RE: “BobbaLew”

”JohnaLouie” on the Sandy-Hill pool high-dive. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“Bobba-LOOOO!”
After almost 12 years, and 2,241 published posts (this makes 2,242), I figger it’s time to explain “BobbaLew.”
“BobbaLew” is of course ME, Bob Hughes (“hyooz”), author of this here blog.
It’s the nickname given me in 1961 by John Lawrence (”JohnaLouie”) at Sandy Hill, a religious summer boys camp in northeastern MD on the upper reaches of Chesapeake Bay.
How I, an agnostic, got on the staff of a hyper-zealous religious camp is of course debatable.
I always say it was because I could sling a pretty good story — what I been doing all my life, and am doing now.
I started at Sandy Hill as a camper in 1954, terrified and homesick — I was 10 — but got so I could do it. 1958 was my final season as a camper; I did four weeks — previous stays were two weeks.
In 1958 I got involved in horseback riding. I wanted to get on camp staff as a stablehand (macho dreams).
“Horsemanship” was also questionable, since I could hardly ride at all.
But the stable-staff discovered -a) I would muck stalls, and -b) I could teach the camper horsemanship classes, allowing them to pursue dreams of macho manliness pretending to be cowboys.
Horsemanship class was three days per session: class instruction the first day (parts of the horse, saddle and bridle), then two days of ring-riding, trail-riding if feasible.
Trail-riding depended on proficiency of the campers. We hardly ever got to trail-riding.
A camp rule was at play: any camper should be able to at some time ride a horse. Most were terrified. (“Don’t hold the horn, Johnny!”)
In 1959 I did the first five weeks; in 1960 I did the final five weeks. For 1961 I did the full 10 weeks, although camp was only nine weeks. The first week was preparation and religious contemplation.
I remember the acrimony when we took communion from a common chalice — no communion-set. The camp nurse had a fit. —And of course it wasn’t wine spody-ody. Welch’s baby!
I was a Counselor-in-Training (“CIT”). I’d substitute on a regular counselor’s day off.
This meant I was supposed to give evening devotions. I had Bible-verses lined up, but I wasn’t good at it.
Lawrence was a CIT too; I think he was 16, his first season. I was 17; third season for me.
Lawrence and I became friends. He renamed me “BobbaLouie,” a take-off on “Baba Looey.”
Anyone on camp staff was automatically called “Chief,” so I became “Chief BobbaLouie.”
1961 was my best year on camp staff.
I was so experienced the cabin I was in was pretty much presided by me — the cabin had a counselor, but I ran things.
I did so as bleeding-heart dictator. Campers wanted in my cabin because it ran so well — no madness or intimidation. If I made deals, I kept ‘em. —Fair was fair.
And the sanctimonious judgmental zealots were no longer around.
The higher-ups would put the slum-kids in my cabin as a challenge. I usually succeeded, but not always.
I also got so I could ride fairly well, so I was promoted to “Assistant Horsemanship Director.”
It allowed me to avoid daily chapel services. I’d bring in the horses and feed instead.
The Horsemanship Director was also a cabin-counselor, so couldn’t be very involved.
Horsemanship was pretty much me.
Pay at the camp was a pittance, so my father intervened. No way was camp gonna help pay for college.
Camp lined me up to be Horsemanship Director, but my God-fearing father got me a better-paying job.
So much for faith!
Money was what always mattered. If that meant cutting corners with one of his contractors, Jesus would approve.
Never mind! I always liked the name “BobbaLouie.” It reflected my penchant for observing things with jaundiced eye.
So when my good friend Marcy at the Messenger newspaper suggested I blog, I decided to name it “BobbaLew.”