So Mr. Boals passed away. What a loss. I expected him to become the Old Kentucky Home Council’s third or fourth Silver Buffalo receipient. He had everything else… including my overwhelming respect and admiration. Forever.
See, Paul Boals (it was “Mr. Boals” when I was growing up; he allowed me to call him “Paul” after I attended the 1980 Council Annual Dinner in which I kept referring to him as “Mr. Boals”) was one of those men who saw a need, filled it and if anyone asked why, he’d tell them what for in their face and won’t think anything of it.
I first met Mr. Boals and his sons Frank and Jacob (Jake) when they attended an Eagle Court of Honor for Troop 801’s third Eagle Scout. I can’t remember his name, and he left the Troop and Scouting soon afterward. When Paul Boals entered a room in a Scout uniform, you can TELL that he’s all Scouting business. A lot of Sergeants Major — the highest enlisted rank in the Army while not commanding anything (that’s what Command Sergeants Major and the Command Sergeant Major of the Army is for) — will come into a room and one can immediately TELL that they are a Sergeant Major. Nobody had to yell “At Ease!”, nobody had to introduce them. We knew.
Like I said, when Paul Boals came into a room wearing a Scouting field uniform, you can tell that he’s all business and that he would not take any crap from anyone — youth, adult, professional. His experience showed in his teaching of Scoutcraft. Somewhere there’s a old photo of the old man teaching the young man Scouting. Paul Boals was the old man. He and both of his sons showed up in uniform. Both boys I believe became members of Troop 128 where Paul became a member of the Troop’s Committee…and then more…
He was a man with a heart of gold but you’d never know it right off. He expected Scouts to know the “basics” and if they didn’t know the basics — knot tying, cardinal directions, pacing, civic knowledge, camp craft and cooking — he would spend time with you to teach you. More time that you really want because he’s constantly in your stuff, in true Sergeant Major fashion.
We boys LOVED IT. I always wondered what my life would have been like if my Dad prodded me like Mr. Boals probably did his two sons. My dad never “pushed me” toward Eagle. He threatened one semester to “take me out of Scouts” if my grades didn’t improve but that was the extent to his prodding. But then, I wasn’t in the band, in JROTC, and involved in church stuff.
No wait. I WAS in JROTC, Red Cross, Exploring and involved in church stuff. Never mind.
Paul extended himself to Mr. Fantastic proportions. He was a Commissioner, duh. He was also on the District’s Training committee (later the Council’s training committee). The Council’s advancement committee. Was a Vigil Honor member of the Zit-Kala-Sha Lodge of the Order of the Arrow and served on the Sectional Committee. Was a committeemember with two different Troops. Was active in the Masons. Active in his church. Active in the Association of the United States Army and the Non-Commissioned Officers Association. When an Army regulation pushed military support of Scouting off the base, it was Paul Boals who found new partner organizations for each of Fort Knox’s military Scouting units — Boy AND Girl Scouting.
Paul Boals was the man who asked me to serve as Senior Patrol Leader for two Troops at the same time. He didn’t want the Troop meeting in the old NCO Club (Troop 666) to go away. It was too historic a Troop and besides the Post had already lost three other Troops. I took him up on the idea and took Troop 666 to their last Camporee, helping them to win first place among the troops of their size. The Troop merged with the other Troop I was leading at the time, Troop 801, and after the merger, Paul called and thanked me for the effort.
His son Jake and I palled around, doing Exploring things here and there. We both were a part of the Southeast Region’s Communications committee — something unusual for youth members to be a part of an adult committee. While at Eastern Kentucky Univerity, we both were also members of the ROTC and it was Jake who kept me in the know while I was out around the eastern part of the state working as a Paraprofessional. He never signed up, opting to learn how to be a paramedic instead. And a damned fine one at that — he hit my vein every single time in our practices. I hit his vein about 80 percent of the time. We both got our licenses from the Commonweath in the same ceremony. Later that summer, we would both earn the Expert Field Medical Badge from the Army.
And during both ceremonies, there was Paul. Proud of his son — and of his son’s friend. In high school, he made it a point to tell my mom how proud he was of me. He was never one of my Scoutmasters, but as my mom listened to Paul Boals tell it, I was one of his own.
I was saddened to hear of Paul’s passing. Like I said, I expected the man to live on, receiving the BSA’s highest volunteer service award. He would deserve it. He had the drive, the leadership skills, the “let’s get it done” mentality. He would argue with the professionals but they knew — and we knew, watching from the sidelines with big grins on our faces — that Mr. Boals is right, and you just might as well get over it. He would research and call people and find the right answers and shove it right into the faces of his professional counterpart. And they would listen to Paul.
Volunteers were fair game with him, and everyone wanted to work on whatever Paul Boals was into then.
We disagreed about my uniforming. My uniform never met up to his demanding standard — but as he put his arm around me, he would tell me “look, I’m just pinning you about the uniform. As long as you’ve got Scouting in your heart and you use your head (he would point to his heart and his balding head), nobody can take that away from you.”
He was absolutely correct. But then, he was always correct when it came to Scouting.
Rest, Sergeant Major. Rest. You’ve clearly done your best, and shown so many of us how also to do our best, even when things were tumbling around your life personally.
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Settummanque!
Settummanque!
"There's no such thing as strong coffee...only weak people..."
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