Elysha and I are dropping Charlie at Scout camp earlier this summer. I’m standing in the center of his campsite, watching some camp counselors try to organize the Scouts for their medical checks.
Scouts with medications in one line.
Scouts without medications in another.
The Scouts are half-listening, and the camp counselor’s instructions aren’t entirely clear or even audible, so the kids are milling about, trying to figure out what they should do.
Then I hear it.
A voice.
Loud, deep, gruff, and a little annoyed. The sound of authority. The voice of someone who understands how to move people quickly and efficiently.
The sound of Donald Pollock.
Donald Pollock was my Scoutmaster many years ago when I was a member of Troop 1 in Blackstone, Massachusetts.
This voice is also his voice:
Loud, deep, gruff, and always a little annoyed. A voice that struck fear in the hearts of younger Scouts. A voice often accompanied by a phrase like “Jesus Christ!” or “What is wrong with you?” or “Move, damn it!”
But it was also the sound of safety and security. A signal that someone competent and confident was now in charge. Even though you may rightly fear a leader like Mr. Pollock if you fail to meet his expectations, you need not fear anything else because someone you trust is now in charge.
As a boy, I loved that feeling. No matter where we were or what we were doing, I knew I’d always be fine if Mr. Pollock was in charge. Yes, he might kill me if I failed to do my job, but the world would never eat me alive as long as Donald Pollock was by my side.
Donald Pollock’s voice somehow seemed to simultaneously say that he didn’t like you very much but loved you beyond measure.
I spent my childhood trying to impress that man. Meet his every expectation. Earn his respect. Show gratitude for his love.
Mr. Pollock changed my life. He made me the man I am today.
Of course, the man at Charlie’s Scout camp was not Donald Pollock. Mr. Pollock sadly died in May 2020. But this man at Charlie’s camp was cut from the same cloth. Both served in the Navy—Mr. Pollock fought with distinction in Vietnam — so perhaps that experience contributed to their confidence and competence.
But upon the arrival of that voice, things immediately changed in Charlie’s camp. Two lines instantaneously formed, with six feet of space between the Scout speaking to the doctor and the line behind him to preserve privacy. The lines got straight and orderly in seconds because a leader emerged on the scene. Though his voice was loud and gruff and tinged with annoyance, everyone felt better because expectations were clear and unwavering, and someone who understood the burden of leadership and authority had taken charge.
As a parent dropping my son off for a week at camp, I instantly felt at ease. Charlie was in good hands.
His version of Donald Pollock had arrived.
All would be well.
