Scouting, Volume 62, Number 3, March-April 1974 Page: 57
82, W1-W24, [16] p. : ill. ; 28 cm.View a full description of this periodical.
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man, you remember this. That's a high
wire a hundred feet over a lion's den.
Can you walk it?"
Norman remembers. He takes the
umbrella and begins to step gingerly
down the tape. Breathless silence.
Deep concentration. Norman makes it!
Cheers and clapping.
Then Steve tries it, and Abe. Both
also cheat the lions to hearty ap-
plause. Next, a game in which all the
boys sjt in a circle and kick a ball
around the floor.
The post adjourns to another room
where poster-sized cards showing the
cardinal points of the compass are
placed on tables. Some boys sit down
and study them. Others mill around as
Ernie Nuskey marks on a blackboard
the compass points between cardinal
points. Abe looks blankly at his card
and lets Jimmy Perfect guide his hand
to draw a crayoned "SW" where it be-
longs.
Philip, a slight, bespectacled 35-
year-old gives me a friendly "Hi!" and
introduces himself. Proudly he draws a
BSA registration card from his wallet.
Better than words, the gesture tells
me, "I belong."
Now the meeting is drawing to a
close, and Ernie Nuskey calls forward
a boy to lead the Scout Oath: "I'll do
my best ... on my honor, . . ." then,
painfully, "I can't remember, Ernie.
Can I do the Scout Law?"
"Sure, that's fine."
"Strongly and confidently, the
chorus: "A Scout is trustworthy ... a
Scout is loyal . . ."
And so it ends. Abe and Steve and
others crowd around the visitor to
shake hands and chat, Abe standing
proudly in the new Explorer uniform
he had put on this morning to make
sure he would be ready for tonight's
meeting.
Was this Exploring? Scouting? Cub
Scouting. Yes, yes and yes. Was it fun
for the boys? Yes, squared and in
spades.
Before the meeting, Luther Lord,
Woods School's director of Scouting,
had said, "Tonight you're going to see
a residential unit where the boys have
IQs from 35 to 60. They love Scouting.
Everytime I go there I come away with
tears in my eyes, they're so excited
about Scouting."
Yes, that's it. My eyes are tear-filled
too. Whether they are tears of joy or
pity I cannot say. Does it matter? To-
night I saw a compassionate leader
and a brotherhood of equals. This is
Scouting. ■
PLOPS-
SPLASHES-
RIPPLES
BY GERALD A. SPEEDY
Director of Program Development, Boy Scouts of America
*
How fondly I remember it. I would toss the largest rock a small boy could
manage, into a calm Minnesota lake and watch the commotion it made. The
loud plop, the huge splash gave me a sense of power. But I had forgotten the
pleasure the ripples gave me until I did it again for my small grandson the other
day. How could I have forgotten the ripples?
It was a large rock and his eyes danced at the plop and splash. But as it sub-
sided he pointed to the ripples and exclaimed: "Gampa look!" And I re-
membered all over again my youthful wondering if the ripples might go on for-
ever if the lake were large enough. But I had forgotten the old pleasure from the
ripples.
It was the end of five years as Scoutmaster of an inner-city troop. My leaving
was being marked with a "banquet" of beans and brown bread. I sat there think-
ing of five years of "plops" and "splashes": the Indian pageant we staged; the
times we were snowed in at camp; the time I helped resuscitate the father of one
of the boys after he tried to kill himself; the Halloween mystery night we staged
for the kids of the neighborhood.
But at the end of the program Henry came up to me, a little nervous and em-
barrassed. He reached for the small, short end of the green tie I wore at troop
meetings saying, "Do ya think anybody'd miss it if I took a little piece of the back
part? It'd be a kind of souvenir of all the times." So he took out a rusted pocket
knife and sawed off a small piece as I almost choked with the tightening of the
knot. Or was it the knot that choked me?
I had been surprised like that on some other occasions too, like when a young
college man came back to visit the troop. Over coffee he said, "As I look back at
my years in the troop, I think it was a kind of accrual of lots of small things that
helped me through a tough time. It was an anchor point for me just to know you
would be there every week." Strange. I didn't realize the importance of that tiny,
seemingly insignificant act.
Then there was the night when the desk sergeant at the nearby police station
called to say, "I've got a kid here who says you're his only friend." I'm afraid I
had thought of him as a nuisance because he was always gumming up the troop
operation. His "only friend"? It wasn't the role I thought I was playing.
I remember the visit of a father after a troop meeting. In cruder language than I
can write, he said, "Just came to tell ya my son Bud has got himself straightened
out since he's a Scout." I was amazed, because Bud wasn't much of a Scout. He
hadn't advanced or made any visible "splash" in the troop.
Well, the lake is large enough for the ripples to go on forever when we are try-
ing to help young lives unfold. The resounding plops, the great splashes are
briefly satisfying, but the power is in the aftermath of continuing ripples. ■
57
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Boy Scouts of America. Scouting, Volume 62, Number 3, March-April 1974, periodical, March 1974; New Brunswick, New Jersey. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth353680/m1/81/: accessed April 19, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Boy Scouts of America National Scouting Museum.