Characters In My Play: John J. Tomlin

In the 1960s in the North Lewisburg area  the biggest, most-accessible activity for young boys was Little League baseball.  Practically every boy in the surrounding area  participated as a member of one of the many different teams. 

Another outlet for youthful enthusiasm and energy was Boy Scout Troop 87.  Boys aged 12 through 18 who had an interest in camping, hiking, and all of the adventures those activities presented to them signed up as scouts.  Adult supervisors were John J. Tomlin, Gene Fisher, Merrill Hollingsworth, and...later...Dick Carey.  These leaders gave the boys ample opportunity to plan the troop's many activities.  Overnight camping trips, weekend retreats to some secluded campsite, cross-country hikes from one point in the county to another, one-day jaunts along some historic trail way, week-long summer encampments, swimming events at an area pool or lake...these were all part of the adventures which awaited those boys who were willing to memorize the Scout motto, the Scout slogan, the Scout oath, and the requirements and milestones which came with advancing in rank from Tenderfoot to Eagle Scout.

The troop was in operation and full-swing in outdoor adventures long before I was aware of it.  Lots of other boys had taken advantage of the many opportunities afforded them as scouts.  I knew all of them...some were older, some were younger than myself.  I was actively  involved in Little League (although one of the worst players to ever don a uniform), 4-H (as a qualified breeder of award-winning pigs), and had a daily newspaper route.  I also had a long list of customers who made use of my experience and hard work while caring for their lawns during the summer months.

The scout troop had a special-interest group made up of boys who were interested in the history of the area's Shawnee Indians, to include dancing.  The group was known as the  "Shawnee Warriors."  Each of the boys created his own costume, based upon historically accurate garments worn by the Shawnees of days gone by.  The chief of the local group was a guy named Robert Stokes.   He was a ranking member of the troop, and had mastered the intricate, fluid movements and dance steps associated with the Shawnees.  His costume was exceptional, and added to the overall atmosphere as he pranced, dipped, and gyrated around the traditional campfire.  I had the privilege of watching him perform before I ever became a scout.

Robert was a neighbor who lived just a short distance from me across East Street.  One Sunday morning, (August 14, 1960) he was talking about the local scout troop, and about how much he was enjoying the many camping and hiking activities.  He also talked about the Indian dances, and how he truly enjoyed the history of the Shawnee Nation.  His enthusiasm boiled over, so I asked him what I had to do to join the scouts.  He encouraged me to talk with the troop's Scoutmaster, John J. Tomlin.  I knew John from having seen him around town on different occasions.  I knew that he was Navy veteran of World War II, and I knew where he lived.

My parents were away from town that weekend, so I purchased my Sunday lunch at the local restaurant, the 559 Coffee Shop.  I then walked the few blocks to John's house, knocked on the door, and told him I was interested in becoming a scout.  He talked with me for a few minutes, gave me some materials (along with an application) to read and study, and then made an appointment with me to visit him once again the following Wednesday, August 17th.

During the next few days, I diligently studied the information John had given to me.  By the time of our appointment on Wednesday, I had memorized all of the things which he had spoken about...the motto, the slogan, the oath, and other things.  He asked me questions, and I rattled off the answers, eager to please him.  After just a short time, he offered his hand and his congratulations.  "You're now a Tenderfoot," he said.  He also told me that the troop was going camping that very next weekend in a wooded area in Logan County, and invited me to go along.

Consequently, I found myself that next Friday evening trailing along a hillside overlooking a flat field as John and the ranking boys in the troop looked for an appropriate campsite.  They chose wisely, and soon the tents were pitched and a campfire was roaring, billowing white smoke into the air.  I savored the aroma of the woodsmoke, the cackle of the gases as the flames licked at the wood.  Later, after food was cooked and enjoyed, I gathered with the others around the campfire and listened in awe as John recounted a tale of the Shawnees who had once roamed this very land.  It was magical!

As years passed, I had the opportunity to see John  in action as he led by example.  He was always willing and eager to help the scouts plan their various forays into the woods and hills which surrounded our community.  He was there to tell a tall tale or scary story as the scouts gathered around the traditional campfire.  He was there to lend a hand as the scouts crossed back and forth across Spain Creek, or as they hosted the annual Horse Show ( a fund-raising event) at the town's park.  John was there when the troop traveled to the area of Ash Cave in south-central Ohio to hold a sunrise service under one of the rock outcroppings.  He was there on that same occasion to point out to the non-observant boys a copperhead snake which lay basking in the morning sun.  John was there when the boys in the troop decided to hike with full backpacks cross-county from North Lewisburg to Kiser Lake...and he joined us in that test of physical stamina and endurance as the task was completed.  John led us from Springfield to Urbana along the old Simon Kenton Trail, stopping us periodically to point out yet another historic site on our journey.  John J. Tomlin was there when each boy was awarded patches or merit badges for successfully completing yet another prerequisite while "trailing the Eagle."  He epitomized "The Scoutmaster" as depicted in Norman Rockwell's famous painting of that name.

John J. Tomlin was honored in August 2009 with a surprise reception in his honor when he returned from his home, now in Kansas, to his old hometown of North Lewisburg.  A small crowd gathered in the town's municipal building to cheer him for his efforts over so many years of dedicated service to the youth of the community.  Old guys, like myself, who had been members of Troop 87 in the 1960s were joined by the 21st century rendition of troop members and leaders.

It was a special day for my old Scoutmaster, my mentor, and my friend.  It had been a long time in coming, and was richly deserved. 

Thanks, John, for your dedication, your exemplary leadership, and your untiring efforts in behalf of youth. Thanks for the many outdoor adventures, and the life-enhancing skills which you taught.   You've justly earned your inclusion as one of the "characters in my play."

In Memory of John J. Tomlin

March 15, 1924 - October 20, 2011



Small Town "Decoration Day"

There was a time when we were more patriotic in this country.  Patriotism was an accepted, "normal" emotion.  In those days of the 1950s-1960s we knew real life examples of "patriots;" they had just returned home from World War II and Korea.  They walked the streets of our small town, owned or worked in the local businesses, and had sons and daughters who went to school with us. They served as Cub Scout den mothers, or scout troop leaders, or Little League baseball coaches.  They marched in parades on Memorial Day and Veterans Day, many still wearing the old uniforms they had once worn in service, surplus Springfield or M-1 rifles on their shoulders, flags centered as they stepped down Maple Street.   We had teachers in the school who helped instill in us a sense of who we were as Americans, and what it meant to be patriotic.  We started each day with a pledge to the flag and "...to the republic for which it stands." and opened each baseball or softball game at the local park with the loudspeakers blaring out "The Star-Spangled Banner."  And we faithfully observed "Decoration Day."

Memorial Day...or "Decoration Day" as it was known to most of us...was the unofficial start of summer activities.  The school year had generally ended, so the boys and girls of our community looked forward to three months of "freedom" from classroom routines and occasional boredom.  The weather was comfortable enough to hold family picnics, to visit the Ohio Caverns, to simply get out of the house and enjoy the great outdoors.

"Decoration Day" was the time to put colorful red, white, and blue crepe bunting on bicycles and motor scooters.  It was the time to get out and wear patriotic shirts, pants, and skirts to add to the overall patriotic theme of the day.  It was the time for the old veterans to don their uniforms...or at least their old uniform garrison cap if the other clothes no longer fit...to right-shoulder arms the old weapon drawn from the American Legion armory and to react to the military commands which were so ingrained in their memories.  It was time for the Triad High School Marching Band to off load their yellow school bus or their family cars and to take up their parade positions near Dr. Polsley's home and office.  It was time for the Cub Scouts in their blue hats, shirts, and pants, and bright yellow neckerchiefs to fall in behind their Den Mothers, with two of them offered the privilege of carrying the Pack or National flag.  They were joined by the Boy Scouts, in brown uniforms complete with merit badge sashes, with a similar color guard proudly displaying the Troop and National flag.  There were bicycles of every size, brand, and description, festooned with red, white and blue.  Some pulled bright red wagons, similarly displayed, with a younger brother or sister holding the seat of honor.  Even the family pets...dogs and cats... were decorated in the familiar red, white and blue theme.  Scattered among the participants were one, two, or more men or women who had saddled up their faithful horses to take part in the morning's activities.  The local volunteer fire department rolled out the old fire trucks, lights flashing and sirens occasionally blaring, to add to the parade.  And there was a special car in which older war veterans were driven...those who had seen many such parades in the past and who were now the last of their kind.

At 10 A.M. the order was given to move out, and the make-shift parade began to wind its way from the old Knights of Pythias lodge toward the west.  The band belted out the traditional marching music, the veterans in the nearby formation attempting to keep pace with the beat.   Left, right, left, right, left, right as their boots met the pavement.  A right turn was made at the corner where Clyde Arbuckle's home once stood, as the parade snaked its way along the highway.  There was another right turn on to Maple Street, passing by the home of Burleigh and Helen Woodruff, and then past the Freshwater Funeral Home.  As the procession made its way to the intersection of Maple and Sycamore Streets, the sidewalks were lined with the town folk who had come out to pay their respects.  As the National flag passed by, they came to attention, hands formed in salute, or holding hats and caps over their hearts.  And then they broke into applause. 

The parade passed by the drug store, the Bank of North Lewisburg, Arbuckle's store, the post office, Junior James tavern, Goldie Millice's store, Spike's Barber Shop, Griff's Grill, Don Smith's restaurant, Swisher's Market, B. E. Willis' insurance office, and then made another right turn at the Cities Service gas station before continuing south one more block to make the final right turn.  Soon the procession was back where it had started.  It quickly disintegrated then as veterans, old folks, bandsmen, kids and pets broke formation to scurry away in other directions.  Many loaded into cars or other vehicles to make the short drive to Maple Grove Cemetery for traditional "Decoration Day" observances there.  Others returned to family or friends to spend the rest of their holiday.

At the cemetery, crowds gathered near the old cinder-block church (now a maintenance building) to enjoy a few musical numbers by the Triad High School band.  Some boy or girl, previously selected to do so, would then recite from memory Lincoln's "Gettysburg Address."  There would be a prayer, and some appropriate Memorial Day remarks by someone chosen specifically for that honor.  An honor guard would march to the grave site of the veteran who was to be singled out for military honors.  The commands would be given, the rifle salute would be rendered, and a lone bugler would sound the hauntingly moving "Taps" in final tribute.  The ceremonies ended, the crowd would disperse, many people wandering the grassy hills of the cemetery to visit the graves of family and friends.  Everywhere, the grave sites were adorned with freshly-cut flowers, or flowering potted plans, or other symbols of love and loss.

Today, it's not always "politically correct" to show patriotism.  Love of country, national pride, and respect for our war dead and veterans has become somewhat uncomfortable.  Many small towns and large cities in this great land will not pay the respect and render the honors which these patriots so richly deserve on Memorial Day later this month.

Fortunately, there are places like North Lewisburg, and Woodstock, in which people will take the time to organize, take the time to carry on those old traditions, and take the time to honor their dead.  The parades will march down the old, historic streets which are lined with caring townsfolk.  There will be a scattering of applause, backs will straighten, hands will cross hearts, and eyes will glisten with tears as the veterans and their flags march by.  And later they will gather on the outskirts of town, at that quiet, peaceful cemetery which sits along Spain Creek.  And they will remember.  Those are my kind of people, and I salute them.