Packrats forever
Girl Scout remembers Frances and Winton Rochelle
by Debbie Spears Hull

It's been said that the best measure of a life is the impact it has on others. If this is true, then Frances Rochelle, together with her husband, Winton Rochelle, led lives of immeasurable worth. I can say so with certainty for mine was a life they touched.

They touched many people in a myriad of ways. It was in the fact that they were willing to devote one weekend out of each month, in addition to the time spent on organization and administration, to take hundreds of Girl Scouts, none of whom were their daughter, backpacking. We were the Packrats, and we hiked in wind and rain, in mud and sleet, when it was cold, and when it was hot. We hiked long trails and short trails. We even hiked during deer season, when the R's took us to Camp Silver Springs for the December trip each year just to be sure no one was mistaken for a deer. We got lost, on occasion. There we were, well over a hundred girls, at a fork in the trail. Mr. R. was convinced we should go one way, but Mrs. R. was just as adamant that we go the other. Each presented their case, but Mrs. R. brought the issue to an end with a calm, firm, "Winton, I'm going this way. And I'm taking these girls with me!" Mr. R., never ruffled, always the most wonderful, calm, gentle man responded with the words we heard him speak many, many times "Now, Miz R." We went her way and all ended well.

The Rochelles touched each girl they honored with the mantle of "Great Leader." The Great Leader was completely in charge of the monthly backpack trip. She scouted the trail, arranged for trail leaders and someone to pick up the tail, chose campfire leaders, planned the Scouts' Own, and was the last to retire and the first to rise. What strikes me now, looking back across decades, is the fact that the Rochelles were watching some 200 to 300 girls closely and carefully enough to get to know many of them, to know who was ready for the responsibilities of the Great Leader and who was not. The Rochelles offered gentle guidance, but really and truly placed their trust in the girl they chose. The girls grew, not only because they were encouraged and flattered by simply being chosen, but also because they got to organize, lead, problem-solve, and delegate.

As if it was not enough that they dedicated weekends to the Packrats, for several summers, Mr. and Mrs. R. took a dozen or more girls on a trip. They traveled to Canada, New Mexico, Montana, Arkansas, Colorado, the Dakotas, and every place in between. The last time I visited with Mrs. Rochelle, just about a year ago, she told me that Mr. Rochelle would ask the parents at the pre-trip parent meeting if there was anything in particular they would like for their daughter to learn or work on. They cared deeply about the girls and wanted to help them not only with making wonderful memories, but also with becoming better human beings.

Sometimes the summer trip group spent their time sightseeing, all dressed alike in Girl Scout green shorts and white button-up blouses. Some trips included backpacking, several days on the trail. There were meals to plan and shop for, funds to keep track of, permission slips, agendas, vehicles to rent and all the other details that would come with traveling with several teenage girls.

The Rochelles did it all, patiently leading each girl through the responsibilities that came with her job, the job that Mr. and Mrs. Rochelle had carefully chosen for her, teaching the girls how to do what they had to do. Some girls learned to pack a trailer; some learned to hitch one to the van. Everyone learned how to prepare meals and how to clean up after them. We also learned to get along with everyone (we rotated seats so we didn't have to sit too long next to "what's her name"). We learned how to work as a team, how to ask for help and how to give it. We learned that even though we hated the long green shorts and white shirts, we really did look nice when we were together out in public. We found out that when we bowed our heads to pray over our meal in the Lubbock Luby's, the people at surrounding tables stopped their conversations and their chewing and bowed their heads, too. We learned to care for each other. We learned we were capable. We learned we were strong.

Francess Rochelle at her going
away party, Fall 2002.

The Rochelle's took care of us as a group on each and every backpack trip and gave us fabulous memories. We ALWAYS had a campfire, even if we shivered as we sang, and we ALWAYS had a Scouts' Own on Sunday morning. We got beads, a tradition the Rochelles started, as a reward for the packs we went on. A black bead meant we'd packed or camped in the rain, red for training, white for a freeze. Beads were serious business. Mine are over 20 years old and I wouldn't part with them. (Are you crazy? I earned those things!) Radios and such were not allowed; we were required to make ourselves a good time without them. Mrs. Rochelle spent hours taking care of the equipment for each trip, checking out backpacks and tents, and checking them back in. She had patience.

Mr. Rochelle loved us with nicknames. Mr. R. honored me with the title of Mother. I visited for a pack trip a couple of years after I graduated from high school. Mr. Rochelle took me around to visit the various camps exclaiming, "This is my Mother and she's come home to me!" It wasn't the first time he'd made me feel special and it wasn't the first time he showed how much he cared.

I went to New Mexico and Colorado with the Rochelles in the summer of 1976. It was a bad time for my family. My parents had only just separated, and I was devastated. The R's were watching and though they didn't know details, they knew something was wrong. Mr. Rochelle gently took me aside for a private walk, his arm across my shoulders. I can't remember exactly what he said. I was a child still keeping terrible secrets, and I only knew that I felt invaded and threatened by his concern.

Looking back, I am profoundly moved that he cared so much he attempted to broach the defenses of a scared 14-year-old girl. He took the risk of becoming involved. I wasn't able to accept his concern at the time, but it sticks with me even now and reminds me that there was a place where I was valued and loved.

The Rochelle's gave girls not only the opportunity to develop skills and learn independence. By their very example, they gave girls a wondrous model of marriage, one that included not only respect, immense tenderness and gentleness for each other, but one that had so much love it overflowed to others. I walked with Mr. Rochelle after a backpacking trip once while Mrs. Rochelle worked on checking in tents. We settled under a tree where we could see Mrs. R. across the parking area. Mr. R. just sat and looked at her with this adoring expression and said, "Miz R.: She's a beautiful girl." I knew my husband-to-be was a keeper when, one unexpected day, he looked at me just like Mr. R. looked at Mrs. R. that day.

We lost Mrs. Rochelle just this August and Mr. Rochelle several years ago. They were amazing people with an amazing capacity for giving in amazing ways. Mrs. Rochelle told me, just before Mr. Rochelle died, that he always said that all their work was worth it if they'd changed the life of just one girl. I dare say I'm not alone in saying that many lives were made better because of their care and example and the opportunities their work afforded us. My daughter is a Brownie now and the part of the Girl Scout Law that really resonates with her is the part that says that Girl Scouts should make the world a better place. The Rochelles did that. And what's more, they made us better people. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. R. We love you.

"Each campfire lights anew the flames of friendship true. The joy we had in knowing you will last a lifetime through."