In Memoriam: George-Paul "Jeep" Fortuna

Gone Home

Photo by David Schultz on Unsplash

A Celebration of Jeep’s Life will take place on May 10 at 11:00 AM at the Marriott Scout Service Center, 9190 Rockville Pike, Bethesda, MD. All are warmly welcome to attend. Please feel free to leave a note in the virtual guest book for Jeep’s family and friends. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in Jeep’s memory to support Scouting America through their national giving campaign, Friends of Scouting.

The Jeep I Knew

For nearly two decades, Jeep has taught, mentored, and inspired me, not just in Scouting, but in life. He was more than a leader; he was a force of nature. A Cubmaster, a trainer of adult leaders, and an ambassador of the Scouting program to anyone who would listen. Most of all, Jeep was a mentor to some of us. I consider him one of my three Scouting mentors. Jeep embodied the spirit of the Scouting movement: service, adventure, and heart.

His wisdom came without pretense. His laughter could break tension in any room. He could also be invisible, when necessary, collecting information from the group, only to later explain to them the "real" issues.

His stage presence was magnetic, he could captivate a Cub Scout pack or a Council-wide campfire crowd with nothing more than a glance and a grin. With a dab of spirit gum (though sometimes not quite enough, which only added to the memories) and a few well-worn costume pieces, Jeep would transform into Lord Baden-Powell, bringing the founder of Scouting to life around the any fire.

A Magical Wood Badge Moment

Here is a bit of a re-cap from one of a Jeep/BP moment, there are many to choose from, but this is my personal favorite:

One evening around a Wood Badge campfire, Jeep, fully in character as Baden-Powell, decided to break from the usual script. Many of us had seen the program several times before, but this night was different. This night was magical. As the flames danced and the cool Autumn night air settled in around us, Baden-Powell paused mid-speech, looked toward the stars, and said softly,

“I feel something… something I haven’t felt in a very long time, the presence of a Scout I once met on my first trip to the United States. Little Dicky Hass! Dicky are you here tonight?"

From the shadows of the crowd, an elderly man slowly raised his hand.

“Here, I am B.P.”

It was Mr. Dick Hass himself, a local Scouting legend who had, as a young boy, actually met Lord Baden-Powell and shook his hand. The crowd parted gently as Mr. Haas made his way to the crackling firelight. Jeep, still in character, extended his hand between the smoke, and the two clasped hands with a reverence that transcended the moment. They shared a few quiet words, just between the two of them, and then they exchanged a few lines of unscripted dialogue about their meeting for us to recount. Those moments were respectful, warm, and filled with unspoken memories. This was Jeep at his campfire finest. He didn’t just play Baden-Powell. He channeled the spirit of Scouting and gave it back to us in a way only he could. He gave us all a very special gift. He gave Mr. Haas an even better gift, a memory brought to life. It was magical.

The Last Lesson Jeep Gave Me

When my world grew heavier with the weight of my cancer diagnosis in January, I turned to Jeep. I needed his advice on how to tell some of my closest friends; just like he did with us not long before.

Less than a month earlier, Jeep had gathered a small group of Scout Trainers/Friends and shared his prognosis. He knew his time was short. The way he told us, calm, clear, honest, and still somehow filled with grace has stayed with me. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t heavy-handed. It was just... Jeep. It was exactly right.

When I called him, I knew he was sick, but I wanted to understand how he made it feel so true, so grounded. I hoped that by learning from him, I could find the right way to tell many of you what I was facing. I told him this, filled with the nervous anxiousness of just learning my diagnosis.

He was quiet and listened to me talk for nearly twenty minutes, knowing the pain. He knew, I need to release to someone.

I told him about my blog idea, not just as a way to keep friends and family updated, but as something more. I wanted to create a trail marker. A record of my experience that others might stumble across one day when they’re walking their own hard path. I wanted it to be honest, real, and open. Something they could take from, use, or simply feel less alone because of what I wrote.

What Jeep told me in return is something I will never forget.

For my blog idea he said, “You have a gift. You know how to tell a story around a fire, to pull a lesson out of something "real, something true" (This phrase is a joke between us, we often spoke about the phrase "Never let the facts get in the way of a good Scoutmaster moment" and how to best use it, but not abuse it. Those words "real, something true " always had air quotes around them when we spoke in person. We both used this method in out trainings.) So don’t hold back. Use your voice. Weave your truth into your stories. That’s how people will really hear you.”

My actual notes in my written journal on that day say, in part, this:

• Be honest.

• Somethings belong to M and you.

• Share what you want/need. Not what they want. It is your cancer.

• ‘Real, something true’

• Don't just write, use your voice

• Be an orchestra composer to yourself.

• Weave the story from you.

This advice wasn’t just about how to talk about my illness. It was about how to live. Jeep believed in the power of a well-told story, not to entertain, but to connect, to heal, to guide.

For the part about how I was going to tell my closest friends, well as Jeep had said some of this stuff should be private. But I did end up telling my closest friends, in ways that were best for them. Through all the tears, hugs, and discussions that followed, I am here to thank Jeep for the last lesson.

Farewell to My Friend

He was one of a kind, a true original. The kind of person whose absence creates a silence that echoes. My heart has a hole in it now, and it will for a long time.

I didn’t just lose a mentor. I lost a guidepost, a friend, a keeper of the flame. But his words still echo, his flame still embers. I intend to carry them forward.

I will miss you, my friend. Thank you for showing me how to lead, how to laugh, and how to lift others even when your own burdens were heavy.

I'll see you down at Heaven's version of Pickle Bob's, probably sitting in the corner, telling a “true” story, and holding court with all the other Scouting legends.

Until then, we have the trail.

-C…