A Cub Scout's FINAL GIFT
By Reg Green
Nicholas Green couldn't
wait until he became
a Cub Scout; then his
life was tragically cut
short in a moment of
sudden violence.
(Editor's note: 7-year-old Nicholas Green
of Bodega Bay, Calif., was a Cub Scout
in Pack 78 in the Redwood Expire
Council when he was shot and killed by
car bandits during a family trip to
southern Italy in Septernber 1994. His
father has written the following tribute.)
I NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD
make a good Scout. Like his father
he seemed destined to be baffled
by knots, tent pegs, and getting
damp twigs to light. I daresay his
entry for the pinewood derby was
the ugliest in the United States,
possibly in the history of the event.
And he was always losing the slide
for his neckerchief.
I have a memory of him on a
lake last summer. He'd so looked
forward to taking a canoe trip that
we gave him his life jacket and
paddle and launched him. You're
on your own, we told him.
He didn't know it but we watched
him every second, ready with the
other canoe to pick him up if
anything went wrong. He just sat
there,
making ineffectual strokes with the
paddle, carried along with the wind farther and farther
away. In the end
he just drifted, his mind consumed
with some daring adventure, a hero
alone in a canoe against the wilder
ness. He'll never learn the J-stroke, I
thought, as we went out to tow him
back. And, of course, he never did.
But he had inside him the pure
spirit of Scouting. He hated to see
others unhappy and wanted to help
anybody in trouble.Even when doing
jobs he didn't like, he tried his best.
Neither his mother nor I ever knew
him to tell a lie. He was loyal to his
friends, his family, and his toys.
He had joined the Cub Scouts
only a few months before and
loved those Tuesday evening
meetings. He'd wear his uniform all
day and ask several times after he
came home from school: "How
long is it now?"
At 7 years old he wasn't ashamed
to hold hands and, after gulping
down dinner, we'd walk hand in
hand to Mr. Holleran's where all six
members of Den 3 were gathering.
An hour or so later I'd pick him
up, the house exploding with blue-
and yellow uniforms. No, he hadn't
put anyone out in softball and, yes,
he'd lost every arm wrestling
contest.
But it didn't seem to worry him:
He'd had a good time with people
he liked. I knew at the time that
these walks home were moments to
treasure. Now they are touched
with gold.
He liked games where people
cooperated. So when he played
with his toy soldiers, the Indians
were invited to join the cavalry and
they all had a party. As a Canadian
Mountie he didn't always get his
man, but he always helped him. As
St. George he wanted to kill the
dragon, but not hurt him.
He had a way of bringing
sunshine into a gloomy day. Once,
when he was 5, I was preparing to
board a plane for the flight home
from a visit to Texas. At security
clearance the belt suddenly
stopped, red lights flashed, and I
looked round to see which poor
boob had caused the problem.
Then I saw in the X-ray image of
my carry-on luggage the outline of
the $1.79 toy gun I'd bought for
him at K-Mart.
The police bustled in, checked
the gunÑstill in
its original packageÑand said I'd be
reported to the Federal Aviation
Authority for attempting to take a:
'simulated weapon" on an aircraft
and could be fined up to $10,000.
I came home depressed. No cap
pistol was worth $10,001.79. But
when Nicholas saw it, he wiped away
every care. "It's the best present I've
had in years," he said.
He loved tales of valor and honor. I
read Tennyson's "The Charge of the
Light Brigade" to him and then videotaped the motion picture. Time and
again we thrilled as a dying trooper
held the flag up until another soldier
r ode alongside to take it.
He was especially taken by flags
flown at half-staff to
commemorate the death of heroes.
On the day of his funeral I asked
our local clubhouse to fly theirs
for him. In a stiff breeze it
crackled bravely, and I imagined
him smiling at this last tribute to his
manly little heart.
All that vitality survives today in
a very special way. The news media
has carried around the globe the
story of his tragic death and how
the donation of his organs gave
seven people in Italy the chance to
lead a full life.
The girl who received his liver
was two days away from death
from a disease that had killed her
brother. The boy who got the heart
was 15 but weighed only 60
pounds and seemed likely to waste
away. The doctor told the boy who
received a kidney to think of
something nice when he was going
into the operation. "I'm thinking of
Nicholas," he replied.
In Italy Nicholas became a
national hero. He has had streets,
parks, and schools named for him.
Scholarships to help needy or
talented children are being set up
all across the country.
His body was flown home in the
Italian president's military plane,
and in Rome his memory was
honored with a gold medal, the
same award which had previously
been received by an Italian whose
bravery saved the lives of several
thousand Jews in World War II.
A second award in his name was
the equivalent to the one that two
years ago went to the scientist who
discovered the AIDS virus, and a
third was one that in a previous year
had been presented to Mother
Teresa. That isn't bad company for
a first-year Cub Scout, is it?
Since his death the number of
Italians who say they will donate
their organs has more than tripled.
The change is so dramatic that it is
being called "the Nicholas effect,"
and could result in the saving of
hundreds, even thousands, of lives.
But a lack of organ donors is not
a situation unique to Italy. In the
United States seven or eight persons
die ether every day because of the
failure of one organ.
What a waste that seems. While
the letters we have received from all
across the country suggest attitudes
are changing, there is still a long
way to go.
We can all help by signing the
donor's card and, just as important,
discussing this subject with our
families. Talking about what could
happen and how you'd deal with it
needn't be upsetting, and it
prepares your mind if you are ever
called on to make that wrenching
decision. For us, the idea that our
son's body is helping others is
soothing, not disturbing.
His tragic death has also helped
to light a spark in the hearts of
millions of youngsters and their
parents around the world. It
reminds us all that life is a very
precious thing, and I imagine
parents everywhere giving their
children an extra hug as they go to
beck or working with them a little
longer on a joint project.
If we could ask Nicholas what is
the very best thing that could come
out of this affair, I bet that would
be it.
The article appears on TransWeb by permission of Reg Green.
Return to "The Nicholas Effect"
Or visit these related pages:
Nicholas'
memorial web page
"A Simple
Act," an article by Reg Green
"Saying Yes," an article by Maggie Green
The Bell
Memorial for Nicholas Green and the Children of the World
