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Chief No-Nose
by
Bob Hyman
This story
is a brief glimpse of a boy, at a couple of
critical milestones in his life, as witnessed and
shared by his Scoutmaster.
I remember Rusty's last Blue and Gold Banquet. He
wore the strangest neckerchief slide that I
had ever seen. It was a carved wooden figure. I
think it started out to be a pirate, then somewhere
along the way it went though various stages as a
sailor or fisherman, and finally ended up as a
somewhat disfigured Indian. The most noticeable
feature was the lack of a nose. But Rusty was
prouder of that neckerchief slide than of anything
else he had ever done.
He was an eleven year old Cub Scout, and I was the
Scoutmaster of the Boy Scout Troop he was about to
join. He was a very outgoing young man, full of
exuberance and Scout Spirit. After the banquet we
held the cross-over ceremony, and I did a quick
Scoutmaster conference with each of the new Scouts.
I asked each of them the same questions: what did
they expect to get from the Boy Scout program, and
what were they prepared to give in return? Most
spoke vaguely about looking forward to camping and
hiking, and all said the mandatory words about
doing good turns and helping their community. But
Rusty was somewhat more specific; he boldly stated
that he was going to be the first Eagle Scout in
our Troop.
Now, our Troop was quite new, and it is true that
we didn't have any Eagles yet, but I cautioned
Rusty that there were several Scouts already a full
year ahead of him on the Eagle trail. He wasn't
phased at all, and told me he would catch up with
them quickly. I was happy to see his dedication,
but I was somewhat fearful that he might be setting
unrealistic goals for himself that he couldn't
accomplish.
After the Scoutmaster conferences were completed,
we held our first meeting as new Boy Scouts. All of
the new boys wore their hand-made slides that they
had carved as Cubs, only now they were on brand new
Boy Scout neckerchiefs. We had an impromptu contest
and the older Scouts selected the prettiest, most
original, and several other categories for the new
boys' slides. When Rusty's turn came around, the
Scouts laughed, and nicknamed his slide "Chief
No-Nose." He easily won the award for the ugliest
slide. Rusty laughed along with them and accepted
the criticism without blinking.
Later that evening, as the service patrol was
cleaning up after the banquet, one of the older
Scouts brought me a neckerchief slide. It was Chief
No-Nose; it had been found in the trash.
Since Rusty
and his parents had already left, I took it with
me, planning to return it to him later. But the
following week, at the next Scout meeting, Rusty
was wearing a new neckerchief slide. It was a very
nicely carved Indian, obviously store-bought, with
perfect facial features. I commented on it, and
Rusty told me he had decided to replace the old
one; he thought the new one looked more
"Scout-like." Sensing that this might be a touchy
subject, I didn't let on that I knew he had thrown
away the original.
Years slipped by, and - true to his word - Rusty
became our Troop's first Eagle candidate. I
remember the evening I took him to his Eagle Review
Board. We sat outside the room, waiting for his
turn to be called before the board. I don't know
who was more scared, he or I. I had never seen him
so unsure of himself. He was nervous and fidgety,
and kept asking me if his uniform looked okay.
I told him to stand up, and let me take a final
look. He sure looked sharp, from his freshly
pressed uniform to his well-filled Merit Badge
sash. I paused as I looked at his neckerchief. It
was our standard Troop neckerchief, but he wore a
special slide. It was Scouting's Diamond Jubilee
year, and Rusty's slide had a carved "75" on a
Scout emblem background. I frowned, and told him I
didn't think the slide was appropriate. He looked
puzzled, and told me how hard it had been to carve
it just right. I told him I had another one that
might look better. I pulled Chief No-Nose from my
pocket and presented it to him.
"Why don't you
wear this one instead, and tell the board what
you've learned since you carved it," I suggested.
Rusty looked in shock at the treasure he thought
had been lost forever. Slowly a smile came over his
face. "You know," he said, "That thing sure is
ugly!"
"Yes, it is at that," I agreed.
"But I suppose," he continued, "that it says more
about me trying to do my best than this one ever
will. I guess it doesn't really matter if others
think it's funny-looking."
I nodded my head in agreement, but didn't say a
word. I didn't have to. As we stood there together,
Scoutmaster and Scout, both about to face the
unknown for the first time, I saw a familiar air of
confidence return to his face. A look that said "I
know how to meet this challenge, because I've faced
tougher ones in the past."
Rusty put on his Chief No-Nose slide and I
introduced him to the review board. As I waited
outside the room, eagerly awaiting the outcome, I
thought of all the adventures we had been through
since that long-ago Blue and Gold Banquet. Later,
after he successfully completed the review, we
laughed at the idea that Chief No-Nose had been
there to share in his victory.
Several months later, after his Eagle award
ceremony, Rusty's parents hosted a reception in his
honor. At such receptions, it has become
commonplace for the new Eagle Scout to present his
Scoutmaster with a token of appreciation. I've had
several of the Norman Rockwell "The Scoutmaster"
plaques given to me over the years. But there is
something special about that first one - the one
that came along with an ugly neckerchief slide by
the name of "Chief No-Nose." Only Rusty and I will
ever know the true significance of that gift, the
one that meant so much to him then and the one that
means so much to me now.
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