Fred DIckson: A Eulogy

I'm not a particularly eloquent eulogizer, but I feel ought to try on behalf the late Fred Dickson. I have not spent as many years as Fred as an Assistant Scoutmaster, but I can identify with his comfort in being a second banana to his Scouting partner and friend, Joe Ehrman, whose Distinguished Eagle Scout Award ceremony I attended last night at the Marines Memorial Club. Despite the aggression of contemporary society, not everybody feels the need to be dominant, and the position of executive officer to the commander or good cop to the bad cop is an important balance.

I remember talking to Fred many times in the old Troop Room, before the earthquake retrofit and the room's reestablishment in the diagonally opposite corner. When you entered the spacious Troop Room, there was counter on the left and behind it was Fred, always friendly and helpful - that counter was a less intimidating barrier than the physically less substantial one in front of you behind which loomed Joe's desk. Fred always had a piece of candy and friendly advice for any Scout who needed it, and was especially helpful in the transition from six to eight patrols which occurred the year I switched from the Flying Eagles to the Falcons.
Many problems, both disciplinarian and organizational, were resolved before they reached the Scoutmaster's desk thanks to Fred.

On the outings and at camp, Fred was friendly and helpful, qualities which do not solely apply to the Scouts of the troop. He was a major promoters of the annual horseshoe competition, a Royaneh tradition which has fallen into abeyance since his departure from camp; I remember the loud clanking of the horseshoes in the chapel, and the trepidation in crossing the field of competition - sure, the participants had stopped, but how much would you trust the twitchy arm of your fellow seventh-grader? Another area in which Fred's participation was greatly appreciated was the campfire program, and especially his promotion of the traditional songs of the troop. Then there was Kady-language, the troop's own Pig Latin: there was much discussion of it last night, and I must confess that it hasn't been heard around the troop campfires in quite a while. Many remembered how to use Kady-language, but nobody remembered all the lyrics to the song from which it was derived. In honor of Fred, I would like to recover the tune and the words for posterity.

One of the coolest things, especially to a boy, about Fred was his military experience as a World War II fighter pilot. An organization such as the troop places a great emphasis on tradition and history, and Fred's personal description of World War II provided a link to an earlier era which was becoming remote even by my days in the troop.

I shall always be thankful for Fred's generosity and good spirits, his ability to tie together generations of troop members, and his example of how to support the troop without being an A-type personality.