Pastor Larson Johansson, the energetic and newly ordained Norwegian minister, was called to guide the souls of the Lutheran Church of the Good Life - a congregation of largely elderly and good folks from the Old Country. After two weeks, Pastor Johansson was already a smashing success having raised enough money to install a new electric wheel chair that would trolley the weak and feeble up and down the flight of stairs leading from the church entrance. It was no coincidence that the ride up the stairs ended next to the tiding box.
"Now, members of dis goot church, vee must vork to get dee children into our congregation. Vee must find a vay to engage our yute so as to instill zee goot Lutheran vays in our young people. I have an idea. Vee must start a Boy Scout troop!" announced Pastor Johansson that Sunday morning in September.
With that proclamation began the most historic recruiting effort undertaken since World War II. The only problem was that the elderly members needed to reach out beyond the congregation since all of their children were long since grown. So. they resorted to all manner of creative advertising: grocery store bulletin boards, rummage sale signs, wanted posters. Brilliantly, they even reached out to Junior High School guidance counselors for recruitments.
"Okay Tracker, let me do the talking when we get to the office. I'll simply explain that the gas was already "turned on" in the science lab and given the inherently safe school surroundings, we could not have been expected to know the lab was a dangerous place to use open flame devices," I cautioned to Tracker as we were marched by Mr. O'Beeker to the guidance office. Tracker and I are still impressed with the power of a natural gas explosion. Equally impressive was O'Beeker's ability to use a fire extinguisher with one hand while maintaining a strangle hold with the other.
"You know what you two boys need? You need good morals. You need to learn the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, kind and unkind..." droned Mr. Strateman, the middle-age guidance counselor with chronic high blood pressure. I want you to go to this meeting at the Lutheran Church of the Good Life on Monday night. You will become Boy Scouts. Now get out and don't come back!" Tracker and I liked Mr. Strateman and admired his knack for getting his point across without ever using two syllable words.
"Welcome to the first meeting of Troop 132. My name is Oren Skarr, I am your Scoutmaster. You may call me Oren. This is Mister Succowitzski. He will now lead us in a little prayer followed by the Boy Scout Pledge." All twelve of us, recruited in similar fashion from throughout the city, stood at what we considered attention as Mister Succowitzski prayed and we learned the Boy Scout Pledge.
"You will call me Succo and you will listen to me. When I tell you to do something, you will do it. Do you understand?" It was obvious that Succo, a high school senior for three years running, was the drill sergeant in the outfit. We later learned Succo was avoiding the Vietnam War draft by claiming to be a Boy Scout Counselor. However, Succo and Oren were the only ones in uniform and we were impressed with the various colorful emblems, kerchiefs and such. Tracker wanted to go home right up to the part where Oren explained we were going to prepare for our first camping exercise scheduled the next weekend at a place called Wolf Isle.
"Each of you will need a sleeping bag, eating utensils, flashlight and a change of clothes. You will be supplied with food and a tent. Further, each of you will receive a Boy Scout Handbook which you will study in its entirety by this weekend. This is a Wilderness Camping Experience so we will minimize the use of modern tools and creature comforts. We'll be roughing it, boys. By the way, bring a fishing pole because Wolf Isle has a pond nearby," explained Oren.
We were excited.
The eight mile march to Wolf Isle began at the church Friday at 5 PM. My little brother Bucky bothered Tracker and I until we promised to recruit him and bring him with us to camp. Oren was extremely pleased with our recruitment effort and honored us before the march by naming the three of us as the first squad of Troop 132. We were to be called "The Woodchuck Squad". He explained good names like "Eagle", "North Star", etc., were reserved for more befitting squads. Further, I was nominated by Oren as the Squad Leader. Tracker and Bucky took to the news in a positive fashion frequently saluting with hand gestures unfamiliar to me.
"We will now march as you recite the Troop 132 Official Boy Scout Marching Chant. Ready? Here we go," announced Succo.
That Succo was a real joker. But obedience was mandatory. For example, Tracker didn't like the Boy Scout Marching Chant at first but Succo had Big John Larson, a portly 200 pound eighth grader sit on Tracker for five minutes as punishment. Tracker grew to like the chant. Big John was grateful for the opportunity to rest a while and never really noticed the little bump upon which he sat made screaming noises. Oren would occasionally interrupt the punishment and explain to Succo that he would need to leverage our obedience by more psychological means. The troops somewhat silently agreed amongst ourselves that we too would use more psychological means to impress Succo, if we made it through the Death March.
"A knowledgeable Boy Scout would depend upon his compass before he led the troops astray," I casually mentioned to Succo about 10 PM after realizing we should have arrived at Wolf Isle camp two hours earlier. Some may have considered my remark risky because of Succo's intolerance for even the slightest criticism, but I was confident in exercising my newly acquired leadership skills and the troops felt closer to me for it. The unusual salutes continued by Bucky and Tracker. Others joined in. I made a mental note to reread the chapter on "Hand Signals" in the Boy Scout Handbook.
Near midnight, we made camp. Tents were set expertly using very creative means to secure them. Oren made no mention of bringing rope and took responsibility like a true leader. "You boys continue to make camp. Succo has our wall tent setup and we need our rest. Don't let the sound of our Coleman heater bother you. By the way, doesn't our new lantern shine brightly compared to your flashlights? Mister Succo, I believe our hot cocoa is coming to a boil on our gas cook stove so we'll see you boys in the morning."
As Tracker, Bucky and I climbed into our nearly dry sleeping bags and listened to the gentle rain fall upon our canvas pup tent, we made plans to strike out for the Pond at daybreak. Visions of trout danced in our heads.
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