Hello Troop 80. My name if Frank Jones. I was, at one time long ago, a proud member of Troop 80. However, when I was still in my early teens, my family moved away to a small town where scouting was, and still may be, non existent. I cannot remember the name of the patrol that I belonged to, but I remember the faces and names of those I shared time with. I also remember the names of some of the men in Troop 80 to whom I owe a great debt of gratitude. If it were not for several of those men I would not be here today. On a crispy and cold morning at wilderness camp in Midnight Canyon, July of 1976, as I was trying to keep warm and waiting for breakfast to be served; I stood at the fires behind the mess tent, talking to my fellow scouts. On the fires were several galvanized steel washtubs used for boiling water. I am not sure if I tripped, or exactly how it happened, but I fell backwards into a washtub full of boiling water. My immediate thoughts when hitting that water was of pain and the need to extricate myself quickly. My scout training took over and I immediately started stripping the clothes from my body. I tried in vain to get my scout belt undone but my hand was badly burned. The skin on my hand was falling off and causing my fingers to slip. I am unsure of the Scout Leaders name that initially came to my rescue, but the name Weldon Sides comes to mind. The Scout Leader cut my belt loose and helped my to get the burning hot trousers off. He then picked me up and carried me to the creek just a few feet away, placed me in the cold creek water and helped to slow the burning process. I was then bundled into Jack Bryant’s sleeping bag and put in the back of Tommy Roller’s Jeep Wagoneer for transport to the nearest medical help in Questa, NM. I remember the ride to Questa quite clearly. I had an epiphany, or spiritual awakening, during that trip. I could see the trees and other fawna as we raced down the mountain. I remember a voice telling me that I was not going to die, and that it was not my time to go. The voice was not one of the Scout Leaders’ voices. I soon realized that it was the still, quiet voice of the Lord. After that, everything seemed brighter and the pain diminished. I discovered later on that as I was on my way to medical help, the boys and men of Troop 80 took the time to pray for me. The power of prayer played a big part in my recovery. Upon reaching Questa, I was taken by ambulence to a hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The doctors were amazed that I had survived. They literally said that it was a miracle that I had not gone into shock. I had burns over a large part of my body, from mid thigh up to my belly button,  all of my left arm and hand, and a part of my right hand. I spent a couple of weeks in Albuquerque and was then transferred to St. Anthony’s Hospital in Amarillo where I spent several more weeks. I took a long time for my wounds to heal but eventually they did. Time has a way of making memories hazy and sometimes distorted. However, some of the names may be hazy, but  that day and the actions of the Scout Leaders of Troop 80 will always be clear in my mind. Not too long ago, I became once again involved in scouting and I am now the proud father of a Boy Scout, but also the Assistant Scout Master of Troop 55, San Saba, Texas. I have a lot of really great memories of Troop 80; the stories of Fred Poppe, the campfires, the singing, etc. But it is the brotherhood that I remember the most and missed for many years as I was growing up. I am still using what I learned then to live life today, as a Scout. Thank you Troop 80. May God always bless you all!!!!

Frank Jones