“send-a-kid-to-camp”
Sunday night (6/25), as part of our disjointed headlong rush to get to bed at a decent hour (10-10:30 p.m.), I made out a Quicken check to the Salvation Army for 290 smackaroos.
Last month (Monday, May 22) I made out a check to Hillside Childrens Center for 170 smackaroos.
Both are responses to “send-a-kid-to-camp” solicitations; the Salvation Army to send what Deacon Middleswart at Immanual called “degraded youth,” and what Hillside calls “troubled youth” (Hillside is a refuge in Rochester for so-called “emotionally-disturbed” youth).
I’m always a sucker for these “send-a-kid-to-camp” solicitations. Camp was probably the pleasantest memory of my difficult childhood.
My first time, summer of 1954, I was absolutely terrified. I was 10, and it was the first time I had been away from home.
I attended with a kid named Robbie Musatano, also of Erlton Community Baptist Church. Robbie was nine, but was allowed to be an Intermediate (Brave) because he was so big. Robbie’s older brother Joe was also there, but was a senior.
Robbie was also supposed to keep me company, but went his own way. As such I hid in the cabin and didn’t participate in activities.
The Intermediate Director (Woody Strodel) would assemble all us campers to pick activities, but I hid for at least a week.
I didn’t start participating in activities until my second week, when I made a leather link-belt wrist-band from a kit in Handicraft.
I had signed up for Sports the last three days of the previous week, but mainly hid.
The next summer (1955) I was on my own — no Robbie. But I spent most of my time in the Infirmary with a cold. The Infirmary was on the second-floor of the Mansion-House overlooking the Elk River.
We’d beam our flashlights at passing ships in the channel. The ships often blasted their horns, and sometimes ran aground. The Infirmary had no air-conditioning, but was unlike camp.
In 1956 they had a Radio-Department in the loft above Handicraft. (Handicraft was in the old separated stable/carriage-house for the mansion.) I built a tiny crystal-set from a kit and learned how to solder. All the crystal-set would get was WCAU in Philly — all over the dial.
In 1957 I was in the faraway Sioux cabin with the long-time head of Archery. I affected a “Joe Cool” image, complete with striped chino Ivy-League hat and gold-rimmed shades. This was probably because I was playing sax by then. (I have since learned that Ivy-League hats cause Parkinson’s Disease — Billy Graham wore one; as did my father. Steve Paine, the prez of Houghton when we were there, wore an Ivy-League hat, and got Parkinson’s. Boss-man at the mighty Mezz started wearing one and I gave him the warning — he hasn’t worn one since.)
1958 was my final year as a camper, and I did four weeks, although separated and in different cabins.
The first two weeks I was in the Seminole cabin, whose counselor was a ne’er-do-well that headed canoeing. As such I was taken along on a canoe-overnight across the river. It rained the whole time. Our soggy pup-tents were trampled by cows.
My fondest memories are from when I was on the staff; first year 1959 when I was 15.
For some strange reason they hired me to be a C.I.T. (Counselor-in-Training). I always have thought it was because I could write a good presentation.
I was also selected to be on the Stable-Staff, something I dearly wanted to do, but for which I was poorly suited. This was because I was a poor rider; but my offset was I was a good stall-mucker and horsemanship instructor.
My ability to ride a horse improved as time passed, so that by 1961 I was Assistant Horsemanship Director (number two).
Being on the Stable-Staff meant I could ride whenever I wanted; and in 1961 my cabin-counselor (Chief Bruce) was head of Canoeing.
This meant frequent canoeing, although I started purloining canoes in 1960. Bob Mason, a ne’er-do-well on the kitchen-staff, and I would go down to the waterfront and take out a canoe on the muddy Elk. (The canoes were classic wooden Old Towns covered with green canvas.)
We’d do it so Mason could smoke his beloved Marlboros. Despite the noisy blustering of Super-Mouth, I never did anything but jaw with Mason.
One night we were out on the Elk, and it was smooth as glass. Off in the distance a towering thunderhead was passing over Wilmington. It’s an image I’ll never forget. Lightning was flashing all over the sky, but it was so far away we heard nothing.
In 1962 there was no camp because I had to attend summer-school at Houghton to get in.
1963 I was lined up to be Horsemanship Director at Sandy Hill, but my father scotched that: Mahz-n-Wawdzzz. (All about money, son.)
Last month (Monday, May 22) I made out a check to Hillside Childrens Center for 170 smackaroos.
Both are responses to “send-a-kid-to-camp” solicitations; the Salvation Army to send what Deacon Middleswart at Immanual called “degraded youth,” and what Hillside calls “troubled youth” (Hillside is a refuge in Rochester for so-called “emotionally-disturbed” youth).
I’m always a sucker for these “send-a-kid-to-camp” solicitations. Camp was probably the pleasantest memory of my difficult childhood.
My first time, summer of 1954, I was absolutely terrified. I was 10, and it was the first time I had been away from home.
I attended with a kid named Robbie Musatano, also of Erlton Community Baptist Church. Robbie was nine, but was allowed to be an Intermediate (Brave) because he was so big. Robbie’s older brother Joe was also there, but was a senior.
Robbie was also supposed to keep me company, but went his own way. As such I hid in the cabin and didn’t participate in activities.
The Intermediate Director (Woody Strodel) would assemble all us campers to pick activities, but I hid for at least a week.
I didn’t start participating in activities until my second week, when I made a leather link-belt wrist-band from a kit in Handicraft.
I had signed up for Sports the last three days of the previous week, but mainly hid.
The next summer (1955) I was on my own — no Robbie. But I spent most of my time in the Infirmary with a cold. The Infirmary was on the second-floor of the Mansion-House overlooking the Elk River.
We’d beam our flashlights at passing ships in the channel. The ships often blasted their horns, and sometimes ran aground. The Infirmary had no air-conditioning, but was unlike camp.
In 1956 they had a Radio-Department in the loft above Handicraft. (Handicraft was in the old separated stable/carriage-house for the mansion.) I built a tiny crystal-set from a kit and learned how to solder. All the crystal-set would get was WCAU in Philly — all over the dial.
In 1957 I was in the faraway Sioux cabin with the long-time head of Archery. I affected a “Joe Cool” image, complete with striped chino Ivy-League hat and gold-rimmed shades. This was probably because I was playing sax by then. (I have since learned that Ivy-League hats cause Parkinson’s Disease — Billy Graham wore one; as did my father. Steve Paine, the prez of Houghton when we were there, wore an Ivy-League hat, and got Parkinson’s. Boss-man at the mighty Mezz started wearing one and I gave him the warning — he hasn’t worn one since.)
1958 was my final year as a camper, and I did four weeks, although separated and in different cabins.
The first two weeks I was in the Seminole cabin, whose counselor was a ne’er-do-well that headed canoeing. As such I was taken along on a canoe-overnight across the river. It rained the whole time. Our soggy pup-tents were trampled by cows.
My fondest memories are from when I was on the staff; first year 1959 when I was 15.
For some strange reason they hired me to be a C.I.T. (Counselor-in-Training). I always have thought it was because I could write a good presentation.
I was also selected to be on the Stable-Staff, something I dearly wanted to do, but for which I was poorly suited. This was because I was a poor rider; but my offset was I was a good stall-mucker and horsemanship instructor.
My ability to ride a horse improved as time passed, so that by 1961 I was Assistant Horsemanship Director (number two).
Being on the Stable-Staff meant I could ride whenever I wanted; and in 1961 my cabin-counselor (Chief Bruce) was head of Canoeing.
This meant frequent canoeing, although I started purloining canoes in 1960. Bob Mason, a ne’er-do-well on the kitchen-staff, and I would go down to the waterfront and take out a canoe on the muddy Elk. (The canoes were classic wooden Old Towns covered with green canvas.)
We’d do it so Mason could smoke his beloved Marlboros. Despite the noisy blustering of Super-Mouth, I never did anything but jaw with Mason.
One night we were out on the Elk, and it was smooth as glass. Off in the distance a towering thunderhead was passing over Wilmington. It’s an image I’ll never forget. Lightning was flashing all over the sky, but it was so far away we heard nothing.
In 1962 there was no camp because I had to attend summer-school at Houghton to get in.
1963 I was lined up to be Horsemanship Director at Sandy Hill, but my father scotched that: Mahz-n-Wawdzzz. (All about money, son.)
posted by BobbaLew at 9:27 AM
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