The Council Room

[Mike Freeland]

I think it was 1967, Mike Simpson's first summer. I was responsible for the Philadelphia party, which by then had long since abandoned the trains in favor of busses. Mike was a really little guy, maybe 8 or 9, youngest of the lot, scared to death and homesick with all those other kids on a bus to nowhere. Obviously I made a point to take him under my wing.

We always managed to get from Phila. to somewhere in Connecticut, where we'd stop for a pee and a burger, and on this stop, I ordered 40 burgers, fries and cokes, and made sure everyone was still with the group when the lunch was done. I stuck right by Mike on the way back out to the bus, and I asked if he'd gone to the pines -- there wasn't one on the bus and it'd be a long wait. He dutifully returned to the Howard Johnson, and I went straight to the bus, where I took a quick head count and said to the driver, OK, let's get on with it.

About an hour later, we'd crossed over into Mass. and I suddenly remembered Mike. Jesus, did he get back on the bus? I never saw him after I sent him back to the bathroom!. I felt as though my chest was about to cave in. I stood up and started counting. I came up one short. Counted again. Again one short. Did I mis-count when I got on the bus back in Connecticut? Count again. Again one off.

Now I'm thinking of this defenseless little boy standing at a Howard Johnson's somewhere near Hartford, with no place to go, and no one to call. My responsibility! Someone else's child! My GOD how am I going to explain this? I was nearly sick with dread as I casually (and shakily) moseyed back through the bus's aisle, looking in each seat, making a slow, deliberate count.

There he was, about halfway back, alone and slumped way down in his seat, sleeping off all that earlier crying. He wasn't visible from my position at the front of the bus.

I have no idea how he got back on the bus. Maybe I did see him, but I could swear that he didn't have time to go back in, pee and come out, let alone get on the bus. In any case, I came very close to screwing up badly enough to change my life, I'll tell you that.

There was a story I NEVER told to the general public, and certainly not to BMB. I was, and still am, really embarrassed by what I thought of as pure negligence. I was saved from its consequences only by sheer luck, certainly not by anything I did to mitigate it.

OK guys, anyone else have something like that you're willing to reveal? I hope Mike doesn't mind my using his name. I'm not even sure if he was aware of that incident. I think I told him at some point.
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'56-C-9 C. Mosher '57-C-9 Bill Feaster
'58-J-14 H. Peavy '59-J-11 G. Wood, C. Duncan
'60-S-8 R. Leavitt, D. Hemphill '61-S-1 E. Slocum
'62-JA-1 H. Dunbar '63-C-2 (JC)
'64-C-5, (JC) Councilor
'65-C-9 '66 - '72-J-8
'73-JA1 '75-J-6

[David Bentley]

Although I can't be as dramatic as Mike, I do have two stories of poor counciloring on my part, but both ended happily and with quite pleasant results.

In maybe 1962 or 1963 I was the councilor in J-8, and I had a tent full of very active campers - tennis players, baseball players, swimmers, hikers, all very active, and me, personally, trying to be a councilor by day and have some nightlife by night, well, yes, I too, was active. So, one Sunday J-8 went on an overnight to Olds Beach (the sandy beach across from Land's End, the upper edge of Johnson's Cove), led by your's truly and my trusty JC (name ?). We went after lunch, swam, canoed, etc, ate a whopping meal, had some marshmellows, etc., etc., etc., and went to bed. Even the best plans have flaws - I had forgotten to bring a watch. The first sign of life I experienced was one of my boys telling me that the Camp sailboats were passing by. Holy schmooks, and they were headed back to the dock. Well, we got up, had breakfast, and got back to Camp just as lunch was concluding. I went to see BMB about this situation, and I think I am alive today because I was DMB. He told me that boys should not miss their morning activity period, and at the very least I should have informed the office that we would be late. I decided not to try to explain myself, and promised it would never happen again.

Another time, I made a rare appearance as a Saco River trip leader. I had strong paddlers, and the current was flowing, so we were making good time. We were well ahead of schedule the last day, so we made a little side trip up a small tributary before we got to the pick-up location. We, it seems that Howie Dunbar, driving the truck to pick us up, was also early, so he dicided to borrow an outboard and motor up river to meet us, a friendly gesture. I'm sure you can see where this is going - we were up the tributary when he went up the main river, then we returned to the main river and went to the end point, hauled our gear our, and wondered where the truck was. Howie was getting concerned, and went all the way to the east Brownsfield Bridge, walked to the store, and they said a group fitting our description had been through the day before. Meanwhile, we went to the ice cream store and did the usual pig out, and, eventually, Howie showed up and we returned to Camp, rather late, but with a good story to tell.

You know, neither of these two events hurt anyone, we all were safe, and we had a good time.
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C-1 49 J-7 52 S-3 55 J-10 58
C-7 50 J-7 53 S-2 56 J-8 59
C-8 51 J-4 54 S-7 57 (JA) J-8 60 - 64
1965 - 1968 Military service
Pine Cone 68 - 75 (with wife,Sherry,
and daughter Tracey)
Wolfeboro - full-time since 1997

[Jim Culleton]

I was really debating whether to bring this up or not, but here goes! Stew Borger will probably kill me!

In '63 Stew and I did an overnight at Land's End for a great afternoon and evening of swimming, cooking over an open fire and listening to ghost stories! Once the kids were bedded down and asleep, we invited two girls, dates at the time, down to Land's End to visit with us for an hour or so. This had already been pre-planned.

It was one of those drizzly, really dark August nites so we felt that the Sr. OD wouldn't see what we were doing. Stew stayed behind with the kids and I went up to meet the girls in the Sr. parking lot at about 9 PM. With ponchos in hand I had each of the girls cover their head as we walked from the Sr. parking lot, through the Sr. Camp and down the narrow path to Land's End! There was no shortcut around the Sr. Camp so we had to walk down past S-5 or S-6 and right past the Sr. Camp pump. I was so afraid that we would be caught that my heart was pounding as we walked . . . . 3 souls in yellow ponchos . . . . . . 2 being female!

This certainly would have been grounds for immediate dismissal (I think) if we had been caught! They only stayed an hour or so and then I walked them back up to their car, taking the same route back. Thankfully all the kids were fairly sound sleepers so none of them saw our visitors. In an effort to keep the women anonymous I won't mention names but they both had ties to Wyanoke via their parents.

I know it was an irresponsible thing to do and I know that BMB would have either had us fired or at least a very stern reprimand. I still feel guilty about that incident! I'm not sure if there were rules at the time re: females on Camp property after hours? I don't think that our escapade rose to the occasion as the "Panty Raid" on Kehonka did in '59 or '60. That had to be one of BMB's toughest decisions, regarding the affected councilors, in his history as Director.
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'56 - J-9 J. Moulton
'57 - J-11 J. Moulton
'58 - J-4 E. Web Dann, S. Hood
'59 - S-6 P. Leavitt
'60 - S-2 F. Avantaggio
'61 - JA-1 RK Irons
'62 - C-9 JC with P. Freeland
'63 - C-1 JC with S. Borger
'64 - C-6 Councilor

[Tom Shirley]

Mike's Hartford story reminds me ofa non-Wyanoke story. I was a senior at the Loomis-Chaffee School in Windsor CT. and playing on the hockey team. We had played a game at the Gunnery School in western CT. We were travelling in vans on Rt 86 when we stopped in Southington at a McDonalds for a pit stop.

I bought something to drink and then headed into the mens room. When I emerged both vans were gone. So there I was at MCD about a 45 minute drive from school. It was getting late and eventually the Mcdonalds kicked me out and closed. I tried to explain whart we going on but they didn't care.

I wandered to the gas station next door only to see that he was closing up. I convinced him to let me make a long distance phone call even though I had not money left. The guy was pretty nice though and stayed there until I made the call. When I called the school I reached the assistant coach's wife and explained what had happened. He had still not realized that I was missing. Everyone on the van had slept the whole way home. I can't explain what they did with my gear.

So he then got back int eh van to come get me and picked me up about 2.5 hours after leaving me. It was long cold wait in the middle of winter.

Needless to say I was able get this coach to do me many favors which was goo as he was the one responsible for assigning work jobs.
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J-1 1970, Marc Liddle from Scotland
J-1 1971, Bob Vaughn
S-3 1972, Steve McDavitt
S-2 1973, Charlie Thomas
JA-2 1974, Dan Mannis
JA-1 1975, Dave Ayers

Proud to be Gray

[DavidAyars]

The worst thing I remember doing as a councilor involved a junior sailing activity I was in charge of. It was a good day for sailing, if you knew what you were doing. (All too often, you'd get sailing, as councilor or camper, and there'd be a puff of air, and then you'd sit there for five minutes, waiting for the next one.) But this day was one of those rare summer camp afternoons, probably the day after a storm had passed, with a stiff but steady breeze, and gentle whitecaps. Perfect for sailing.

But a little risky if the sailors weren't careful, because the wind was moving at a good clip. So the junior group came down to the dock on time, and we had a group talk about "jibing". Jibing is the maneuver a captain makes when he's "running with the wind" (or has the wind at the stern of the boat), but needs to change direction such that the mainsail boom (the beam of wood that comes out from the mast parallel to the hull) will swing across the stern as the wind fills the other side of the mainsail. In a stiff breeze, it's a little dangerous, because the wind grabs the sail and snaps the boom hard across the boat. Somebody can get clocked in the head with the boom pretty easily and get knocked out of the boat or do some real damage to themselves or to the boat. Sailing instructors have to teach new sailors how to recognize when a boat will jibe and how to do it safely. So we had that talk. But two 11 or 12 year old boys, whose names are long lost to my memory, were being, well, 11 or 12 year old wiseacres. They were listening only carefully enough to joke about the talk, like they already knew everything.

So they got out there together in the same sailboat, rigged the boat okay, launched okay, but probably only got 50 yards away before they ran into trouble-- as in, sailboat spinning around in circles out-of-control, the boom snapping all over the place, the lines overboard. They didn't get hurt, but they were panicky because they realized they were in a dangerous situation and they didn't know how to fix it.

So there I am, on the senior dock yelling out instructions into the wind which two panicky boys understandably could not hear let alone make sense of. I did the thing we all saw waterfront staff do when somebody's horsing around out there, jump in the motorboat, make a big show of firing it up and roaring out in a plume of whitewater (fortunately remembering to untie the motorboat first ), and when I got out to their boat, I just totally lost my temper . I was furious because of the danger and especially because on the dock they were goofing around with the instruction they needed. I don't remember the words I used but I remember the ice cold tone of voice I used and the fury in it. The moment was strong enough to damage their self-esteem. And instead of making it a teaching moment and building a relationship, because now they finally were ready to listen and learn, I punished them by ending their activity for the day and sending them up the hill. I felt really badly about it, even later the same day. I knew I'd overreacted and that I should have apologized to them and found a way to turn it around and teach them to sail later in the summer, but I wasn't mature and self-confident enough to do that. One of those things a person beats himself up over long after it's done.

At least I remembered and learned from it-- learned not to do that with my own kids or in an educational setting. I'd still make mistakes in years to come, but would learn a. not to go so far overboard in anger and b. to apologize when I'd erred. One can undo a lot of damage to others and to oneself by just saying, "Hey, I blew it, I'm really sorry... let's try again." So guys, whoever and wherever you are, I am sorry, and I hope you got a better teacher down the road. If not, let's meet in Wolfeboro in a couple of weeks...
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Camper: J-8 1965 (Kevin Ryan), J-8 1966 (Mike Freeland), S-6 1967 (Russ Hatch), S-3 1968 (Jeremy Cripps), and JA-2 1969 (Dan Mannis).
JC: J-2 1970 (Bill Bettison) and J-3 1971 (Gene Comella). Councilor 1972, J-5 1973, and JA-1 1974 & 1975

[Pat Freeland]

Offhand I can remember two times that kids made my life a bit less than perfect.

One was a kid who shall remain nameless, his initials were WP. Several times when I passed him on the cabintown road, I was lost in thought and on those occasions, for reasons best known to him, he'd punch me hard in the stomach. It was unprovoked and therefore unexpected, but the fact that it happened multiple times speaks to my tolerance, stupidity or preoccupation. Anyway, one day I got my own back, old WP was coming my way and we met at the path to the lower Jr. pines. I feigned an expression of deep thought until the last moment, then unleashed a mighty punch into his gut. It felt great and I wouldn't take it back to this day. He doubled over and looked shocked. I told him if he ever approached within striking distance of me ever again for the rest of time, I'd do the same.

Second, one warm July day when I was head of the waterfront, afternoon free junior swim ended, the last kid cleared out and to the horror of all of the staff at the waterfront, one tag was left on the buddy board. I sent a runner up the hill and the rest of us did the lost swimmer search, a truly exhausting drill. We swam back and forth between the docks and then lined up and swam from the shore outward, every dive was deeper and more tiring. No word from up the hill, though a search of camp was underway.

The search went on for 45 minutes and the tension and emotion among all of us searchers was extreme. Finally someone came down the hill to say that the kid was up in the section, he had gone with the Catholic boys to a special feast day mass in town. Again I got my own back. I personally took him to the wharf and made him do for a few minutes what we had done for a very long three quarters of an hour. Coughing, gurgling and crying, he vowed he'd never forget to check out again. For the record, I was on the point of tears too, it shook me to the core to think how close we came to a real disaster.
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Living with wife Vicki happily retired after we moved back to Cornwall, Pa.