We’ve all experienced close calls; those moments when an oversight or a split-second decision changes the course of our history — or at least it feels that way at the time. My moment involved a pair of socks and forever changed my view of the importance of being properly dressed.

Back in July 1954, Mystic’s movers and shakers took the 300th anniversary of the town’s founding very seriously. For organizing the festivities from July 10–16, James H. Allyn was appointed president of an extensive committee with many familiar-sounding notables (to those of us who have been around Mystic for a while); G.W. Blunt White, Byron Hatfield, Robert Brackman, Dr. Roger N. Fowler, John Rossie, Aldo J. Santin, Dr. Harold J. Schuster, James McKenna, John B. Bindloss, Marion Gilfilian, Mary Langdon and many others were among the organizers.

A 10-hour clambake at Williams Beach, Pops concerts, an all-day yacht rendezvous, garden and historic house tours, whale boat races, fireworks followed by round and square dancing, and more, were in the offing. Some events, such as the outdoor concert featuring Mary Langdon as soloist with the Eastern Connecticut Symphony Orchestra, cost as much as 50 cents to attend but were advertised as being worth “at least a buck.”

I was especially excited by the description of the parade of the century, “The Mystic Story,” to be held on Saturday, July 17, at 3 p.m. The Tercentenary Committee announced that it would be “The biggest parade you ever saw. Come early and visit the (Mystic Seaport) Marine Museum. The parade will go right by.”

As a precocious 7-year-old, I had recently graduated, in the spring of 1954, from the Old Mystic Brownie troop into Girl Scouts. I was undeterred by the fact that my progress mainly involved moving from the kitchen of Mrs. Avery’s house in Old Mystic into her front living room since she was troop leader for both. These details didn’t matter as much as the shopping trip I would take with my mother to McCormick’s Department Store in Westerly, R.I., to be decked out in a new green uniform. My family was on a limited budget in the early 1950s, having only recently started the Old Mystic Nursing Home, and Elm Street Nursing Home in Mystic across from the library.

But I had earned enough household credit from mending and ironing bedsheets to get at least the official Girl Scout dress. By June, after taking on the job of writing down grocery orders from the cooks at both nursing homes, I expected to have enough points for a complete outfit including sash, socks, shoes and cap.

The significance of having a complete uniform was directly related to the parade. I didn’t care as much about seeing the parade as I did about marching in it as a member of our troop. Mrs. Avery had tantalized us into demanding complete uniforms from our parents with the bait that, “only those scouts who had complete uniforms could serve in our color guard and carry a flag.”

I knew there was a pecking order for the four coveted positions in the guard that automatically included her two daughters and then two among the rest of us who were in her good graces. But I wanted to be prepared anyway even if color guard duty was a remote possibility.

In our yearly Mystic Memorial Day parade, I loved the parade formation at Elm Grove Cemetery and the long march down to Mystic and over the bridge covered with canvas so that the horses pulling the antique fire trucks would not be spooked by seeing the river below through the grate. I loved the chaotic disassembly at the end of the parade on Water Street when I might bump into a clown or a fireman as I made my way to Pearl Street through the crowd to find my father in front of St. Mark’s Church.

On the afternoon of July 17, 1954, our troop members stood in front of Mrs. Avery as she conducted her inspection, lining us up by height for the parade. The two color guards, in addition to her daughters, took their places in front of us and adjusted the flags in their halter belts. Suddenly, a shock wave passed over Mrs. Avery’s face as she stood in front of her eldest daughter.

“Elaine! Where are your socks. Those are green but they are not Girl Scout socks!”

She turned and surveyed the rest of us in the second row:

“Ruth. Step up here and take this American flag. You’re the only one back there with a complete uniform.”

And that’s the end of the story of the crowning moment of my Girl Scout career during the greatest parade I’ve ever marched in. I still have my uniform, which I will gladly loan to any young woman who needs it if Mystic decides to celebrate its 370th anniversary in 2024.

Be prepared! It may not be available for the 400th.

Ruth W. Crocker lives in Mystic and can be reached at RuthWCrocker@gmail.com.