I had just started fixing dinner on a late Sunday afternoon when the phone rang. On the other end was a reporter from The Indianapolis Star. She wanted to know about the shooting next door.

"The what …?" I said. "You must have the wrong number."
She stated my address and the address of the home next door. I said, "Yes, that's right, but …"

She noted that the home was owned by a former Marion County sheriff. I said, "Yes, that's right, but …"

"Well," she continued, "there was a shooting there this afternoon. We're calling neighbors to find out more information."

A shooting? This afternoon? Not more than 20 yards from where I stood mixing my meat loaf? Who? Why? How? I knew nothing about it! I'd gone in to work earlier that day, and my wife, an RN who had worked the night shift, was asleep. All was quiet in our southwestern Indianapolis suburb by the time I came home to start dinner.

Sure enough, we later learned the street in front of our house had been a sea of brown and tan police cars just hours earlier. It's not every day a 14-year-old boy shoots another in a home owned by a former sheriff and occupied by his female friend and her kids. This was big.

It seems the boys from up the street dropped in on one of the next-door kids, a teenaged girl. No adult was home.
One boy pulled out a semi-automatic handgun from a bag and started showing it off. The gun, stolen from an unlocked pickup truck the night before and, of course, loaded, discharged. The bullet hit the other boy in the jaw, almost killing him.

The injured kid eventually recovered, at least physically. The other was sent off somewhere. His parents abruptly moved away.

Seven years have passed. My wife and I, now with our own kids, moved last year to another county. But that afternoon still haunts me. This was a small neighborhood on the edge of Indianapolis. This wasn't inner city gang stuff.

What a contrast those teens were compared to the fine teenagers I've had the pleasure to meet and work with in my position with Indiana's electric cooperatives. The majority of kids I come in contact with are the adolescents and teenagers from rural and suburban Indiana who are involved in 4-H, FFA, Scouting and programs like them. They are the students we take on the Rural Electric Youth Tour to Washington each June. They are the kids who appear on a regular basis on the pages of Electric Consumer. As noted last month, Indiana's electric co-ops have long been supporters of 4-H, its programs and the fairs.

4-H nationally celebrates its 100th anniversary this year. We salute the milestone. With the kinds of problems like the ones from my old neighborhood encroaching more and more into rural and small town Indiana, we need 4-H and youth programs like it now more than ever. And with all the uncertainty and insecurity brought by the events of Sept. 11 a year ago, we need to turn ever more to the traditional institutions that have sustained and comforted us. That includes 4-H.

4-H, be it the animal and agricultural projects or its many other broad-based non-agricultural programs, teaches sacrifice, discipline, goal setting, leadership and responsibility. It builds self esteem, confidence, communication skills and respect for others. The four Hs (and part of the 4-H creed) stand for Head (to clearer thinking), Heart (to greater loyalty), Hands (to larger service) and Health (to better living). Fortunately, some 6.7 million young people nationwide — 280,000 Hoosiers — are already involved in 4-H. In Indiana, it's estimated that there are a million 4-H alumni; that's one of every six Hoosiers.

American society has moved farther and farther from the agricultural world 4-H was born into a century ago. But the values 4-H instills are timeless and still very necessary.
Congratulations 4-H for your century of service. We look forward to your next 100 years.