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Saturday, Sep. 19, 2009

Mike Tharp: Always an Eagle Scout

On my honor, I will do my best/To do my duty to God and my country/And to obey the Scout law/To help other people at all times/To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.

Be prepared! Do a good turn daily!

I remember these words the way I remember a lot of Latin phrases from serving Mass as an altar boy. The way I remember the best play I made in the last basketball game I ever played. The way I remember all the words to "Blue Suede Shoes."

Being a Boy Scout helped make me who I am. Being an Eagle Scout helped me know I could be better than I ever thought I could be.

The Boy Scouts are on my mind after going to the Visionary Awards Luncheon Thursday at the Multicultural Arts Center. There, Merced County Superintendent of Schools Lee Andersen, Livingston City Manager Richard Warne and Al Romero, owner of Valley Auto Wreckers, were honored for their dedication to youth activities. Marcos Nava from the national Scouting office in Texas was guest speaker, and staff members from the Atwater federal penitentiary fixed our lunch.

I'm not much of a joiner. But I joined the Boy Scouts as soon as I could after I turned 11 -- Troop 11 in Topeka, Kan. Two airmen from Forbes AFB were the scoutmaster and assistant.

My dad drove me to meetings. When the airmen got transferred from the old Strategic Air Command base, he became scoutmaster. Man, did I learn a lot in the three years I was a Boy Scout. My dad, Papagene, was never a jock, so he couldn't coach me in basketball, football or baseball, all of which I was playing.

But Scouting? He knew it all. And he combined his natural gifts as an actor (though he was a railroad policeman for the Santa Fe) with his love and knowledge of the outdoors to bring all us Troop 11 boys with him on the grand adventure.

Scouting led me to the first time I ever went somewhere without my family. Camp Jayhawk in northeast Kansas. For a week we learned how to save a "drowning" swimmer, how to build a campfire with wet wood, how to read Indian signs in Order of the Arrow.

Keith Turner, an older black Scout, taught us the first stirrings of civil rights. He and his black friend sang and danced to "Step down/Turn around/Pick a bale o' cotton" in the mess hall one rainy afternoon. Afterwards, I summoned the nerve to ask him what it meant. He told me.

Scouting taught me to grow up faster. Wednesday evening was Family Night when our families could visit. Papa got called out to a derailment. Mama had to take care of my year-younger brother James and baby John. I stood at the limestone columns at the entrance of the camp, waiting. The sun went down. Nobody came. I cried.

Then I walked away and went to my tent. I got over it.

In a way, Scouting introduced me to Elvis. Sure, I'd listened to his records -- "Hound Dog" and "Don't Be Cruel" -- with the girls across the street. Didn't see what the big deal was.

Then one night Papa and I were driving to the Troop 11 meeting in our '56 Plymouth, the one with pushbutton gears. He was talking about knots. The radio was on. "Jailhouse Rock" surged out of the speaker. Without knowing it, I started rockin' and rollin' in my seat. Papa glanced at me. He switched off the radio. He resumed describing how to tie a bowline-on-a-bight.

But The King had tied me up. So much that today, I have an Elvis shrine in my house.

Our dad was already a god-like figure to James and me. But on one overnight camping trip, he became Superman, Batman, Captain Marvel and the Lone Ranger, all in one.