Donald Pollock’s ripples in my life

I spent Saturday at Yawgoog Scout Reservation, my favorite place on the planet, touring Elysha and the kids around for Alumni Day. I took them to all of my former campsites and many of my haunts. I sang them the camp songs. Told stories. Jogged some great memories of my own.

Yawgoog is a magical place for me, and remarkably, it has barely changed in more than 30 years. I still know the place like the back of my hand.

As I was walking around, I found myself hearing the voice of my former Scoutmaster, Donald Pollock, ringing in my ears. Mr. Pollock was an important person in my adolescent and teenage years. A tough, no-nonsense man who specialized in speaking without nuance, always providing honest feedback, and accepting nothing less than excellence, Mr. Pollock was a stable, male role model for me in a time when they were hard to find. He gave me my first opportunities in leadership, first as a patrol leader for what we eventually named The Gumby Patrol (a name he rightfully despised), then as Assistant Senior Patrol Leader and finally Senior Patrol Leader, the highest position of leadership that a Boy Scout could hold.

Those opportunities, and the confidence and skill that came while serving in those roles, changed my life.

Passing by the sports field, I told Elysha and the kids about the time Mr. Pollock strategized to help us win the camp’s storied tug-o-war tournament.

Each troop assembled a team of boys weighing no more than 1,000 pounds to pull on the rope. While the other troops put their biggest, strongest boys on the rope, Mr. Pollock used our weight allowance to put much smaller boys on our end, rationalizing that the leg power of dozen smaller boys could beat the upper body strength of six or seven much larger boys.

The other troops laughed when they saw our team.

But Mr. Pollock was right. We won.

Then we were immediately accused of cheating. Putting more weight on the rope than was permitted. Mr. Pollock insisted that the team be weighed at dinner that night in front of the whole camp to prevent any rumors of cheating from festering.

He demanded a full, public accounting.

When our weight was proven to be within the limit, the dining hall went wild.

That was Mr. Pollock. That and so much more.

In a time of my life when I often felt ignored and forgotten by most adults, Mr. Pollock set the bar consistently higher for me with his unwavering support, constant eye rolls, and grouchy demeanor. He was an adult who saw me when so many others did not.

Hearing his voice ring out through my mind as I passed by places swamped in memories, I decided to reach out to Mr. Pollock’s son, Danny, asking if he was attending Alumni Day, too. Wondering if he or his father might already be somewhere at camp.

Mr. Pollock was a fixture at many Yawgoog Alumni Days.

Standing across from Tim O’Neil Field, where I once stood at the head of our troop alongside Mr. Pollock, shouting our troop’s accolades during closing ceremonies, I received a text from Danny informing me that Mr. Pollock had passed away last year.

Just like that, in the span of a single text message, the world felt emptier, quieter, and somehow missing an important, foundational piece.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

The saddest thing for me is that I’m writing this now, long after Mr. Pollock has passed on. I’m not sure if I ever told him how important he was to me. How many of his lessons still resonate with me today. How many of them I still pass onto my own children and my students.

In many ways, Mr. Pollock’s no-nonsense, direct approach to communication and feedback is something I use today. I’m a little less grouchy than he was, and I’m not nearly as savvy, but when I’m speaking directly and honestly to students and my own kids, there is a little Mr. Pollock hiding between every word.

The ripples he has left in my life are still visible today. I only wish I had told him so years ago.

It’s a final lesson from Mr. Pollock for all of us:

If there is a Scoutmaster, a teacher, a band director, a neighbor, a principal, a coach, or some other adult from your past who made a difference in your life, find that person and tell them now before it’s too late. Express your gratitude. Offer your thanks. Most important, let that person know that their contributions to your life continue today.

I wish I could’ve told Mr. Pollock about how his voice still rings out in my mind from time to time, reminding me to do the right thing, work hard, shut up, be a role model, stop throwing rocks, stay in your damn bunk, move faster, stop wasting time, think first, tuck in your shirt, take a shower, don’t set the damn forest on fire, stop being stupid, and look for people who need help.

This will have to suffice, as small and insignificant as it may be.