Courage Takes Many Forms

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Now that the Super Bowl is behind us, young men across America turn their attention to that next great annual sporting event – Pinewood Derby. Anyone who’s had a Cub Scout in the family knows this annual competition in no way pales in comparison to the Super Bowl. 

The Derby pits boy against boy (and all too often dad against dad) in a competition to not only assemble and decorate a swift and “cool-looking” car, but also put their creation to the ultimate test – durability.

If you’re unfamiliar with Pinewood Derby, here’s a primer. The Scout receives a small box containing a block of wood, which is precut to accept the axles and plastic wheels, also included in the box. 

The rules are simple. Cut and shape the wood any way you want. Paint it any way you want. But, just like in boxing and wrestling, the car can’t exceed a very specific weight limit.

Then comes race day. The cars are lined up at the top of a track that looks much like a miniature roller coaster. The starting point is four or five feet off the ground. The cars are held motionless behind a barrier. Once the barrier is lifted gravity takes over and let the best car win.

I know. It sounds simple. But you wouldn’t believe the tension. Especially late in the day as the finals loom, and the wheels literally begin to fall off.

And that’s the point where my story begins.

It was my final Pinewood Derby as Cubmaster of Pack 25 at St. Edward School. There were more than 50 boys in the Pack. Our son, Sean, was one of the older boys who within a few short weeks would move up from the Pack 25 and become a member of Boy Scout Troop 1.

My job that day was to serve as Master of Ceremonies. Part of my charge from the guys in the pits was to come up with something "to kill about 10 minutes" right before the finals. This would give my fellow adult leaders, Murph, Steve, Potsy, Al, Ken, Chris, Andy, John and Dana time to double-check the standings and ensure all the right cars were ready for the finals. This was a great bunch of guys. They’d do anything for you. And more than anything, they truly cared about the boys.

I’d been Cubmaster for four years, and was famous for the entertaining routines I came up with for our monthly Pack meetings, so they trusted I’d come up with something appropriate. The only caveat was that I shouldn’t do anything too sentimental. As rough and tough as they were on the outside, to a man they were nothing but sentimental mush on the inside. And while they’d all agree that, yes, real men do cry – they hated crying in public.

It was time. The track ran almost the full length of the gym. The bleachers were packed. We had a standing-room-only crowd as I took up my position in front of the track at the half-court line, facing the bleachers. Like the Scouts and adult leaders, I was decked out in my Class-A dress uniform, complete with a special plastic bear-claw necklace I’d made just for the occasion.

I’d spent a lot of time thinking about my assignment. For the best part of the week I couldn’t make up my mind. Then while dropping off my kids at school I saw Kevin (not his real name) walking into school.

Kevin was one of the smallest Scouts in the pack. He was a real cute kid who had one of those great smiles and infectious personalities that drew him to people. Kevin was also very ill. He had a condition that forced him to miss a lot of school and undergo all sorts of painful therapy. But Kevin was a trooper. He always had a smile on his face. And he loved Scouting. Whenever he was able to attend the Pack meetings he’d run up full of excitement and ask me what we had planned.

He was a great kid, and deserved to be recognized. I had a plan.

The crowd became quiet. I called Kevin to come up and stand beside me. I explained that he was going to help me tell a story. It was an ancient story that was passed down over the centuries from Indian chief to Indian chief and then from Cubmaster to Cubmaster. 

The story was about an Indian village tucked away high in the Rocky Mountains. The village had come under attack several times by a neighboring tribe. As an early warning system, signal fires were set up on five peaks surrounding the village. If a fire went out, the villagers would see it and have time to evacuate.

One day the chief had a problem. Most of the adult men were gone on a hunting party and wouldn’t return for several days. He had enough braves to cover four of the peaks, but not the fifth.  

He only had one option. He called together the four oldest boys in camp and gave them strict instructions.

“You will travel to the fifth peak,” he commanded, his deep gravelly voice echoing across the camp. “Once there you’ll light the signal fire and keep it lit throughout the night, no matter what. Your families are depending on you.”

The four boys promised their chief they’d be brave and that they’d stick together, no matter what. One of the boys was smaller than the rest. As they marched up the trail to the peak the three bigger boys poked fun at him. They told him he’d be the first one to become frightened and run home.

They arrived at the peak just before sunset. They built a fire and settled in for the night. Soon darkness overtook their camp. They couldn’t see much past the fire. It was like a black curtain had been shut all around them.

Then the noises started in the trees nearby. Animal noises. Was it a bear? Was it wolves? They didn’t know, but they knew it was close. And it scared them. Then came a howl from the trees. The four boys jumped as one. They screamed. One of the bigger boys began to cry. He grabbed his bag and ran down the trail toward the village. He was going home. The small boy stared at the trail. He wanted to go home more than anything, but he had promised his chief he would stay, no matter what.

The animal noises stopped. But an hour later they were replaced by the wind. It felt like a storm was brewing to the west. The boys put more wood on the fire. It seemed like the wind was trying to do everything it could to douse the flames. It grew and grew and grew until the trees began to sway back and forth. Limbs started to drop – bang, bang as they hit the ground. As the last tree limb crashed to ground another boy grabbed his bag and ran for the village. The little boy was left with only one companion.

The two boys stared at each other, each wondering if he had the courage to stick it out. Each hoping against hope that the wind would die down. It was beginning to thunder in the distance.

The rain started then. Not hard, but steady. It’s one thing to be scared in the dark, but it’s much worse to be scared, in the dark, wet and cold. The boys took turns going to the trees to get more dry wood for the fire.

Then it happened. A bolt of lighting struck a tree not 20 yards from the camp. The bigger boy screamed and and ran. The little boy was left alone holding an armload of firewood. The fire was starting to die. The wind was howling. The rain kept coming. The animal noises began again. His upper lip began to quiver. He’d never been so afraid. He’d never felt so alone.

Then he remembered why he was there. The chief had given him a job. His village was depending on him. He carried the wood to the fire. He knew what he had to do.

Just before daybreak the chief stood in the middle of the village. He looked from peak to peak counting the signal fires. He thought he had heard the boys from peak number five come home during the storm, but he counted five fires. He smiled with pride. The boys had stayed at their post.

The village gathered for breakfast. The chief began to tell his people about what he saw that morning. He told them how proud he was of the young boys who stood up to the task and showed bravery. But as he looked into the faces of his people he realized three of the faces in camp shouldn’t have been there. Instead of being on the mountain, they were in his camp. They were warm and dry. He was sad.

The fourth boy now emerged from the trail and walked into camp. He was tired, wet and cold, but he held his head high. The chief called him to the center of the village. He listened closely as the little boy described the animal noises, and the wind, and the rain and the terrible lightning. 

The chief knew he must have been very afraid. But the boy simply said he was more afraid that he would let down the village if the fire went out. He knew keeping that fire going was the most important thing.

Then the chief stood next to the boy and said these famous words.

“Courage takes many forms. A person’s size doesn’t matter. What’s in your heart is what matters. It takes courage to battle an enemy face-to-face. That enemy you can see. You know what’s coming.

“But it takes a special kind of courage – the heart of the bear – to face an enemy you cannot see.”

With that the chief removed the bear-claw necklace from his neck and placed it over the head the little boy and said, “Today you proved you have the heart of the bear. Your village is proud of you.”

That’s when I removed my bear-claw necklace. I told the crowd how even though Kevin had to be gone a lot, he attended every Pack meeting he could. And more importantly, when he was there, he was enthusiastic and helped other boys with their projects. In short, he was a good Scout and someday would be a great leader. 

With that, I turned to Kevin. I placed the necklace around his neck, and said, “Take this bear-claw necklace and wear it proudly, for you have earned it, young Scout. You have shown your Pack and your village that you have the courage to stand and face the enemy you cannot see.”

I didn’t realize until that moment that the gym had gone completely quiet. Not a single parent moved. Then Kevin turned to the crowd and hit them with his patented 1,000-watt smile. The place went nuts. People were on their feet clapping. All for Kevin. The little boy with the heart of the bear.

I turned around and found the pit crew frozen in place, tears streaming down their faces. I’d held it together until then. Now it was my turn to tear up.

As I made my way back to the scorer’s table the guys shook my hand. Murph spoke for the group when he said as he wiped his eyes and smiled, “That was really great. And by the way, don’t ever do that again!”

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Advice For The Groom-To-Be ...or ...How To Survive Engagement

(To listen to this story, click on the photo above.)

The other day a young guy I know confided in me that while he’s excited about getting married, he’s been locking horns with his fiancé and her mother about wedding plans. I told him to pull up a chair and listen closely to some of the best advice I’ve ever received. Advice I’ve shared countless times. And countless times I’ve been thanked for sharing this wisdom.

It was a Monday morning in 1990 and I was the new guy in my office. I was feeling a little down, and my buddy Rich noticed. Rich was a great big bear of a guy. He lived large. He did everything big, fast and loud. He owned a Corvette and drove it like it was a cheap rental. He smoked like it was his job. And he never missed the weekly rack o’ribs special at Rib Haven. In short, he was the guy who could just as easily lead you astray as he could point you in the right direction. The perfect mentor.

I took a seat in his office and explained how I’d just spent the weekend at Penny’s parents’ house and that I unexpectedly had stirred up a hornet’s nest with my future wife and future mother in law.

My story was simple. I was innocently walking through the kitchen – otherwise known as “wedding-planning central.” I had almost cleared the door when Penny asked me about the wording on wedding invitations. I read the draft. All was good until I suggested including a line at the bottom about “no gifts necessary.”

Rich shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut real tight, then let out a big sigh and asked, “Let me guess, all hell broke loose?”

The simple answer was, “Yes.” At the time I wasn’t really sure I was going to make it out of the kitchen alive. Apparently there’s an unwritten code in the Female Book of Rules that’s a corollary to the Golden Rule. It goes something like, “I gave every one of my relatives’ and friends’ kids a wedding present, and they’re by-God going to do the same thing for my kid.” I think it’s called the “Universal Rule of Good Taste and Sensibility,” or the “Payback Rule” for short.

Rich took a deep breath before speaking. “O.K. Simple rookie mistake. You’re not dead, just beat up a little.”

He then proceeded to share with me the advice he’d received more than two decades earlier when he was engaged and made a similar blunder.

“Here’s the deal, kid,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “You love her and she loves you. That’s the bottom line and you need to stay focused on that.

“Now, regarding wedding planning. Wedding planning can be like a spring meadow filled with flowers, or it can be a minefield waiting to remove a limb with every step you take. The choice is yours.”

I told him I’d rather go for option A.

“Good choice,” he said. “So here’s a little secret that nobody tells us guys. When you pop the question, it’s like you’ve knocked over the first domino, or lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite. You’ve set events in motion and you’re not in control. And forget about sharing responsibilities. You’ll have plenty of time for sharing down the road. This is about survival.”

“To survive wedding planning you’ve got to be smart and nimble. It’s a big chess game and there’s only one winning strategy. Play dumb.”

I stared at him. A dumfounded look on my face.

“Good. You’re catching on,” he said. He continued in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, “You see, women feel compelled to ask your opinion. But the truth is, they neither want nor care about your opinion – even though they ask for it.

“Weddings are a caldron of hundreds of details. And if you think about it, you’ll realize you really don’t care about most of them. What you need to do is find that one – or maybe two – things you really care about. Something truly meaningful.  Find that one – or maybe two things – and stick to your guns. The rest? You didn’t even hear the question.

“So go back to the kitchen scenario. You’re walking through. They ask a question about something that isn’t one of your “two things.” What do you do? You just keep walking. The good ones don’t even break stride. But that takes practice,” he said, beaming with pride.

“She asked the question – check. That item wasn’t on your short list – check. You kept walking – check.  She fulfilled her need to ask your opinion – check.  Everybody wins!”

I sat there. Stunned. It was so straight-forward, so elegant in its simplicity. Such wisdom. I felt like Buddha himself had just imparted the secret to happiness.

Two weeks later history repeated itself – except this time I followed Rich’s sage advice. I’m pleased to report that it worked! And after almost 25 years of marriage I can safely say I’ve done well when I remembered Rich’s advice.

It’s not just sage advice for surviving wedding planning. It’s good advice to follow each and every day of married life. I’ve found that when I focus on what’s really important, the little things take care of themselves. 

Thanks Rich, wherever you are.

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Penny & James O'Connor, June 9, 1990

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What advice do you have for the engaged? Please share your thoughts.