Mother’s Foray Into Scouting

I have so many “Dad” stories that it makes for a terrible imbalance. While he was out saving the world and earning piles of citations, medals, and ribbons, Mother was sacrificing her life and desires in support of his career. She never CALLED it a sacrifice. This was expected in her generation. Nevertheless, all of her children recognize that our mother was deserving of so much more adulation than we gave her.

She was the smartest human being I have ever known! This is why the day that I beat her in Scrabble was so meaningful to me. She blamed my children for distracting her. “Right, Mother! You think they’re not distracting ME constantly?”

She claimed she couldn’t have a career because we had to move too frequently for Dad’s career in the Marine Corps. I had friends whose mothers were teachers or nurses, and they could always find jobs wherever they went. But, Mother, smart as she was, held a Bachelor’s in French and Math without any practical credentials.

Still, she found a life-long calling, unpaid though it was, in Scouting when we were still very young. It started with my brother Stan’s Cub Scout pack near Niagara Falls, NY. They met in our basement Rec-room which was finished out with wood paneling, tile floor, a fireplace, a TV over the mantle, couch, coffee table, and a small assembly of other chairs. Oh, I forgot to mention the nudes.

Yes, Dad had majored in Chemistry (before getting his Masters at Stanford), but he also had a minor in Fine Art. He loved painting in oils, sculpting, and doing a bit of woodworking. The Rec-room was where he’d hung his many paintings of reclining nudes. We just took them for granted. (By the way, Mother insisted that she didn’t model for him – right….) But at some point, the snickering began among the little boys in the pack. And after the mothers saw them while picking up their sons, those paintings suddenly came down and disappeared.

I later learned that they had been moved to the Officer’s Club at Dad’s post at Niagara Falls, where he had also painted an amazing tropical mural on one or more of the walls. They even held a dedication party there where the men and their wives dressed in tropical costumes. (I have the photos). I heard the story of one of Dad’s friends who wore a grass skirt and a bra made of fresh coconut halves which began weeping all over his chest early on in the evening, making him a sticky, uncomfortable mess for the rest of the party. OH, and those nude paintings mysteriously disappeared when a visiting Canadian squadron left after a brief stay.

Ooops, but that’s a different story.

Back to MOTHER. I’m not sure if she was forgiven for that nude faux pas because the next year she switched over to my sister Patty’s Brownie troop, where she was an assistant leader. They met at the Presbyterian Church in Lewiston, or maybe Youngstown.

But the story doesn’t really get that interesting until years later when we cut to Stan’s Boy Scout troop in Orange, California, which met at our Church, Trinity Episcopal. Mother was still active in Girl Scouts, but my parents were both very supportive of Stan’s progress in Boy Scouts. We never missed a “Court of Honor” where he was always earning badges, or advancements like “God and Country” and “Eagle Scout.” But, whatever troop he was involved in, wherever we lived at the time, there was always some sort of funny skit or gag presentation to entertain the parents. And Mother seemed always to be the prime target for those boys. Her surprise reactions were better than the pranks, themselves.

There was the time that one of the boys was chasing others around the room with a bucket full of water, and when he accidentally tripped, the “water” spewed out all over Mother, who shrieked and jumped up as if she were soaked. It was actually shredded newspaper in the bucket.

Another time there was a dreaded two-headed monster the troop had captured during their recent camping trip. It had escaped into the room, hidden under a blanket, its visage so terrifying that anyone who saw it would turn to stone. A challenge was issued to see who could dare to look at the monster’s face. Mother’s name was picked from a hat to take a look under the blanket (Stan later told us that Mother’s was the only name in the hat). The moving monster growled and railed at her as she nervously approached for her peek. (It was two of the younger scouts under there.) But I’ll never forget seeing her from behind, bending down to look under the blanket. She screamed and did a ridiculous dance of panic in her high heels and Sunday dress when they roared into her face. Nobody ever gave as funny a show as Mother, without even trying.

Patty continued on in Girl Scouts throughout her high school years, with badges climbing halfway up the back of her badge sash. She ultimately became a Camp Counselor during her college years. Mother was very proud of her. I, on the other hand, was never involved in a troop that created enough fun to offset the ridiculing peer pressure from the “mean girls” on the outside. Halfway through my freshman year, I caved in to the pressure and dropped out of Scouting.

When I dropped out, that was the breaking point in our mother-daughter relationship, so embarrassed was Mother by her own daughter. She was the Council Chairman for Newport County, Rhode Island, at that point, and she was more dedicated to Scouting than she was to me.

Far beyond her child-rearing years, Mother served as Council President for several states when she and Dad retired to Louisiana after I left for college. She held that job, with multiple accolades, into her 70s, leaving only after she had contracted for and had overseen the building of a new Girl Scout Headquarters, and recruited her own replacement.

She was often written up in the local newspaper and got ample recognition from the Scouting community, but never enough from her own family. We should have better honored her.