Today was the final day of the Centennial National Scout Jamboree. My emotions are very much different from the last “last day at the Jamboree” five years ago this week.
Some of you following me on Scouts-L and the other “-Ls” probably remember that posting. I do. It took me two attempts to post it all without crying. And I don’t mean the tiny weepy-eye tears gently falling down one’s cheek. As many recalled, I was okay, having finished taking photos of the Army band from Fort Snelling, Minnesota, finishing their last performanace at one of the regional camp open areas. As I drove slowly down the street, I passed by the military police personnel directing traffic on that warm morning. As I reflected for me a very challenging Jamboree experience — a great one but one with lots of challenges and stressors, I made my way slowly around past the two fishing lakes, and that’s when it happened.
I looked to my left briefly and observed a Scout — a black Scout, probably 13 or 14 years old. He was holding a fish which was probably one of the larger fish captured from that pond — and I had previously been out there to watch Scouts and some Scouters pluck fish out and return them — or take them to the fish station so that they can be measured, cut up and put in coolers so that the Scout could take it back to their campsite and have a great fish dinner.
This Scout was proudly holding up his fish, showing everyone driving by — including me — that “Hey! I caught this!!” He was so proud of the fact that he caught that fish – could have been his first, or the largest, or he just wanted to show us that indeed fish were in the lake.
I couldn’t help it. I saw in that Scout the same thing I saw in the eyes and faces and what I heard from their voices.
Gratitude. Joy. Appreciation. Dare I say it — love.
As the tears fell from my tear ducts and gathered on my starched Army uniform shirt; and my eyesight was so blurred that I could no longer see clearly in front as I drove the van on the road, I pulled off on the side, tossed my emergency flashers on, sat in my seat and bawled. If Scouting could touch every parent — every youth member — the way that it clearly touched that kid out there. The way it visibly touched me…
Then Scouting’s doing something absolutely right.
To hell with those distractors who feel that everything must fit their way of thinking. What I loved about Scouting — what I still love about Scouting — is that it is NOT a “cookie cutter” program but rather a “one size fits all” hat instead. There’s parameters. There’s guidance and direction. There’s a set of values and goals. How YOU GET THERE, however, is left to you.
And like that Scout, you revel in getting there…you WANT to share that fact with everyone and anyone who will hear. Or see.
I stayed there, I recalled, for about ten minutes, trying to recompose myself but ended up going again. I didn’t know that a grown man could cry that much… I haven’t shed that much waterworks since the birth of our third natural child, Johanthan. I cried and cried when the doctor told his mother and I that he would be in the ICU for about a week, because he was born jaundiced. I eventually pulled myself back together, made it out to the Flying J, started to post the note to Scouts-L and started crying all over again.
Twice. Other people reported back to me that that posting touched THEM so much, that they had the weepies too. Thank you for letting me know that it’s not just my overactive sensitive soul.
Five years later, here I was, driving around that same bend from the OTHER direction.
The day started with the official closing ceremony. As one of the military photographers present, I insured that I had plenty of photos of our Task Force Commander interacting with Scouts and Scouters.
The Joint Task Force Commander accepts a photo taken of him and his child by the BSA’s director of external communications
Our General made my job very easy as I took video and still photos of parts of the Closing. Afterward, an Eagle Scout was honored with his Court of Honor over in the Special Guests reception area. I took photos of that.
A Scout commenting to the assembled people at the Reception Tent after being awarded the Eagle Scout Award on the last day of the Centennial National Scout Jamboree!
The Scout wanted to have his Court of Honor – the public announcement of his attainment of the highest rank in the Boy Scouting part of the BSA — at the Jamboree even though he was approved as an Eagle Scout in central Ohio back in May.
After the photo sessions, I drove back to the PAO shop to drop off the second CD of my images along with a business card.
I had earlier left the Media Relations area, asking them if I would get one of the Media Relations flags to remember this special Jamboree by. They said that they would get back with me, explaining that “in the past someone would just take it…” and not politely ask for something which is going to end up otherwise in a stockroom at the National offices. They cannot use them again, since the flag carries the Jamboree emblem in its center.
I stopped by again and was told that someone is collecting all of the flags to display them at the National offices sometime after the Jamboree. Rats!! I did, however, get one of the Hometown News signs with the Centennial Jamboree logo on it in exchange for giving a Scouter from the Hometown News staff a ride to Reagan National Airport in the morning. No biggie because I was going to go to the Pentagon and try to catch up with “Uncle Big Jeff”, Colonel Jeff Keane, if he was around the DoD media office there. I also needed to go to Pentagon Credit Union and get some money to travel back with.
I then walked down the street to the Security office. I wanted to ask before I executed my plan.
Remember that I talked earlier about a box of Scout patches that I wanted to just give away? My goal was to drive down Thomas Road (a roadway that normally doesn’t accept any vehicle traffic), and toss out patches to Scouts set up for patch trading on the side of that road. I talked with two Security personnel…one which told me I could not drive down using my own van but I could take a ride on one of their golf carts. His boss said “no way. There would be too many Scouts trying to run after you to capture the patches as you threw them…” He also said that he had to stop the National Guard from doing something similar with their teeshirts.
So the patches would return home with me. I’ll have to find another way to get rid of them — other than selling them to some guy who is going to turn around and resell them at a large profit.
I finally parked my van up at the top of Thomas Road, near the National Heaquarters area, and took my backpack and Gatorade(tm) — no coffee this warm afternoon — and started my walk down to the two Trading Posts and the Boys’ Life areas.
As I walked down the road, Scouts came over to me and offered “high-fives” and wanting to know if I had any patches to trade. I didn’t bring any patches with me, and besides, the patch trading rules at the Jamboree simply state “Scouts trade with Scouts; Scouters trade with Scouters.” While technically, I am neither in this role today, I am still a Scouter and therefore the answer is “nah, don’t have any patches.”
Then — some Scouts got a little desperate.
“Can I have your patches from your shirt?” “Can I have your shirt?” “Can I have your hat…I really like that…” “Ill give you all of these for everything on your shirt…”
Shades of 1977!!!
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On the next to the last day of the Jamboree that time, a Scout came up to me, looked at my Explorer shirt and showed me a large stack of CSPs. This was really the first Jamboree in which the colorful shoulder patches issued by each local Council was traded. I had just started my collection of CSPs with the ones from Kentucky.
“I’ll trade you your shirt — with everything on it — for all of these…” the Scout asked me.
“Are you sure!?” I asked. The Scout handed me the stack of CSPs and like a careful collector (which I was NOT!), I went through them, examining them like I really knew what I was doing…
“Okay.” I took off my shirt, revealing a Jamboree tee-shirt under it, and handed the shirt to the Scout. “It’s a little smelly…I’ve been wearing it for a couple of days!”
“Wow!! Thanks, guy!! He extended his left hand to me and we exchanged a firm Scout handshake. Then he handed me the stack of some 100 CSPs. He then ran off to join a group of Scouts, showing them the shirt that he had just traded with an Explorer for.
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Now, decades later, I could not trade the shirt off my back for those Scouts’ collected insignia. I did the next best thing. I provided IOUs.
When I got to the “big Trading Post”, Trading Post “B”, I was standing in line when a Scout from Ohio came by with his friends.
“I REALLY, REALLY want your hat…” he stated. “I think it’s really cool that all of you Army guys are out here supporting us. “
I thanked him and his friends for the great compliement, adding that “it’s been our honor to do this…”
He then started in…”Can you please trade your hat for these…” He showed me a group of patches, none of which I was really interested in. Order of the Arrow flaps. The almost complete set of “patches of the day”. CSPs.
“Nah…I can’t do it…I would’t have anything to wear on my head and I would get in trouble.”
“No you wouldn’t…there’s a private or sergeant or something who’s given Scouts patches like those and this, ” he said pointing to my shoulder patches.
“I’m a colonel, however — I would get in big time trouble if I’m walking around here without headgear on…and besides,” I said, taking off my patrol cap, revealing my near bald head, “my head can’t take too much sun….it’s been sunburned twice before…”
“oh….okay….”, he started to walk off, his friends trailing behind him. “Thanks anyway and thank you for helping out here…”
At that point, I remembered something. Something important.
“WAIT!!” I yelled. The Scout and his buddies turned around. I removed my backpack from my shoulders and back and looked in the pockets. Yep…it was there…
Ask an Army guy or gal about why do you bring two forms of headgear with you when you go “to the field”, and you’ll get that generic answer, “100 percent backup!” The idea is that if the venue or location lends itself best to wearing the standard Army beret, you wear it. Otherwise, it is the patrol cap. And if the patrol cap gets too nasty or mucky to wear, you’ll have another piece of headgear to wear.
Or if you’re about to make a Scout’s day, week and Jamboree experience.
“You know,” I said honesty, “I have been looking for one of those hats with the holes all around and through it ever since I got here. All of the Trading Posts said that they didn’t have them — that they were out even before the Jamboree started.”
I pointed to his hat. “How about if I exchange — not trade, but exchange — my head gear for yours — and if you write to me, I’ll send you one of my coins. I ran out about a week ago. And DON’T TRADE THIS!!”
“Deal!” he said, “Awesome! I’ll NEVER trade this!!” I thought that the Scout was going to cry right there in front of his buddies and me. I took my patrol cap off, leaving the black oak leaf in the front and my nametag Velcroed onto the back, and handed it to him. He took off his large floppy hat and handed it to me. We shook hands as Scouts do. I then handed him one of my cards as I also grabbed my beret and fashoned it to my head. The kid walked away with a patrol cap with Lieuteant Colonel oak leaves on the front and “Walton” on the backside of it, happy as if he had just won the lottery.
A Scouter standing in line with me, waiting our turns to go into the Trading Post, commented that “that was a great thing you did for him…I’m glad you did that, because he’s gonna remember that for the rest of his Scouting days…”
“Not as long as I’ll remember it…”, I smiled and remarked.
The Trading Post was just about emptied out, as Scouts and Scouters bought just about everything collectable, spending up their Jamboree money before heading home in the morning. Not finding the foldable solar panels I went after in part for, I left out of the Trading Post but not before taking a photo of one of my oldest Scouting friends, Sheldon Dick. Shel and I were both volunteers back in the 80s together as part of the Alpine District, Transatlantic Council’s Committee. We also worked on training staffs, worked the various conferences, and hung out together during Order of the Arrow events. I knew that he was on the Jamboree staff, but I didn’t know where he would be working at.
And there he was, handing me my backpack as I exited the Trading Post. I took a photo of him and promised him that I would send it to him after the Jamboree’s over. We shook hands but I wanted to give my old friend a hug…but there was that big counter. I stood there for about a minute or so as we exchanged Jamboree experiences and reactions. He had to get back to work…so I told him that I’ll see him in the fall at the Council Training and Service Conference.
Then there was the woman — Jenny was her name — directing Scouts to the sales counters. She just wanted a hug, so I gave her one. She commented that all of the men on her side of the family are in the military in some way or another…father, brothers, uncles, grandfather…and that she is a strong supporter of Scouting as well as the military.
…and all Jenny wanted was a hug….
As I made my way down the street, I picked up a tagalong. This Scout started out by asking me if I had patches to trade, which I did not. He wanted to know if he could have my uniform shirt and all of the patches on it, and I gave him my card and told him “Now don’t contact me until a couple of weeks AFTER the Jamboree’s over…but if you write me, remind me of today, I’ll send you one of my uniform shirts with all of the patches and things on it — and a coin!”
He continued to walk down the street with me, thinking that at some point in time, I’ll just take off the shirt and give it to him. Or that he just wanted to talk, which we did…all the way down to the Boys’ Life area.
Boys’ Life is the name of the award-winning magazine owned by the Boy Scouts of America. In addition to the stories about famous people, actors, action heroes, musical acts, and travelogues, are stories about Scouts and Scouting along with columns about how to make the Scouting experience better for the reader of the magazine. I remember the first time I read Boys Life — in the elementary school library in Germany. I have been reading it since — every chance I get.
During the Jamboree, they promote themselves by allowing their photographers to take pictures of Scouts and Scouters in front of a blue or green screen; and then superimpose a cover of the magazine (or the compaion for adults, SCOUTING) in the background. They print a copy and also allow the Scout or Scouter to send a copy electronically to whomever they chose.
Every Jamboree since 1977, I have had the Boys’ Life people to take a photo of me. Back in the day, I would send post cards with that image and a short message about how much I’m enjoying the Jamboree back to my sweetie or my mom. I never thought about saving one of the postcards for myself until the digital age came along. I think that I still have postcards from 1997 and 93 and somewhere there may be a digital image of me from 2001 and 2005.
My tagalong (Eric, from Massachussetts) and I waited until the others finished posing and then it was my turn. I stood and posed twice. The photographer was trying to get me to smile larger than I did…didn’t work. Afterward, he uploaded the photos, gave me a temporary Jamboree ID card, and encouraged me to send copies to my friends and family (which I did, as well as to post it on my blog site at
I spent the rest of the evening having Thai food while packing the van for the drive out back to Minnesota by way of northern Virginia and the Pentagon.
—
Settummanque is writer, military officer, dad, friend, traveler,
public speaker, webmaster, Eagle Scout, and/or “sweetie”
(LTC) Mike Walton. South Lake Minnetonka area, Minnesota.
http://www.settummanque.com
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