THE UNIFORM

When I was young time could never go fast enough.  Today I wish it would creep.

As a kid I was always waiting for something in the future – for the day I could ride a two wheeler to getting my driver’s license.  Holidays were yearned for and summer vacation was 180 days away the start of every school year.  And then I thought about my Cub Scout uniform.

This obsession started when I would see Scout marching in the parades that literally came and went on High Street.  Those blue and yellow trimmed outfits and that funny little hat.  Ah, the call to learn the survival skills essential for roughing in the wild.  For most boys the lore of the uniform – any uniform – is indeed so alluring!  Couple this with a promise of high adventure and I could not wait to turn 8 and get fitted for my official Cub Scout uniform.

However, the uniform came with a high price for my mother.

Somehow she had to become a “Den Mother” for me to have a den in our neighborhood and be a part of the “Pack” that was sponsored by the Presbyterian Church.  So my mother signed up 8 boys and we started our own den with my mother learning the tasks and crafts before our meetings – but that meant that I would finally get my coveted uniform to march proudly in parades and wear around blazing camp fires of in the pines.

 

Corson’s Men’s Shop had just become a certified and “official scout paraphernalia” outlet.  Much better than the Sears Catalogue.  Plus, Mr. Corson was obviously an authority on the needs of scouts as I had visited his store many times and he patiently answered all of my questions on many Saturdays waiting for this day to come.

I tried on the pants first.  They had metal buttons on the pockets that sported a wolf’s head captured in bas relief.  The shirt came next which I pictured emblazoned with an array of my hard earned “merit badges” - also available at Corson’s @ 50 cents each.  Next the beanie with a brim displaying the proud Cub Scout emblem.  I looked in the mirror – and somehow I didn’t exactly look like one of the guys in Boys Life – but life is never like it is pictured in magazines or our heads.

Mr. Corson then put the bright yellow kerchief around my neck  – and told mother that the slide that finished it off was a necessity for the well-dressed Cub.   I am sure my mom was adding up the totals of this shopping spree as we proceeded because her smile had turned to a slight grimace.  This was not the “whole kit and caboodle” Mr. Corson offered but a good start for now.

And then I saw it in the display case alongside a canteen.  The Cub Scout Official Three Blade Pen Knife with belt clip.  My mother immediately knew what I was thinking – she always knew and before I could say, “I really need a genuine …” She blurted, “Absolutely not - you are not old enough to have a knife”!   Mr. Corson’s and my eyes met in the middle of her edict – and we communicated an age old message – Women Never Understanding Us Men! (An adage that would be proven time and again for me later in life)

“Oh mom…every Scout I know has a knife…I will need it to open tins of food on hikes…fend off wild animals… whittle stuff…chop kindling…and…”

I could see that Mr. Corson was impressed with my litany of justifications for this three inch tool of deadly steel.   He knew I had done my homework.  And then he said, “Marge, every kid his age gets one and it’s only $4.98 – but I’ll give it to you for half price because you are getting the whole uniform.  This time my mother and my eyes met.  She paused, and knew then she was outnumbered – “Oh all right – but you can only take it to the meetings, not playing or to school or…”  Her voice faded, as always she was such a push-over when it came to getting me something I really wanted. 

My next target would be in a few weeks - the official Boy Scout mess kit which came in a leather pouch – ideal for camping and hikes it said on the box.  But that would have to wait.  My mother took home about $38 bucks a week and this shopping spree was going to take half of her week’s paycheck.

My mother did a great job and our start-up won awards and many of the Pack events to the chargrin of the veteran youth leaders.   Especially since we were all mostly Methodists, except for Billy W. who was a Catholic. 

I went on to Boy Scouting at a Troop sponsored by the 2^nd Methodist Church.  Never made it past Tenderfoot class – went on one camping trip, cut my hand on a rusty tin can, left early for some stiches at Doc Rosen’s and never returned to the adventures of scouting.  Years later when my own son finally got me to go spend a few nights in a tent in a state forest - I would remember why I still hated camping.  It was cold, wet and uncomfortable.

For me roughing it will always be a hotel without room service.