Mr. Russell: An Eagle Scout's tribute to a role model

By Scott Cox

It seems to me that many of us have people outside of family who end up influencing our lives greatly. Some are coaches, teachers, pastors or employers. Some don't have titles at all. For me, it was my Scoutmaster, Mr. Russell.

Mr. Russell passed away recently. I heard the news as I was preparing to leave Mom and Dad's in Cape Girardeau to head back to Columbia, Mo. That gave me almost four hours to reflect on him and how he affected my family. He was a friend of the family, fellow member of our church, an attorney for Mom and Dad and, later, a neighbor.

He was a bit of a mythical figure to me as a boy. My brothers had both been Boy Scouts in Troop 10. I would go to the ceremonies to watch my brothers get their promotions to the next level. Although I saw Mr. Russell all the time at church, this was always a little different. He would have his full Scouting uniform on, full of beads, badges, medals and patches. He looked like a war hero.

On occasion, when Dad would go with the boys on an outing, I would get to go too. I remember a trip to the Civil War battleground at Shiloh, Tenn. I wasn't part of the troop yet, but Mr. Russell acknowledged that I finished the 12 miles on my own. At the next ceremony when the boys got a bead for participating in the trip, I got one, too.

Mr. Russell was one of those guys who seemed cool to us, but there was no explanation. I mean, he was old, he didn't talk cool or wear cool clothes. But there was something about him that drew us to him and made us listen.

At some point we started referring to him as "J.J." Although it was never meant as a show of disrespect, we would never had called him that to his face -- until one day when we headed for the mess hall at Camp Lewallen.

We were lined up at the edge of our campsite ready to march to one of our meals. At some point during the week, we had started referring to ourselves as "J.J.'s Troop 10," but never within earshot of Mr. Russell. As we headed down the trail, we heard some other troop, probably Troop 65 from Piedmont, Mo. We always picked on it because when there was a UFO sighting in the area it was in Piedmont. The other troop was chanting as it marches. It was like the guys being led by Bill Murray in "Meatballs," just not as cool.

It was then that someone in line -- I'll never be sure who, but my money would be on John Parsons -- started chanting, "J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah. J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah." My first reaction was, "I can't believe someone said 'J.J.' in front of him." then one by one we all joined the chant: "J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah. J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah." At this point it was still more hesitant than anything. We looked at Mr. Russell, wondering if we had crossed the line. Would he take offense at being reduced to "J.J."? He was a reserved, modest and selfless man who would never encourage such a display.

You had to be paying attention to see it: an almost unintelligible shift in the corners of his mouth and an unmistakable twinkle behind his black glasses. It was a look of pride. He had received it as we had meant it: as a tribute.

From then on, anywhere we went it was always loud and proud: "J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah. J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah."

Of all the things that I call myself these days, nothing makes me prouder than "I'm an Eagle Scout." We should say many thanks to Mrs. Russell who shared her husband and his time with us.

My favorite wall at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital in Memphis has a bunch of cartoons on it. They are from artists around the country and depict Danny Thomas going to heaven. They were sent to the family after the hospital's founder passed away. In some form or fashion, they show St. Peter opening the gates and shouting inside to "make room for Daddy," referring to his popular TV show from the 1950s and 1960s.

I can't draw, but I picture a cartoon of Mr. Russell approaching the Pearly Gates in his hiking boots, knee-high green socks, official Boy Scout shorts and belt, wearing a Philmont T-shirt, carrying that cool walking stick he had.

As the gates swing open, there are angels lining the road wearing Boy Scout uniforms.

As he walks down the road they all chant, "J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah. J.J.'s Troop 10, ooh-aah."

Scott Cox, formerly of Cape Girardeau, resides in Columbia, Mo.