I remember going down to the docks that first afternoon for swim trials
(the first and last time), being told to stay behind the green path
(does the path actually go anywhere?) while I waited my turn to prove
that I belonged in the third pool. I was deemed a “swimmer”
that day and don’t know that I ever advanced beyond it. I could
swim wherever I wanted, that was enough for me (Dayenu.)
I remember the first night of cake and milk. It was chocolate cake with white frosting. I wouldn’t say that I came from a health-centered home, but cake before bed was too good to be true and certainly something that my mother would never have given me. Over the years, food service has varied tremendously, but almost every cook gets cake and milk right, thanks God. (Isn’t an extra helping of sugar exactly what eight-year-olds need when you are trying to calm them down?)
“I
remember coming to the council ring to hear the famous speech. We were
friends before the war started and we will be friends after it's all
over. ”
I
remember
my first league team, the Hatchet Harries, led by Brian Bloch (who was
in the bunk next door, but 3 years older than me). Not long after the
beginning of the summer, I was traded to the Watermelon Babies to even
out the teams, a move where, much to my relief later in my camp career,
I was the good player in the equation and not the doodie.
I remember the first Monte Carlo night of 1986, my first exposure to
casino gambling. It was then that I learned to play blackjack as the
staff pretended to be smooth and the campers pretended to know what
was going on. Foxwoods thanks you West End. Mohegan Sun thanks you as
well.
I remember my first Pizza Barn mini-pie. Jon “S.A.L.” Schwartz was my brother’s counselor at the time and while I must have paid $9 for that thing, it was like heaven. To this day, the actual quality of Peebs is heavily debated (it’s much better than the overrated Town Spa of Stoughton) but to me it was divine. I must have had 200 pies over my camp career, but the taste of that first one still lingers somewhere in my taste bud hall of fame.
I remember (Bill – if you are reading this, please skip to the next paragraph) seeing a porno magazine for the first time. I don’t know who it belonged to (cough, Barry “bowling ball” Bornstein, cough) but it was displayed prominently on the bulletin board at the front of the cabin and in my dreams. Its hard to calculate whether I saw more pornography at camp or my fraternity house, but for both I am grateful. (What does it say Cooker, that you were part of both…)
I
remember the first 15- and-under basketball game against Robinhood in
the Rec Hall. They brought girls with them to watch. Girls! I can’t
say that I remember who won, but seeing Mike Andelman at the foul line,
eating it up as they chanted “spaz” at him, and seeing Andy
Zinman get in a fight with one of the RH players cemented the rivalry
that still lives in my mind today. (Does anyone at WEH realize that
Robinhood isn’t actually that nice a camp?)
I
remember hearing fake color war names for the first time, and while I
didn’t understand what they were, I knew enough to think it was valuable
information. The Blue Odyssey. A far cry from the truth, but who was I
to know. (Is there anything more entertaining than planting false CW info?)
I remember seeing blue and white paper dumped on Bowling Ball’s head to signify the start of Color War. I ran as hard as I could up the path, trying not to get trampled by the older kids or trip on any rocks and desperately searching for my name on the backstop. Eric Wilensky was on my team and he said right away we were in trouble. I yelled back in protest, but he was actually correct, as we went on to suffer the worst defeat up to that point in camp history.
I remember coming to the council ring to hear the famous speech. We were friends before the war started and we will be friends after it's all over. My high junior team had a decent run, but the Blue Brotherhood got knocked around badly by the White Vice. From the moment that Dean Goldberg and Johnny Stoller drove by the Waterfront on the way to their entrances at the Volleyball court, we knew we were done. It was ugly.
I remember singing (or whispering) “Time in a Bottle” as a tear rolled down my face on song night. The summer was over and while it was just my first, I knew I was coming back. The Blue Brotherhood may have gotten killed on the field, but we did well on song night. One year later, the Platoon and Untouchables would be putting on the worst song night ever, forgetting lines, ending songs in the middle, but for that one moment our team had come together to win something, a small victory.
I remember truly cherishing chocolate milk for the first time. I am not a big chocolate eater, but the sweet taste in my mouth after 5 days of battle couldn’t have been more relaxing. I have no clue who started that tradition, but I like it. (Can’t you just picture Hy Escott sipping on a brown milk carton after screaming out rewritten versions of Frank Sinatra songs?)
I
remember going to Funtown USA with the entire camp. I wasn’t even
tall enough to go on the go-carts myself, but I had a great time. I never
understood campers and staff who chose not to go to Funtown. I mean, its
called FUNtown, how bad can it be. Dave Gorin, Eric Wilensky, Adam Bernstein
and I once even took a day off to go there in 1994.
After winning 4 plastic helmets, blowing all of my money and 8 long weeks, I was ready to go home. My first summer had come and gone. I never imagined that 16 years later I would still be involved with West End House Camp and it would rank among the more important things in my life.
As many people look at their past they utter the words “if I had only known then what I know now, things would’ve been so different.” Well, I just don’t think that is as much fun as being a part of the way things seemed, not knowing what would and could happen next. I just hope that I never forget.
