Below The Fold

Old soldiers never die…

Monday night last, Mr. Vance retired.

I first met Mr. Vance when I was 10 years old. Me and Brandon and Scott and Brian and Jeff were in the basement, learning all about tying a knot, or whatever it was that Webelos did back then.

Honestly, all I can remember about those meetings was making pinewood derby racers and getting into fights with Brandon. But I’m sure there were many more enriching things that happened there too…

Mr. Vance came down the stairs. My father introduced him.

“Fellas,” he began. Pops never talked down to us, even then. “I’d like to introduce to you Mr. Vance. He’s the scoutmaster for Troop 712.”

Mr Vance walked in, striding purposefully, yet lightly on his feet. He carried himself with the bearing of a man who had supreme confidence, yet not an ounce of vanity. His uniform was pressed and crisp, and he sported a smoky-the-bear hat with a brim that looked sharp enough to cut glass. As I studied him, looking at us through steely eyes, I sat up straighter, rapt with attention. Something about this man made me want to salute him right off the bat.

Here was a man born to lead.

Mr. Vance spoke to us directly. Again, not down to us. He spoke of honor. Of principle. Of realizing our manhood. Of being a part of something greater than ourselves. He spoke reverently about the sacred Eagle. In hushed tones he told us that the odds of any one of us reaching that rank were already slim. We were five, and 1 in 20 scouts make it that far. It was then and there that I became determined to beat those odds.

I earned my arrow of light and crossed over to Troop 712 later that summer. Over the next five years, I learned about honor. I learned about principle. I learned about loyalty. I forged friendships that endure to this day.

We fought together. We failed together. We succeeded together. We faced tragedy together and experienced triumph together. And, guiding us gently every step of the way was Mr. Vance.

Often, in a war or military-themed movie, you’ll hear a bruised and bloodied and battered soldier refer to his commanding officer as though he were something greater than a man. “I’d follow him into hell,” is the kind of cliché you might hear used.

Honestly, there’s no other way to vocalize it, though. No one ever talked back to Mr. Vance. No one ever spoke to the man with anything other than respect and admiration. The man inspired us to be great whenever he was in the room, and when he wasn’t, his words echoed in our heads. Truly, I’d have followed him into hell.

Troop 712 was Mr. Vance. to this day, I can say I’ve yet to meet another man with the strength of character he possesses.

Mr. Vance stepped down as scoutmaster of Troop 712 in a ridiculously informal and hackneyed ceremony, with children fidgeting in their seats and too much laughter and mirth. In what should have been a solemn and tearful ceremony, there were skits and campfire songs.

And I don’t think he would have had it any other way.