Harry was a realist. As much as he desired successful fundraising, he understood the limitations of sending Senior Scouts out. ‘People find the young kids cute, and will buy from them.’ On the other side, older Seniors (even dressed in the white Troop sweatshirt) gave the air of thugs approaching unsuspecting houses, thus having a Senior ‘shelf life’ for selling.

This connects to the following event.

Summer Camp 1982– I was charged by the Scoutmaster to ‘bird dog’ the Senior Trip to the Ruggles Mine in northern New Hampshire. It seemed a reasonable scheme, being a former mine, it offered acres of areas to climb around, look for and chisel out samples to take away. Not much breakable there. I made the arrangements with the Lady in charge– date, price, expectations for a group of scouts to tour.

As is our custom, the second Thursday is when we travel. In the past this was also the second time in camp that breakfast was cooked in Patrol/Crew sites, as lunch was. This added the complexity of getting all to cook and clean up, amidst much yelling to hurry, so the production could get moving.

Complex also, as it required a dozen staff cars (large senior groups then) packed with rushed Seniors, scruffy from cleanup and smelling like their fires.

We arrived at Ruggles (minus one car) in fine form– the dozen cars kicking up a cloud in the dirt road in and parking lot. I went straight to the Lady with a Troop check and smile. To paraphrase one of our campfire songs ‘the smile on her face quickly turned to a sneer’ as she met me– pointing at the Seniors getting out and saying ‘those are NOT Boy Scouts.’

I guess I had not thought about it much before, but looking from her perspective,
instead of the image of eleven year olds from Boys’ Life, in pressed uniforms, that she must have had– these older guys looked rather ratty from being in the woods for close to two weeks. I know it was the 1967 age group (not being sure of what other two were also there) as they wore the fashionable, of the times, blue denim jackets with the ‘in your face’ rock album icons. Further, they seemed to keep having more and more pile out– giving it the air of being invaded by a group of ‘Clown Cars’.

It was also at this defining moment that the missing car arrived– in a style of high speed, power 360 donut and full braking– emerging moments later from the new cloud of dust and debris shot up (his initials are L.J.).

She was possibly ready to boot us (which I could have then used a favorite troop line of ‘we’ve been kicked out of better places than this,) but seemed to reconsider upon seeing the check and the thought of losing a pay-day. I groveled and said something to the effect of ‘Ma’am, I have to play the cards I have been dealt,’ and with promises to uphold the scout oath and law– we were admitted.

It did not take long. Word came that she wanted again to see me and this time came the direct accusation of ‘your boys have stolen the (auto) vanity plate from one of my customers.’ There was no hesitation nor other possibility for her.

The gent missing it was quite reasonable, so we mobilized some staff and walked the road and parking lot in hopes it could have fallen off on the bumping ride in–
and it had evidently not. We had each driver open and search their cars. We had Senior jackets opened and Staff spies on the lookout for behavior stranger (then usual). Nothing.

Returning to her, desperation turned to arrogant inspiration. With nothing more to lose, I told her ‘the only answer to this is that it was stolen by the boy you hire to put on your bumper stickers.’ She was not buying that, (and I had my own doubts), yet in taking the opportunity to prove me absolutely wrong, she went to check–and returned with the missing vanity plate from his things.

She was mumbling something about him ‘coming from a good family,’ and not making any eye contact. In reflection years later, I might have chosen a more humanistic response, as I watched her melt like the Wicked Witch of Oz, but times being what they were, I bore in with ‘I believe we were discussing how our thieves stole this plate.’

It mellowed to a commiserating between us of how young men can go wrong, as we drew ours back to our cars and saddled up to go.

I don’t believe we ever chose to again visit the Ruggles Mine.

When you have been active for a long time in the adventures of Troop 25, there are numerous times where questionable things might happen, suspect issues might arise and pushing limits be the theme– but this was the smell of Victory and the fist pump in the air.

And, I believe that last car in did a ‘goodbye’ burnout of another cloud of dust that we all disappeared into.