It wasn't enough. National sent them an Eagle application. They told the Ehmanns to contact Jonathan Brown, district director of the Baltimore Area Council.
"Be sure you want to do this," Brown said. "It won't be easy." The next five months became their lesson in a bedrock Scouting principle: There are no shortcuts.
Texas asked for the charter of Troop 746 (from 1952), authentication for every merit badge (anyone can buy the patches online), proof Ehmann had been enrolled the years he claimed. They needed five signatures, three from former troop leaders who'd seen him in action - assuming they were still alive and remembered. It tested their stamina as it had Ehmann's long ago.
"So many times, we thought we had everything," says Sarah. "They kept saying, 'We need more.' "
One part asked for the scout's reflections - a tricky "get" given the need to keep Ehmann in the dark. They asked one of Paula Ehmann's students, a Cub, to start an e-mail exchange with her husband. "How did it feel to make First Class?" the boy wrote, ostensibly as part of a research project. When Ehmann responded, his answers went on the form.
Like many teens, Ehmann didn't keep good records. But his daughters learned that their paternal grandmother was a slavish collector. Bit by bit, they saw that a box of stuff she'd given them years ago had every scrap of Scouting paper Ehmann had ever brought home.
"Even I didn't realize what a packrat I was," Jean Ehmann said.
Truth be told, Ehmann's parents, too, had been disappointed their son never got the reward they thought he'd earned. Some might wonder why they never advocated for him. Times were different then, Walter Ehmann says. Parents were less apt to make waves or question authority figures, especially when everyone attended the same church.
"Maybe I should have," he says. If there's regret, it helped the Ehmanns to see the sacrifices they made in the 1970s bear fruit three decades later. When the application was finally complete, it was Jean who packed it up, drove it to Baltimore headquarters and turned it in by hand. Ehmann never suspected a thing.
The unveiling
They didn't finish in time for his birthday. Instead they aimed for June 15. When Ehmann came home on Father's Day, he expected a party. He got a reunion with Scouting. A red banner on the fridge read "746." A display case showed off his sash, merit badges and neckerchief, neatly pressed. A model campfire sat on the kitchen table, and they fed him hoboes (ground meat and potatoes in foil), pimento cheese and fruit punch - all straight off the Philmont menu, circa 1973.
