I Knew a Man

I knew a man named Bud. He was one of my scout masters. Bud was average height and build. He had little hair left on his head and what he did have, he combed over his bald scalp. Bud also had a glass eye. How he lost his eye, I do not remember, but some nights as we sat around the campfire, he would pop it into his hand just to gross us boys out.

Bud also had a fondness for smoking cigars. I have only known a few people in my life who were cigar smokers. Around the campfire in the evening, Bud would have all the boys laughing as he told stories and jokes, the long white ash from his stogie occasionally dropping off onto the front of his jacket. He always made us all feel like we were one big family: a band of brothers in our scout troop.

A car drove by my house the other day. The driver had his window down as he smoked a cigar. The cigar’s aroma, which I have not smelled in years, drifted past my nose. I was immediately reminded of my mentor named Bud.

I knew a man named Ted. He was a straight-up, no nonsense military man who was my first scout master. Ted knew how to do everything in Scouting. He taught the boys how to build fires, use an axle, set up campsites, and lash poles together to make towers and latrines. He also molded boys into leaders and men who respected others and in turn were respected themselves.

Ted had the ability to engineer long rope bridges. With the help of his scouts, he would stretch the three-rope bridge 30 feet between two sets of “X” lashed upright standards and give visitors to Scouting Jamborees the opportunity to cross. Ted prided himself that he had never fallen off one of his bridges.

Many years later, I took a group of middle school boys up into the woods for a campout. I asked Ted to come along to teach the boys how to build a fire, use an axe, and cook over an open fire. He also brought his ropes for building a bridge. With the help of the boys, we ran the three ropes between two trees. There was one rope low to walk on, and two ropes three feet higher which were used as hand holds to balance you as you walked the length.

With great pride in his final rope bridge, Ted climbed up onto the span to demonstrate how to cross. 15 feet across, the ropes started to shake, Ted looked nervous. The whipping and swaying of the bridge became greater and greater until, for the first time in his life and in front of an audience, Ted rolled off the bridge and became wrapped up in the ropes.

I have tried on my own to recreate one of Ted’s rope bridges and I have yet to get it right. I can though, say to my grandsons that I was there on the day that the “Mighty Casey” finally struck out.

I knew a man named Ralph. He was my music mentor for over 20 years. Of all the musical directors I have played under, he is the one who left the biggest impact on my life. Not only did he keep me in high school by making me part of his band family, but he believed in me. He was a mentor and well-liked by hundreds of high school band members through the years. When we came back as adults to form the Bellingham High School Alumni Band, it was evident of the love and respect the 300 members had for their director as Ralph once again lifted his baton to bring the band to attention.

Like the fictitious Professor Harold Hill, who created a boy’s band and made believers out of the residents of River City, Iowa, Ralph made believers in the city of Bellingham.  He was our “Music Man.”

I knew a man named Jack. Jack was retired Special Forces. He was a man who carried many stories and secrets. When he and his family came to our church, he amazed me at how kind and gentle this man with his background was. He took up the leadership as commander of the youth AWANA program as well as being the go-to person for any electrical repairs in the church. Besides being a gentleman and a decorated war veteran, what I loved about Jack was that he believed in me as a man. Many times, he would patiently listen to my problems and because my father was gone, he would give me counsel from his experiences. Jack was a gentle giant and a tender warrior among men. Another man who was one of a kind.

I knew a man named Swede. He was my adopted grandfather who lived in the little house behind my childhood home. Swede was a widower who kept company with an assortment of rescue dogs. After his wife died, he never got over his loneliness and he turned to drink to make life livable.

I found great companionship with Swede. Since I had no living grandfather, he was mine.  His background included all aspects of life as a mountain man. I spent hours with him talking about deer, bear, and duck hunting. He showed me proper technique for salmon, trout, and hooligan fishing. He gave me guns and let me shoot his guns and he gave me his truck. In return, I drove him to buy his Canadian Mist “medicine.” Swede was a wealth of information and a friend for me at a time in my life when I was searching for direction. Many of my stories involve our misadventures together.

I knew a man called Paul. He was my dad. Up until the day he died, he tried very hard to be a good and fair father. No one is perfect, and no one is without faults, but dad did his best at taking his job as a husband and father seriously. Though he worked long hours, dad invested in his family and saw his kids through their school years. With my interest in aviation, he trained me to fly airplanes and helicopters and he gave me a job in his company. His support of my dreams and goals, his belief in the triune God and his sense of humor, helped make me who I am.

As I think about the men in my life who I admire and emulate, I remember that down through the years, young boys and girls have also been watching me. Will I be someone they have fond memories of?

My role models were mentors, guys who gave and took jokes, guys who believed in me and made time to show me that I was valuable and had worth. They were my friends.

Men like that in the world are unique. I want to be one of those men.

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