In June 2016 the Boy Scouts awarded Randy Troutwine, my Dad, the Silver Beaver. This award which recognizes those "of exceptional character who have provided distinguished service within a council." I was honored to introduce Dad before those assembled, of which speech follows.

My father is not a man who shirks work. I can recall only a few instances of him resting. In the first, he is sitting in the adult cabin of a warm day at Camp Lewallen, reading western novels while we boys earn our badges. He brought several such novels and sat there in that shaded cabin working through them. I cannot recall him reading for pleasure otherwise. In the second, Dad sits at the head of the canoe while I keep us steady, heading for the dock. Our troop had just finished a week in the backwoods, portaging and canoeing. Dock in sight, Dad and I paddled, encouraging each other to pull harder, so that we might glide in. There in my memory is Dad, paddle across his lap, content with the world.

Dad earned his living as an agent with the Missouri Department of Conservation. What I recall most is the steady work he and his office put in to restore the land. I grew up along the Mississippi river where the sandy top soil is fertile but prone to flooding and erosion. Forests, cleared of trees, became farmland which, flooded, became nothing and so reverted to the State. My father worked this nothing land, laying in seedlings. The river would flood, the forest-that-could-be swept away, and the next season he'd be back to try again. Sometimes the river relented and the seedlings stuck. If you compare satellite images, you can see the gradual march of forest on the land.

Parallel to this, Dad has been Scout Master for Troop 323 of Charleston, Missouri. The troop is small because Charleston is small. The town sits near Interstate 70, Eisenhower’s road, which has been a mixed blessing to many rural areas in the Midwest. The interstate brings a vital connection to the outside world but draws away more youth than not. Some have been drawn toward better lives than they might have had. Others have found worse lives, swept away like so many seedlings. Dad was my Scout Master, my friend’s, my nephew’s, long enough now to have tended to a generation of men. Sometimes the Interstate relented and the seedlings stuck. We are ministers, engineers, business men, quiet family men living honest lives, men of virtue. If you had but eyes to see, you would see the gradual march of the generation that my father has worked.

My father leads a good life, modest and with as much self-sufficiency as can be managed. He does not begrudge work for those who are able, nor charity for those unable. He worked to heal the land with no expectation of seeing the project done and guided a generation of boys into manhood. You’ll find my father’s name emblazoned on no building. You will not find his portrait in Jefferson City but we, each of us, live in a world made better for his quiet service. My father seeks no glory, no honor. The work is there and needs doing and so Randy Troutwine does it. My father is a true American, an example for us of what makes this nation great.

Today we recognize this and we honor you.

God bless you. I am proud to be your son.