not heaven and not hell--) then you could sign on as a “Boy Scout”--starting as a “Tenderfoot” then advancing to “Second Class Scout”, “First Class Scout”, “Star Scout” “Life Scout” and finally, when you were about sixteen or seventeen and after you had done a lot more stuff, “Eagle Scout”. (Tah—dahhh)

Mom, who was a “Den Mother” from the old days, thought kids eight years old “were too young to be Cub Scouts because they couldn't do anything without a lot of adult help—whereas nine years old kids could do some things without so much help.

I agreed with her there—especially since I had had to wait until I was nine.

As I remember the Cub Scout Oath or Cub Scout Law or whatever it was—it was this:

“The Cub Scout follows Akela.

The Cub helps the Pack go--

The Pack helps the Cub grow--

The Cub gives good will!”

You will remember that “Akela” was the Alpha Wolf in Kipling's “Jungle Book”.

For Cub Scout Pack 111 of Saint Paul's Lutheran Church in Albuquerque, New Mexico, my Dad, Andy, was Akela—and a very low-key, awfully nice and friendly Akela he was too.

When I was approaching twelve years of age, I knew that I would have to remember the “Boy Scout Laws” if I was going to be allowed to join the Boy Scouts—that was one of the things you had to do in those ancient days.

Big Brother Joe helped me learn them, as always:

(Joe) “OK, Tom—Say them.”

(Me) “A Scout is—uh—uh...”

(Joe) “Trustworthy!"

(Me) “Trustworthy! --Uh--uh--uh...”

(Joe) “Loyal!”

(Me) “Loyal! Uh—uh—uh...”

And so it would go until eventually I got the whole stream of sounds out in one breath:

“A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and REVERENT!” (Did I miss any?)

Slowly and, in a way, surely, these sounds slowly became meaningful—until they really began to mean something.

In a way—it was “The Way” for 20^th Century American Boyhood.

Something you could BELIEVE IN!

Nothing left out—nothing nonsensical left in—you didn't have to strap on dynamite and blow yourself up to prove anything—you didn't have to hate anybody because THEY were NOT Boy Scouts.

Just good common sensical common sense.

I haven't had much to do with the Boy Scouts for a long time now—but I can still remember the words—and what they slowly began to mean to me then.

And now.

Tomasito, 2008

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