Right Place, Right Time

After a disastrous evening, full of painful walking through the dark of an unfamiliar town, in which so far the only bright light had been a pleasant surprise encounter with Grayson, I made it back to the San Leandro BART station. A man approached me from an angle I could not see well, and addressed me. I responded with the prudent reaction when a stranger approaches on BART - cautious hostility - but when I saw him, I realized that he was a Kaiser employee. He had recognized my Scout uniform. He wanted to know if the council office was still there, and if so, when it was open. I sympathized; it is nearly impossible to tell when the council office is open from an occasional glance from the street. Some buildings look open in all circumstance; others appear closed when they are not. He had been s Scout in Troops 313 and 247, an Arrowman, and a camper at Royaneh, but had lost his insignia in a house fire. I encouraged him to talk to the council about replacements, at least for 247 and Order of the Arrow insignia, and to see if any of his old friends were in the Royaneh volunteer corps.

If my evening had not gone sideways, I would not have been there; but if I had not been there, I would not have been able to help a man who truly valued his Scouting experience. I cannot prove it, of course, but I am inclined to believe the Great Master of All Scouts wanted me there at that time.