Really Hard Cases: A Personal Testimony

Volunteerism isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it is downright heartbreaking and hard as hell. I extend a special and hearty thanks to the volunteer leaders that do more than fill roles — many of you save lives. This is one such story.

I grew up in a blue-collar family in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My dad started working as a lineman for Wisconsin Electric when he learned he was having a son at the age of 19.

My upbringing was different from the world I live in now.

When I was in middle school my Dad told me the power company was going to launch a Boy Scout Troop. I am not sure what made me agree to participate in this program, maybe I didn’t have a choice. But, I remember him dropping me off at the interest meeting.

The person in charge, Cid Duncan, was also an employee of the power company. He was heavy-set, about 5'10", with curly brown and graying hair.

Cid served as the founding Scoutmaster of Troop 250 based out of the North Division location of Wisconsin Electric. Cid recruited his pal, Johnny Fields (no relation) to serve as an assistant scoutmaster.

Cid wasn’t a pole climber like my Dad; he was an Electrical Engineer. As a young person, I understood what my Dad did climbing poles and fixing things, but Cid filled a space that I didn’t even know existed —I had no concept of what an electrical engineer was.

I wonder if he ever knew how powerful it was for a kid like me to simply know that a guy like him existed.

There was no workforce development program that could replace the value of me having direct access to the way his mind worked, touching his professional drafting desk and seeing real blueprints — just like the ones I saw in the movies. Six years later I graduated from high school to (initially) pursue a degree in electrical engineering, largely because of the presence of Cid Duncan in my life.

Cid was a chain smoker. He was overweight but moved very quickly and was strong as an ox. He had to be. Our troop was different from other Boy Scout Troops. A few of us were connected to Cid and Johnny through the power company because of our fathers. However, 90% of the boys in the troop were neighborhood kids. 99% of them were without active fathers in their lives.

Some of them were already criminal justice system involved at age 15. After all, it was Milwaukee in the late 1980s — the blocks were hot.

Many of our troop members were older and bigger than me. Several of us were intimidated by these kids; which is precisely why my father encouraged me to be in the troop, among other reasons. He wanted to ensure his introverted and bookish son could swim in any water, literally and figuratively. It worked.

Cid spent every other Saturday with us for the better part of 8 years. Without fail, he was there packing us into his rusty 1980 model Suburban truck. He was always teaching us lessons. Making up his own mysteries called “Sherlock Nolmes” encouraging us to think. He would drop 15 hungry teenage boys off at McDonald’s and give us $10 dollars to feed everyone. He took us camping and led the customary “Midnight Hike” under the crisp, pitch-black Wisconsin night with no flashlight. We couldn’t even see our hands in front of us. A bunch of young tough guys turned inside out in fear of the specters Cid would describe at the campfires that preceded the hikes.

Of course, all this time, energy, and effort wasn’t just about us kids. There was something in it for him too. Cid and his wife Debra didn’t have children — so they proactively invested their parental energies into children that needed love and care.

Cid and Debra took care of special needs babies. Really hard cases. From time to time they would let boys from his troop visit his home in the suburbs and see the special space where they cared for these children. I recall approaching a quiet bedroom in their house with a tiny baby in a crib under a plastic medical tent; hooked up to beeping and whirring monitors that could turn life-threatening red at any moment. I recall at least two of these infants dying during the time I was active in the troop. Why would they knowingly adopt children that were more likely to die than they were to live?

Why would they invest time, money, and energy into a group of hard-headed boys knowing that most of us would end up in jail or dead? And, many of us ended up in really tough spots. Two of us committed suicide. Four of us went to jail for a very, very long time. One of us became transgender and was publicly and violently murdered — my first exposure to a hate crime. A handful of us made it through those years with an optimistic future, a deeper sense of civic duty and a profound understanding of personal sacrifice thanks to Cid Duncan.

At least one of us will never forget what it means to take on hard cases and love them hard.

Honestly,

Ed.

Post Script

The thing is, I was probably going to do well enough in life anyway. Despite my high school guidance counselor’s advice that I would do better in the electric trade than in college, I left town and was fortunate to have the choice to make decisions about how my life would turn out. And, here I am.

My experiences in Troop 250 have fortified my commitment to black boys in a way that is profoundly durable, instinctive, forceful, and more important than anything else, loving.

I believe that our children are hurting themselves and other people because they are not loved hard enough or appropriately enough.

Cid provided dozens of teenage boys with some of the most memorable times of their lives. He cared for them deeply when no other man did. I saw him cry for us. I was fortunate to have my father love me. Can you imagine having only one man (who is not your parent) to love you righteously during the most vulnerable period of your life?

My time in Troop 250 did three things for me:

1) Ignited my fraternal spirit.

2) Showed me what selfless service and volunteer leadership looked like up close and personal.

3) Taught me never to take for granted what even the smallest contribution of my time, talent, treasure, or testimony can do to change someone’s life.

I am incredibly thankful to my father, Cid Duncan, Wisconsin Electric, the Boy Scouts of America, and my boys from Troop 250 here and gone. My life has been littered with good works and purposeful service efforts, in large part, because of you.

I am a poet, essayist, and civic strategist based in Birmingham, Alabama. Get to know me better here. Subscribe to receive occasional notifications of my posts.