That lesson started at the very beginning of my Scouting career. My first camping trip at was Camp Shenandoah in Augusta County, Va. Camping right next to my troop was Troop 56. The Troop 56 scoutmaster was a man named Leroy Richardson; because of his diminutive size, he was known as Mr. Tiny. Mr. Tiny had a small troop, maybe 10 boys; some were African American, some white. All were from the wrong side of the tracks.
At the end of the Camporee, our scoutmaster announced that, before we headed back to Lexington, we were going to eat lunch with Troop 56. We didn’t know what to expect; this was a new experience. But we trusted our adult leadership.
Members of our troop considered ourselves pretty good cooks, but that day we got a lesson in camp cooking. Mr. Tiny was the director who orchestrated the whole operation. That meal rivaled anything I could have gotten at any restaurant in the world: fresh bass caught from the lake, pan-fried chicken, potatoes, green beans, corn bread and, the best of it all, peach cobbler. We all helped in cooking the meal, and we all learned that those who were from the wrong side of the tracks were good cooks — and good Scouts, too.
The year was 1964. Our schools had not integrated, but we had been given a lesson in tolerance that helped me understand that regardless of color, class or station in life, we are all human.
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