There’s a room with eight or ten boys making phone calls. They are taking turns, three at a time, sitting at a desk with a headpiece pulled over their floppy hair. Microphone adjusted in front of their lips. Foam padded little speaker over one ear. They look like TV actors talking to old people about the benefits of a reverse mortgage.

Young boys are nervous about phone conversations with adults. I know this. I hated it when I was a kid. If I wanted to know something that involved getting an answer from one of Dad’s friends, he would make me make the phone call. I was shy. Nervous. Could hardly tell the man who I was, like I forgot my name.

But boys should be made to do this. They learn. They grow up. They find that talking to an adult is not going to make them break out in hives.

These young men are calling all of Pine Mountain, GA with an invite to the Annual BSA Troop 40 Spaghetti Supper. Buy a $5 ticket and you get a heap of noodles with red sauce, a splash of salad, garlic bread, and a brownie or cookie made by a scout mom at 3am because she’s making like 500 of them.

John Willis called me more than a month ago. He’s the Scoutmaster of Troop 40 and has been since the flush toilet was first introduced. He knows I’m retired now. This is the first spaghetti supper of my newfound freedom. We’ve been friends for nearly 30 years.

“I need you on the prep line,” he said. “Can you help me out?”

I’ve been buying tickets and eating spaghetti with Troop 40 for over 20 years. I figure the least I can do is donate a few hours to the cause.

I got there around two in the afternoon. This supper is a major event. It takes a herd of volunteers to pull it off.

Food is prepared in the kitchen of the Methodist Church. The prep lines are set up in the fellowship hall. The meal is served to the sit-down guests across the side street inside the old Pine Mountain gym. The “pick up” customers drive past the church, swing out behind the gym, circle around the Scout hut, and come back to a check point set up near the street. Bags of foam take-home plates filled with spaghetti are handed through the passenger window by boys in full-dress uniform.

By the time I get there, I can tell a lot of work has already been done. Pots are steaming in the kitchen. Rows and rows of tables are set up inside the gym. Plastic spread across the entire floor. The boys are making “Thank You” posters to hang on the posts around the room.

I love this old gym. It reminds me of the one in Hampton. Barn-like. Massive wood beams in the ceiling. Same wood walls. Same posts near the side lines. Same wooden bleachers 5 rows up. In a different time, I can hear the buzzer sound, and a young boy in baggy shorts and converse high-tops subs in at guard.

Carla, John’s wife, is making up flower arrangements for each of the tables. There’s a group of older guys sitting and telling stories. Some of them are wearing scout shirts that maybe don’t fit as well as they used to.

I get the vibe of this event because I am an old Scout myself. BSA Troop 60, Hampton, GA. I still wear my Eagle Scout ring, resized of course. I have more Scout memorabilia from my youth than from any other part of my experiences. I have my old ball glove. I have my old .410 pump. But I have a wall full of stuff from Boy Scouts.

Troop 40 has some of their history on display on the front bleacher seat. Pictures of summer camp. What could be their charter banner from when they were founded in 1944. There’s a couple of old B&W 8x10s framed. I have one just like them from my days in 1970-71. The faces on these photos are from 1975-76. They look just like we did back then.

I got Mitt and Thomas to come over. “Hey, tell me who these boys are.”

Between the two of them they named them all, including themselves.

“That there is Chuck. That one’s Joe. There’s Cliff and Bubba. That one’s me. Oh, there’s Chad. These two are brothers.”

With almost each name there was a story or a colorful comment.

I know several of them myself. I’m standing next to two of them. Thomas’s mama taught my kids in school. I have their numbers in my phone. And I’ve been to at least one funeral for one of these “boys”.

“That right there,” Mitt says, “is 1975. The first year we had the spaghetti supper. We held it down at the women’s club that year and we’ve been doing it ever since.”

I can do the math. That’s 50 years of serving spaghetti. This is Troop 40’s only major fund raiser of the year. And they are serious about getting it done right.

If you don’t know it, there’s a certain kind of class, maybe swag, that comes with doing Scouts right. I’ve seen it done poorly. Thank God I got to be part of a great one.

I say that because Scouting makes a huge impact on the lives of these young boys. It trains them. It prepares them. It shapes them. It molds them. It challenges them. It actually makes them better citizens of thousands of hometowns all over this country.

How do I know this group is doing it right? On the front bleacher is a poster that lists all the Eagle Scouts to come out of Troop 40 since its inception in 1944. I am stunned at the size of this list. I count 66 names. Sixty-six boys who earned the badges, who did the work, and who served their community.

Over the last 80 years, an unbelievable number of young men from this town have stood up for their Court of Honor to receive their badge and have the insignia pinned over their left pocket. This is no small feat. Over half of the Eagle Scout ranks have been awarded in the last 30 years, which says something about the guy running the show.

By now, it’s 5 o’clock. I’m at my post on the prep-line. Mitt (Eagle Scout, 1978) is plopping the noodles, next the sauce, David grabs a handful of salad, then I’m the guy to put the garlic bread in place and close the top on the foam dish. I shove it down the line to the runners.

We served over 1,000 plates in the next two hours. The population of Pine Mountain barely exceeds that number.

I didn’t know David, so I asked where he lived.

“Awe, we live down in Fortson.”

“What in the world are you doing up here in Pine Mountain?”

He says, “Well, we heard Troop 40’s the best, and John’s the best.”

By what I’ve seen here tonight, I’d say he’s exactly right.