While waiting to give his speech, Major Bill Tolbert sat on the dais and gazed out over the large audience. It was April 6, 1991, and he had been invited to address those in attendance at the western universities’ award banquet held at the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. This patriotic speech would later win national honors from the Freedoms Foundation at Valley Forge. As the ceremonies began, Major Tolbert reflected on the events that had brought him to this point. Even now, what had transpired seemed incredible to him. And he hoped he could somehow convey the story to those who were waiting to hear him. He wondered, as he had a thousand times, how he had been so fortunate as to be involved. And he marveled at the way the story had ended.

But was it the end? Several times he had felt that the story had played itself out, only to see a new chapter unfold. Perhaps, his instincts told him, the earlier struggle was only the preparation, the crucible through which all of them had to go to appreciate the meaning behind the flag—indeed, to recognize the threads of honor that they now treasured in their hearts.

Standing now at the podium, Bill exhaled slowly and began his address:

“Tonight, I want to share an amazing story with you. It’s a story about the adventure and drama of the American space program. And it’s a story about a group of Boy Scouts and the ways they came to understand courage, sacrifice, and faith. But most of all, it’s the story of an ordinary American flag—a flag that because of unusual circumstances became very special to those whose lives it touched.

“I was an Air Force office, assigned to the new Air Force Space Command . . . ”

I was crafted in Spring City, Pennsylvania at the Valley Forge Flag Company. I can’t really pinpoint my first conscious thought, but I believe it came as my fiftieth star was being stitched. Shortly thereafter, I clearly remember someone hemming my edges and installing two brass grommets—one  up top near the blue field and one toward the corner of my bottom stripe.

That first night, after my fabrication was complete and the building fell silent, I listened with interest to  the chatter of my older brothers and sisters as they speculated about their forthcoming assignments. Then the conversations suddenly ceased.

An enormous American flag unfurled himself from the ceiling and hung majestically before us. Then he began to speak in a deep, sonorous voice.

“Who’s that?” I whispered to  my older sibling, who lay folded neatly on the shelf next to me.

“Shush,” he whispered back. “That’s the Flag Master—the Keeper of the Sacred Thread.”

“Oh,” I replied and listened.

I was astonished at the Flag Master’s enormity and impressed by the authority with which he addressed us. He spoke with great feeling about the history of our nation and explained that each of us would go from that place to an assignment that would be uniquely ours. He emphasized the responsibility that was ours—to fly with dignity and a sense of honor.

Then he said that some of us would journey to Washington, D.C. There, we would begin our service in a brief but glorious moment. It would be our privilege to be hoisted on a staff mounted on the roof of the Capitol Building. After flying briefly there, we would be reassigned. Each of us could look forward to a lifetime of service, with the added prestige of having been a “United States Capitol flag.”

My last night at the Valley Forge Flag Company I gathered the courage to ask the Flag Master if he knew my destiny. With a slight ruffle of his edges, he looked down at my small, four-by-six-foot stature and, speaking with a voice that seemed to echo through eternity, answered in a way that inspired me, but also puzzled me a little .

“I know your history young man, but your destiny is in your threads. See that you honor them.”

Bill Tolbert steered into his driveway, activated the remote-control garage-door opener and inched forward until the tennis ball dangling from the ceiling of the garage just touched his windshield. Grabbing his briefcase, he took the stairs two at a time and entered the bedroom. He was hanging his uniform jacket when his wife, Chris, came into the room. She smiled as she handed him a glass of orange juice.

“Tough night?” she asked.

“Not bad,” he replied, “But guess what they asked me to do?”

“Be the new scoutmaster,” Chris said, matter-of-factly.

“How did you know?”

“Jackie told me.”

Bill grinned. “The wives always know first, don’t they?” Chris just smiled.

 “I’m worried about it, Chris,” Bill went on. “It’ll take a lot of time and with my new assignment at work, I’m not sure I can do it.”

“I know you can do it Bill. It’ll be good for you, I know it will,” she said. “Besides, you’ll be great with the boys.”

“How is it that a wife always knows what’s good for her husband and it’s always something other than golf?”

“That’s why God made us,” she smiled. “So our husbands would always do what’s good for them.”

Bill pulled off his tie, half hearing Chris’s remarks, and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. “I’ll give it a night’s sleep,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

Ten minutes later as Bill was drifting off to sleep, Chris turned to him, draping her arm over his shoulder and snuggling up to his back. “Bill?” she whispered.

“Ummm?”

“Bill, I know you’re the one for the job.”

Bill rolled over on his back, Chris laying her head on his chest as he laced his fingers through her hair. “Chris, I’ve got seventeen men and women in my division waiting for me to give them directions each day and a colonel who thinks I’m too young and inexperienced, waiting to evaluate how I do it. According to the general, I’m also the one for that job.”

“Maybe these six young men need you too,” she replied.

Bill considered her comments for a moment. “You know, I never got past Second Class when I was a scout.”

They lay quietly in the dark for a few moments.

“Bill Tolbert, Scoutmaster,” he pronounced, in an official tone.

“Sounds good to me, Major Tolbert,” she chided.

“Maybe,” he said, rolling back over to go to sleep. “We’ll see what the colonel says in the morning. He may not think it’s such a hot idea.”

“You’re the man for the job, Bill,” Chris said again, turning toward the window and watching through the drapes as the moon rose over the trees in the Black Forest Estates near Colorado Springs. “And the boys may teach you more than you teach them,” she thought as she closed her eyes.

“Morning Major,” Lieutenant Jack Henry called out across the parking lot. “My son tells me you’re gonna be his new Scoutmaster. Boy, that’s a relief. I thought they’d hook me into it.”

Sliding out from behind the wheel, Bill locked his car and began to walk toward his office, the young lieutenant saluting and falling in alongside. “Bad news travels fast—is that it?” Bill asked.

“Something like that, I suppose,” his friend laughed.

“Well, if, and I said if, I accept the job, the first thing I’ll need is a willing ‘gofer’ as my assistant scoutmaster. Know anyone qualified Lieutenant?” Bill grinned at him.

“Not a one, Sir. Not a one,” he dodged. “Better run, Major. I’ve got to get that flight estimate for your morning staff meeting with the colonel.”

As they entered the building, Lieutenant Henry turned down the hall and hurried toward his office. “You do that Jack,” Bill called after him.

Turning into his office, Bill checked the fax and passed his secretary’s desk. “Morning Mary. Have a good weekend?”

“I did Major. Oh, and Major, the general’s secretary telephoned earlier. Colonel Addison’s been called away. General Kitchner will chair the staff meeting this morning.”

“Thanks Mary. Call Lieutenant Henry if you would and let him know. Also remind him to have his presentation slides up and ready to go before nine.”

Following staff meeting, Bill lingered as other division chiefs departed. Then he made his way toward General Kitchner who noticed him coming and smiled. “Good briefing Major.”

“Thank you, Sir. General, with Colonel Addison gone for a couple of weeks, I need to obtain permission for an outside assignment. I don’t believe it will interfere with my duties here sir, but thought the colonel should concur.”

Kitchner’s eyebrows raised slightly as he waited for Bill to continue.

“Sir, I’ve been asked to lead a small Boy Scout troop—a new troop actually. Just six boys.

“Major,” Kitchner continued to smile, “ever had the pleasure before?”

“No, Sir.”

“I think it will be compatible. Leave a short memo for Colonel Addison about our discussion.”

Bill hesitated briefly. “Sir, the colonel has, uh, expressed some concern about the division’s workload, my being so new and all.”

“Leave the colonel to me, Major. I know he thinks you’re young, but Addison’s a good man and when he comes to know you, you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you, General,” Bill replied. Retrieving his briefing papers, he departed.

As General Kitchner was gathering up his notes, Lieutenant Henry, who was closing the slide projector and clearing away the equipment, spoke up. “Boy, I was afraid they’d grab me for that one, General.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

“The Scout troop, Sir. I thought they might ask me since my son’s in the troop. I hope the Major can juggle it.”

“You’re right out of the academy, aren’t you, Lieutenant? How long have you been with us now?”

“About three weeks, Sir.”

“And working for Major Tolbert?”

“Just two weeks, Sir.”

“Lieutenant, have you ever wondered why I appointed a new major as division chief in what normally is a senior colonel’s slot?”

Henry hesitated, not certain how to answer. “No, Sir. I hadn’t given it much thought.”