STARS & STRIPES FOREVER

As I do every year I watched my old friend Jean Shepherd’s the Great 4^th of July & Other Disasters and as always, I smile, get a bit misty-eyed when he closes with “…and the holidays when we were young are the sweetest of all…”

And I am immediately on High Street on a hot summer’s July 4th morning with the temperature already at 96 – this was going to be a scorcher, according to my grandmother, the weather vane of the family.  Already I could feel the sweat running down my back – no this wasn’t perspiration…It was sweat!  And no wonder my Official Cub Scout uniform was made for camping in Siberia.  Blue wool gaberdine my grandmother the seamstress reported.  It was made to withstand the elements on a fall hike and roughhouse games like “steal the bacon.”  It wasn’t good for July.  Plus, it was dark blue, and I literally could feel the sun rays burning my shoulders through my shirt.  

However, the heat was far outweighed by the anticipation that had been building for weeks – I was not going to watch the big 4^th of July parade this year - I was going to be in the parade. 

Our pack had been practicing marching for months all of us (except Carl) could march in unison.  As we waited for an eternity it seemed for the Millville band to strike it up I marveled at the many merit badges the older Boy Scouts had sewn to their uniforms.  I wanted so much to pass all the tests of craftsmanship, stamina and cleanliness that it would take to earn them myself.  At this point I only had one -  the Webelo’s badge that heralded that I had was now a Bear Cub – the first of the three levels of Cubing – to earn this I  had mastered the Cub Scout pledge, motto, song, mission and knew the location of the Sears where all of the needs of scouting were sold.  Mom had just bought me the Official Birdhouse kit and after the glue dried I would earn my first badge – for “carpentry“ or maybe it was “wild life knowledge”?  (I would learn years later that Sears & Roebuck’s and BSA had formed a partnership that had produced one of the most brilliant merchandising schemes ever –  selling millions of uniforms that could only be bought at – Sears!)

Scout Leader, Mr. Jones cued our bugler to sound revelry or charge – I couldn’t remember which but I had heard it many times at the Saturday matinee.  After he got our attention he addressed the  “troops”.  “Gentleman I am very please to see you’ve come to attention and at this time I want to select the scouts who will have the great honor of carrying our flags - our honor guard.”  He had brought 3 flags

He singled out our one Eagle scout to carry the Troop Flag, a Second-Class Scout to carry the State emblem which look like a picture of a snake and a farmer?  Then to my surprise he called me, a lowly Cub Scout, to carry the American Flag.  Our proudest banner topped with hundreds of steamers that memorialized  participation at the yearly Annual Region Camper-Rees.

I was honored – but later my mom reminded me that he picked me because I was the just the biggest kid and Old Glory had to be the tallest flag.  As I went to pick up my flag, Scoutmaster Jones said quietly, “Sorry Cal but I only could find two flag belts (leather-like holsters worn around the neck which made the flagpole easy to carry) you will have to make do.”   “What the…”, I said to myself, as he handed me the huge pole.  And as I struggle to get to my spot in line he added, “And whatever you do, don’t let the flag touch the ground!”

I lined up with the other two bearers and noticed that they had light aluminum flag poles – mine seemed to be made of oak and was thicker than the end of a baseball bat.  And no holder!

       “What the…”, I repeated.

A whistle sounded, and the high school band slowly revived up Stars and Stripes Forever (which would become a hated anthem for me from that day on) And off we went with dopey Jonesy (as most of the kids called him) barking a brisk cadence – Left-right-left-right…left, left…left, right, left right.

My flag immediately started whipping wildly in a hot wind.  It was marching me down the street.  I needed to do something quick to get it under control – so I stuffed the end of the flag pole into my right pants pocket which became my flag holder.  This was ingenious I thought as the pressure let up on my arms – but then I realized that the weight of the flag might cause my pants to fall to my knees or worse.  Mortified - I bravely tried to keep up with the other two guys. 

I could hear people on the sidewalks begin laughing as I marched sideways, one hand on the pole and the other on my Official Cub Scout Military-Style Web Belt with its imitation brass buckle.  The sweat was leaving a steaming trail behind me as I tried to keep in step - these older guys were proudly strutting away as I stumbled and fumbled with a load that was getting heavier by the step.  
The sun beat down and I was roasting.  My Keds sticking to the pavement.   The band blared on and the end of High Street looked miles away.  I started to believe that I may actually carry the “star and stripes” forever. 

 But eventually it was over.  I had made the half mile walk without fainting or letting the flag drag – and only a few hundred folks laughed at me.  The only lucky part of the whole mess was that none of my friends saw my flag fiasco – they were probably home in the shade getting ready for the roasted wieners that they were going consumer that day.  
As for me, I went straight home and went to bed; exhausted.  I didn’t wake up until afternoon to cook my hot dogs on the graying charcoal embers. 

And I learned an important lesson that day.  Everyone who ever got to carry Old Glory from 1776 to 1956 had all taken on a very heavy burden – even a new Cub Scout like me.