A Summer...Pre-Camp

I have no problem with change. It’s not that. Change is fine. But when it comes to transitions, I become frustrated. It’s the work. It’s the tedious acts of planning and packing and organizing and moving and working that have always bothered me. Even when I’m going to camp, a place that I love, I still have a problem with the process of transition.

I slept at Meghan’s house last night, and after a long goodbye this morning I departed for the North Woods. Camp does not begin for a week and a half, but pre-camp for the staff begins on Monday, and many of my friends went up for pre-pre-camp for various reasons: lifeguard certification, administrative meetings, working on the climbing wall, or any other excuse to be at camp for an extra week.

I head north, hopping on the Edens. I am listening to _____ and ________ on the Score, though _____ is absent and Score stalwart _-____ is in his place. The NBA Finals began last night—(Ben: “I love the logo for the Finals, that classy cursive script. It’s like, You are cordially invited to the NBA Finals.”)—with the Spurs beating the defending champion Pistons 84-69 in a mondo-ugmo of a game. I love watching Detroit, and I strongly dislike watching San Antonio, and I get a sense that this series will be played at somewhere around the Game 1 clip. It’s a sad day when the NBA Finals are not top tier sports, but that’s just the day that it is, and with the Bulls already eliminated our focus has shifted to baseball, particularly today…

…where the main talk of the morning is the overwhelming excitement surrounding the Cubs and the Red Sox, who begin a three-game set tonight at Wrigley. It is the first time that the two clubs have played since Game 6 of the 1918 World Series when the Red Sox beat the Cubs 2-1 at Fenway to capture their first World Series title in two years…their fourth since 1912…and their final until last October…

Yes, the Red Sox are rolling into Wrigley to face the Cubs for the first time since 1918, arriving in town as defending champs and creating a double buzz, one anticipatory for the much-awaited Cubs-Red Sox matchup, the other suggestive for the near future of our Cubbies as provoked and influenced by the 2004 Red Sox. Curse Talk is in full swing on the Score; the Red Sox breaking theirs…the Cubs trying to do the same…and so I decide to call in for my final Score talk of the summer.

They put me on hold. North on 94, towards Madison. The callers flip through. Finally…

“…I mean, it’s gotta be our time. Red Sox got it last year. We’re gonna get it this year.”

“Thank you for the call, Travis. Jack on a car phone, you’re on the Score.”

I hear that little click-in sound that nobody hears over the air, and then the usual timidity knowing that it’s kind of silly to ask them how they’re doing—everybody before you has done it—but feeling weird about not doing it. It’s like approaching an elevator that already has a few people waiting for it. You know they’ve already pressed the button, but it feels weird if you don’t press it, just in case. And so I press it:

“Very good.” And then I launch into it, and as usual my well planned and extremely articulate comments disintegrate on their way out of my mouth as if my lips are covered with sulfuric acid. “I gotta say, all of this, um, all of this Cubs-Red Sox curse stuff is pretty ridiculous. First of all, curses are dumb. I mean, I’d much rather be a Cubs or a Red Sox fan than a White Sox or Pirates or Indians fan. Those guys, um, those guys have it rough. The Sox haven’t won in, what, um…since like 1917? How is that so much better than what we’re going through? It’s probably worse, because they don’t get all of the sympathy that we get and that Boston gets.”

“I hear ya, Jack. Davis on the North Side, you’re on the Score.” And I hear that little click-out sound that nobody hears over the air, and that’s the end. It’s almost unavoidable for me. I’ve been calling into the Score since I was 15, and I always get nervous. Interestingly, I am always much less nervous during the night time shows, which is probably because with significantly fewer callers the night hosts are able to cultivate strong sports conversation rather than just getting a buffet. And they look to do that, because they know that it’s one of the draws to calling in late night and beyond, and because they know that we know that it’s possible.

The drive to camp is transformative. Talk about a change of scenery. We start in the heavily populated Chicago north suburbs, we end up in the forested, sparse North Woods. In between, there are long highways broken up by sudden jilts into small towns, my favorite being Chippewa Falls, home of Annie Hall. (“Chippewa Falls.” “Oh. *pause* Where?” “Chippewa Falls.”) There’s an emotional transformation as well…the drive to camp is at least 100 miles shorter than was the first leg of the road trip from here to Kansas, yet this drive seems so much longer because of what the destination means. Going to KU means doing most of the same things that I normally do, only doing them someplace where I don’t normally do them. Going to camp, on the other hand, means doing very few of the things that I normally do. It means being without television and internet for the majority of my days, and it means not returning to Chicago for nine weeks. It means worse cell phone reception and a strict sleep and eat schedule. It means no Chicago radio, no Mustards…actually, nearly no good burgers and absolutely zippo on the hot dog front. It’s like Bloomington all over again on that count.

The camper bus ride. Eight hours, with a stop in Milwaukee to pick up the Milwaukee kids, and another stop later for lunch. Three or four movies, all edited. Laughing with friends you haven’t seen since the reunion. Playing card games across the aisles. Trying to get the counselors on the bus to tell you who your counselors are. Breaking into your candy stash. Growing older and recognizing the landmarks…

It’s long and slow. And then all of a sudden you hit US-53, the first sign of the North Woods. Then it’s onto 63, the road that goes into town. Through Spooner, past Players on the left at the edge of town, and then into Hayward, the giant Musky on the right, and then a right on highway 77, heavy on the twists and medium on the hills, and then left on Murphy Boulevard, heavy on the hills and medium on the twists, and then it’s right on the aptly named Boys Camp Road, weaving into camp, between the totum poles, past the Villa, lake on your right, the tennis courts and basketball court and Mike Hall on your left, the Lodge up ahead, parking at the hill.

I’m on 63, cutting back east towards Hayward, envisioning all that. Cell reception will go soon. I call home. Dad picks up.

“A guy pulled up in front of the restaurant, and it was nice out so people were sitting outside, and he pulled out a shotgun and fired at this woman and her kids.”

And it is. “Yeah. Listen, Pop, I’m probably going to lose reception soon.”

“No. I’ll be out in town soon. I’ll call then. Good talking to you, Pop.”

I love driving into Hayward. It always makes me happy. What a great place! Hayward is the very definition of small town America. They’ve got a town square, an old-timey homemade fudge shop…heck, one of the biggest pieces of news to ever come out of Hayward came in the early ’90s when they got their first traffic light! It’s that kind of town. I remember when they put in their first McDonald’s. It was crazy. And as I’m thinking this I come up upon the Mickey D’s, and to my surprise I find that it has been remodeled from a standard red with yellow roof stripes into more of a log cabin that features a giant stone chimney on the corner of the building. What the--? I go inside to check it out, and sure enough, Hayward, Wisconsin is now home to the world’s most charming, attractive, and classy McDonald’s, complete with leather furniture in front of a fireplace. Incredible.

I order nothing. Three months ago it would have been nearly impossible for me to step into a McDonald’s without ordering. Cousins is going to be very impressed.

I bounce out of Mickey D’s with a sudden urge that is beyond eager to get to camp. I hop out of the parking lot, head over to 77, turn right, drive the sixteen minutes up to Murphy, turn left, pass the first stop sign, and then there’s the NORTH STAR CAMP FOR BOYS sign, and now a right over the gravel, passing the S-curve, under the totem poles, and now the ever-difficult choice as to whether or not to honk. I decide to honk.

As it turns out, there is a large group of staff walking in front of me as I come around the turn at Villa Road. They start to wave.

Hamer’s there, along with Robby, Swiryn, Ari, J.R., Shlensky, a guy named Andy Whalley from England who came for the first time last summer, and one guy I don’t know, an American with shaggy black hair.

Ari explodes suddenly, clearly having just remembered something. “Dude, have you seen the new McDoanld’s?”

“Wow. Yeah, I rolled through about a half hour ago on my way in. Leather chairs.”

Everyone laughs, except for Ari, who is peering into my car. “Did you get me anything?”

“I’m off it. I’m eating kind of healthy these days.” They stare at me. “Healthy for Jack, at least.”

Pretty much unprovoked, Ari drops this one on me: “McDonald’s tastes really good,” he says defiantly. “That’s what matters.”

“I’m not denying it’s great taste. It’s more about its propensity for artery thickening.”

We rap about the McDonald’s for a while, and then I park my car in a more appropriate spot and go into the Lodge to say hello to Leb and Sue and everyone else around. When staff go on time off we have to sign out and then sign back in, and last summer a few of us decided to “sign out” for the winter, and so I run down to Denny’s Den to sign back in. The sheet is there, waiting for me. Awesome. Dinner is at six, as it is every night. Later we will play dodgeball on the lower tennis courts—perfect—and I will unpack my car and set up a bunk and shelf area in one of the cabins in the Junior Village.

North Star Camp was founded by Lou and Renee Rosenblum, future grandparents of Mike Swiryn, future friend of Jack M Silverstein.[1] Lou had been working at Camp Nebagamon, and along with his wife Renee—they married in June of 1944—he decided that he would like to begin his own camp. Lou and Renee searched all through the North Woods, looking for the perfect location for their camp, finally settling on a heavily forested area on the Spider Lake chain in northern Wisconsin. North Star’s first summer was in 1945; much of the campers’ and counselors’ time was spent simply working on camp’s formation.

It grew from there. Over the next three decades, North Star became one of the most respected summer camps in an area known for them. In 1972, Robert Lebby came aboard as a cabin counselor. Two years later, Sue Schill joined staff as the camp nurse. As it turns out, Leb had a thing for sexy, blonde nurses, and Sue had a thing for hunky, athletic horseback riding instructors. C’est la vie. They were married in 1979, the same year that Lou and Renee decided to hang up their hiking boots and sell North Star. After much consideration, camp went to Leb, and he and Sue took over as NSC’s directors in 1980.

But Leb was not the only member of NSC’s staff that was interested in purchasing North Star, and indeed he was one of five staff members in the 1970s who went on to run a camp. Along with Leb, there was Mike Cohen (current director of Camp Timberlane for Boys of Woodruff, WI), Tom Adler (former director of Chippewa Ranch Camp for Girls of Eagle River, WI), Mike Jay (current director of Camp Kamaji for Girls of Cass Lake, MN), and the late Richard Chernov (director of Camp Birch Trail for Girls of Minong, WI until his death in 2004). Adler has since retired, and Chippewa is now run by Cliff Lissner (Big Ten 2001).

It’s cool to think about the way that Nebagamon produced Lou, and Lou created North Star, and now four different camps are being run by North Star alum. I always think of it like the NFL; Paul Brown, the long-time head coach of the Browns and the Bengals, the so-called “Father of the Modern Offense.” Among those who played for or coached under Brown were NFL legends Don Shula, Chuck Noll, Weeb Ewbank, Sid Gillman, and Bill Walsh. Now take Walsh, who went on to great fame with the 49ers. Among his assistants were future head coaches Mike Holmgren, Mike Shanahan, Dennis Green, George Seifert, and Ray Rhodes. Holmgren got his first head coaching job with Green Bay in 1992, and along with the aforementioned Rhodes, Holmgren had a staff that produced future head coaches Andy Reid, Jon Gruden, Steve Mariucci, Dick Jauron, and Marty Mornhinweg. All of these coaches—along with many others—all stemming from Paul Brown, all leaving their marks on the National Football League. Very cool.

As for me, I came to North Star in 1993, following Swiryn and a few other friends from Tamarak Day Camp. I spent five summers at North Star, leaving after the summer of 1997, my Pine Manor year. I spent four summers away from camp, and then in the winter of 2001 I received word that Jack Weiner had died. Jack was a long-time North Star man; he was there in the early days from 1949 through 1951, and he returned thirty-six years later with his long time wife Shirley, staying at camp from ’87 until 2001, his final summer. Jack’s primary position at camp was as C.I.T. director, but he also taught tennis and helped kids prepare for their Bar Mitzvahs. Most of all though, Jack set the tone at North Star. He was the first person to greet newcomers, be it at camp or at one of the reunions. He was always smiling. He woke early to play tennis with campers and counselors. He walked around with his shirt off despite the sun damage. He was a moral and ethical barometer for all who knew them. For us, the “J” in WWJD stands for Jack, as many who knew him often ask that very question before making any difficult decisions. He was a true North Star man, all the way through…

…and so, when he passed, I began reconnecting with old North Star friends, most notably three guys my age who were all at camp during the summer of 2001. My old friend Marc Siegel had just celebrated his Big Ten,[2] as had Evan Minkus, who also came to camp in 1992, though as a nine-year-old. Mike’s last summer was 1996, as a commitment to soccer prevented him from returning for his Pine Manor year, but in 2001 he returned to camp. I spoke with these three quite a bit after Jack died, and the more I spoke with them, the more I decided that I wanted to return. And so I did, in 2002.

I’ve grown a great deal in my three summers on staff, so much so that it’s fair to say that I am nearly a different person than I was four yeas ago. Certainly a feller would be expected to grow and change over the ages of 20 to 23, but the person that I am today is in large part a result of my time as a counselor. I have been very fortunate to be on staff at this particular moment in North Star history; these guys who are all among my closest friends have a dedication to North Star the likes of which I’ve never seen. The Big Tens stack up: Glick in 2004, Swiryn, Robby, Heldman, and Jeff this summer, and we have a slew of nine’s: myself, Shmerling, Hamer, Shlensky, Jacob, Ari, Frost, Bryon, little Glickman, Kyle Silberman, Jake Lerman, and C.I.T. Ryan Tilis. Incredible.

It’s difficult to come back year after year. The older you get, the more the “real world” tugs at your arm sleeve, like a little kid in a supermarket trying to get his father’s attention while Dad spends what seems like an hour talking to an old friend. Unless you buy a camp, or find a lifetime job there, everybody has to leave sometime. We all know that. At this point, every summer we spend at North Star may be our last. But we continue to return, and though it’s wonderful to spend time with our closest friends, we know that the real reason we are returning is because of North Star itself. We love working with kids, but most of all we love contributing to a place that means so much to us. Ultimately, that’s why we return.

The rest of the staff arrives a few days later, and the first thing that jumps out at me is the number of new cabin counselors: thirteen. That’s it. There are eighteen cabins at camp, and there tend to be three counselors per cabin. That’s 54 counselors, and usually at least twenty are first-year guys. To have only 13 is remarkable, and when you consider that two are former campers and two others are friends of current counselors, that leaves only nine guys in the cabin who are completely new to North Star.

Pre-camp is a week long, and we pack it in. Much of the preparation for the summer has already been done, but there is still quite a bit of work remaining, a third of which is the physical work—setting up the project areas and the cabins, while another third is the counseling work—learning how to be a camp counselor through extensive sessions on conflict resolution, time management, and general awareness of the problems that arise when working with kids.

The final third is team building, activities designed to bring the staff together in an effort to form a single cohesive unit with all parts working in unison and operating with our main goal in mind: the welfare of our campers. It’s always amazing to see what is accomplished in seven days; guys who did not know each other on Monday have already developed tight bonds of friendship by Saturday.

Very cool game today. We divided the staff into groups of five or six and then sent the groups into Hayward for a photo scavenger hunt. Returners were group leaders, and I took out a group of four new guys—one tripper and three counselors, including Scott. Categories included: find the oldest person at Marketplace, find the youngest person at Marketplace, design the produce at Marketplace in some sort of funny way (nearly every group went pornographic for that one, including us), recreate the Last Supper at McDonald’s, take a picture with the waitresses at the Norske Nook, take a picture with a Hayward police officer, and my favorite—reenact a scene from a movie. I figured that the highway scene in The Program was a good one, and so four of us including me lied down in the middle of Highway 27 (the equivalent of Green Bay Road through Winnetka) while Scotty took the picture. Money.

Tonight is one of my favorite nights of pre-camp: the two-on-two basketball tournament. All staff interested in playing have their names placed in a hat, and a random, live drawing determines the partners and pairings. The entire staff is encouraged to play, regardless of athletic ability, and when all of the names are in the drawing takes place on the terrace outside of the lodge where we do after-lunch announcements. Glick is decked out in his Dee Brown jersey, wig included (obviously), and along with him, Robby, A.J., and Jacob read off the names while I quickly record them on our mondo-bracket. In 2002, I was with Swiryn. In 2003, I was with Heldman. Last summer Swiryn and I missed nearly all of pre-camp due to summer school, and as the drawing just stipulated, tonight I will be with Dan, thus continuing my streak of being one half of the hairiest two-on-two team. Excellent.

There are some camps that revolve around athletics, with the focus being solely on winning and losing. This is not so at North Star. While there is a strong amount of athletic competition at North Star—we play sports every day—we are by no means a “sports camp.” Our athletics focus on sportsmanship, teamwork, and the improvement of skills. This is not to say that one way is better than the other; different strokes for different folks. I truly believe that if people want to focus in on winning and losing, then that is fine. But we prefer things our way because Lou and Renee preferred them that way, and Leb and Sue have continued to promote those values.

After the drawing takes place, Robby, A.J., Jacob, Glick, and I join the staff on the terrace. Leb steps forward to address the staff. The Big Man doesn’t make many speeches during the summer, so when he talks, you listen.

“Before we begin our tournament, I’d like us all to think about what we are doing here when we are playing our games. I love sports. For those of you who know me, you know that I am a competitive guy. I played football and Rugby at Duke University, I play golf all year—yes, if you called Tuscon this summer and got Beth, that’s why—and I always enjoy going out during the day and joining in a basketball game or a football game. And of course, you all know that I get serious when it’s time to play. And for those of you who don’t know, just wait until our over-under game. You’ll see Old Man Lebby really swinging the bat. I’m a competitive guy, and when we get out there on the field or up on the court tonight, the point is to play your hardest. There are a lot of great lessons for campers to learn during competition, and learning to deal with defeat and failure is one of the most important. But the most important lesson to learn is that when the game is over, you shake hands, and that’s it. That’s the end. Today we have an environment in professional sports that teaches us to win at all costs, and that sinks down into the college game and then into the high school game. My daughter Kacy plays soccer as did my son Garrett, and I’ve seen coaches go overboard with the amount of focus placed on winning and losing. It’s OK if that’s what you want, but it’s just not the way we do things here. Play your hardest. That’s the point. But when the game is over, that’s it. Let’s keep that in mind up there tonight and all summer long.”

Dan and I have drawn Hamer and a C.I.T. named Danny Kahan. Despite his height, Dan is not much of a basketball player, and although I am competent and intelligent, I am also short, thin, and not that good, all of which pose a problem. Hamer and D.K. throw their bulk around, and as Hamer is just as hairy as Dan and hairier than me, the hairy-factor is not as much in our favor as I would have hoped. Final score: 7-4. A big 2-4-6-8, followed by good-games and hand shakes all around; we all go to get water, with Hamer and Kahan preparing for the next round.

It’s a fun tourney as always. Lots of cheering and goofy plays, and it’s always fun to watch the foreigners try valiantly to play some ball, most of whom don’t know a lick about the sport. The final comes down to the tall and lanky A.J. and the big bodied Big Dog McCormack against Byron (arguably the best b-baller at camp, particularly now that Marc is gone) and one of the J.C.’s, with A.J. and Jeff prevailing. Each game ends with hand shakes, high fives, and zero pouting. Just sport. Fun, hard, and full.

It is the fourth day of pre-camp, after dinner. We sit in Mike Hall, an old barn of a building that plays host to the opening and closing staff show, the camper musical, and any other indoor performance. The staff is seated in a circle, all around the walls of Mike Hall. We divide into pairs or groups of three and tell stories about someone who left a legacy on our lives, either positive or negative. We then turn to the group and share our stories. Some stories we’ve heard before, such as Shlensky’s story about Dan reading “The Iowa Baseball Confederacy” when Dan was Shlensky’s counselor, or Jacob’s story about his counselor giving him his first lesson in shaving before the Fourth of July social.

Other stories are new. A new counselor tells about his experience in the army and how none of his friends thought that he would make it through training. Second-year counselor Wes Spece talks about his father, a man who coached him in baseball and basketball and never went easy on him in their one-on-one battles. Shmerling tells about a North Star counselor of his who “jokingly” held his head under water in the lake, an act that terrified him and kept him out of the water for years. Even Leb gets involved, telling us about the time when he told his parents that rather than going into the family business, he wanted to run a summer camp, and how, much to his surprise, his father told him immediately to go after his dreams. Staff trade good stories and bad, and there is a seriousness and a respect present in the faces of everyone in the room, even from the new staff, and it is encouraging to see how comfortable the new staff feel sharing these stories with people they have known for less than a week.

If North Star is a body, then the Lodge is the heart, always pumping and keeping everything fluid and proper. After you pass Mike Hall on your way into camp, you curve to your left, passing a long, one story building with several sections. The arts and crafts room—called the “Arm & Hammer”—is on the left, followed by the program director’s office called Denny’s Den, followed by the rocketry room, followed by the Handler Health Center.[3] On your right is the hill, with the Lodge sitting strong at the top of it. It is a two floor building, with a basement that is used mostly for storage. On the first floor is the office, Leb’s office, the kitchen, and the Inner and Outer Lodge. On the second floor is Sue’s office, the games room, the digital photography room, the Siren[4] room, and the staff lounge. There is also an all-purpose meeting room of many names, most notably (in no significant order):

1. The War Room (due to the fact that it hosts the drafts for UN Day and Pow Wow Day)

2. The Moose Room (due to the fact that there are two wooden moose heads hanging on the wall)

3. The Yoda Room (due to the fact that there is a lifesize Yoda figurine in the corner of the room in honor of Jack Weiner, whose nickname was Yoda)

One of the best aspects of being at camp is having access to so many of your friends all at once. Where else are you guaranteed to find three other people for a card game or nine other people for a basketball game? It just doesn’t happen.

This is a 24-hour job, and we pack an obscene amount into those 24 hours, so while there’s not a lot of free time, the amount we get is plenty. It’s just nothing when weighed against the amount of free time you have in a non-North Star summer…which of course, always ends up being way too much free time, which is one of the things I love about this job. It keeps you busy.

We get one day off and one night off a week, which is real tight, and once we’ve put our campers to bed we’ve got about three hours of nearly uninterrupted free time, barring any kind of camper-related emergency, which of course takes precedence. Always on the job.

But there is free time, and after putting the campers to bed, most staff tend to go into the Lodge to hang out. We scatter all over the place. Little circles form. Some guys play guitar while others sing, some play cards, some play board games, some work on their laptops, some watch movies up in the staff lounge, some use the internet in the office, some just fall into the Big Conversations that seem to happen more at camp than anywhere else. Pre-camp is the same in many respects; since we have a schedule during the day, our night time is a good time to groove out. A year ago, Swiryn introduced a game called “Celebrity”—kind of a multi-layered Sharades with people’s names, kind of—and it caught on. This year it’s been one of the early favorites, particularly because it can involve an unlimited amount of participants. It’s a good game to get a lot of people together, obviously more inclusive than a game of Euchre or Hearts.

I head to the kitchen to grab a Tombstone out of the freezer, and then I think of something, and find Andy Stern, a first-year J.C.[5]

We go to the freezer and grab a pepperoni, then gallop up the stairs into the staff lounge where the pizza ovens reside. This is my first za of the summer. Exciting stuff. I put it in and set the timer to 12 minutes. Time for a pop, but I’ve got nothing on me.

The pop machine is just outside of Denny’s Den, and we head down to grab a pair of Pepsis. Campers are not allowed to have pop at camp, and so one of the fun games as a camper is raiding the pop machine, which is both easier and harder now than it was in my day. Campers, of course, refuse to believe that it was harder, because unlike in my day, the pop machine is now turned off after 1 AM. In that respect, we had it easier...but actually, that’s a moot point, because the 1 AM staff curfew was only put into action in 2002, so while the pop machine was on after 1, it was also heavily guarded. All in all, things were more difficult for us, and in turn, way, way more fun.

The key was the location. Today the staff lounge sits on the second floor of the Lodge. Up the stairs you go, past Sue’s office, past the Moose Room, past the Games Room, past the Siren Room, past the Digi Photag room, and then into the staff lounge, with two nasty-ass beat up couches, a small table, and a TV/DVD set up. Meanwhile, the pop machine sits outside of Denny’s Den and Rocketry, right smack in the open. Back when I was a camper—(camp really does make you feel old fast)—the staff lounge was in Rocketry, way back in the back of the room. So the operation was quite complicated.

First off, you had to wake up. In our later years, we became adept at raiding in the middle of the day…just sneaking through casually, grabbing a pop a man and heading over to chug at the backstop at Dan’s (then called the #2). But even in our crafty Villa days, the joy of a full-on night raid was inescapable. About three nights a week, my alarm was set for three AM, as were the alarms of a few of my friends, generally Marc, Noah Singerman, Jason Weingardt, and Ross Karsen, the man who taught me everything about candy and pop hiding/consumption at camp.[6] Swiryn never joined us; he always played by the rules at camp, as he was worried that he would get busted and his grandparents would find out. So while he and the rest of our cabin slept, our alarms would ring at three, and just like that we were up out of bed with our shoes on and our pillow cases in hand. It was then a light, silent jog towards the staff lounge, cutting through the K-Village behind the Lodge during our Ridge days, and moving swiftly down Villa Road towards the Arm & Hammer during our Villa days. From there, we quickly formed a single-file line and began looking out for staff. Once everything seemed clear, the first two guys in the line would head out like Payton, straight for the staff lounge door.

This was where things became tricky. If we were campers today, our mission would be near completion. We would be, at this point, right at the pop machine, and the only thing left to do would be to get the pops out without being heard and then skidaddle back to the cabin in the dark of the night. Not so in the mid-’90s. First off, the door to Rocketry is one of those tricky screen doors in which the people inside can clearly see outside, yet the metal netting does not allow people to see in. This means that you could storm the door, charge in, and step into a room filled with staff, all smiling evily as they prepare to take your quarters. So once you get to the door, it’s like Bruce Willis cautiously entering his own apartment in Pulp Fiction: I’m going in, but I’m staying quiet…but even quiet won’t do me any good if Marcellus Wallace happens to be sitting on my couch. The door is opened, and assuming there is no one inside, the raider must now get to the pop machine, which is in the back of the room. Since we always went in groups of two, this left one person as lookout…but even that was not perfect, because the lookout was either in Leb’s Lounge or out of it. If he was in, then neither of us would be able to hear the rest of the group should they need to warn us about the impending arrival of a group of counselors. And if he was out, then he was already way ahead of you in terms of escape, since you had to get back to the door and out of the room without being seen, whereas he just had to high-tail it out of there and shag-ass back to the cabin.

So getting to the door was a process, and then you had to get the door open and closed without being heard, and then you passed the point of no return by heading back towards the pop machine, and once all that was done it was time to capture your pops. When we attacked in big groups, we usually set a limit: two to four per man, depending on the situation. In go the quarters and out come the pops, but you had to hold your hands at the bottom so they wouldn’t make noise dropping down, and then it’s one, two, three, and finally the fourth, all going into the pillow case, which is balled up and carried like a football rather than being slung over the shoulder hobo-style. Now it was the next man, and you were the lookout, and once he was done, the two of us would dash out and make way over to the rest of the group, where we would stand guard as the next two entered. Finally, when every man had his two to four pops, we split out, sneakers kicking up grass and gravel, following the moonlight that bounced off the lake, and after a quick celebatory chug outside the cabin, it was back inside, never letting the door hit, and then back into bed with our conquest tucked safely away in our shelves.

Now, it’s all different. I feel like DeNiro at the end of Casino, lamenting the loss of the old casinos and the “Disney World” atmosphere that took over. There’s no art to raiding anymore, and since the pop machine is more readily accessible during the day yet off at night, the campers are crazy. Raiding the pop machine has always been camp’s fun, wink-wink taboo, but that was partially because the campers respected the boundaries. Don’t raid during Friday night services, don’t raid when there’s staff around, but most importantly, know when to stop. If you get caught once, fine. It happens to all of us. But some of these kids, it’s as if all they do is nest around the pop machine. All they want to do is dart in and dart out, even in clear, plain sight, which means that we have to chase them down, and that really gets annoying. It used to be a fun game between the staff and the campers, with staff sometimes leaving the staff lounge “unguarded” as they camped out in the office with the lights out and waited for an unsuspecting group of campers. It used to be like the holy grail; kids would approach like Indiana Jones, run through the flying poison darts, leap over the stone gap, and then make the switch, and if they were lucky the bolder didn’t start rolling until Satipo was already dead. There was a mystique to it all. It was a challenge. Now they’re more like mosquitos looking for skin, and no matter how many times you swat them you know they’re coming back for more blood.

All this is on my mind as Stern and I grab our pops. Stern puts the dollar in, and hits a Pepsi for me, and the can drops down and I make no attempt to prevent it from hitting. No reason to. The machine produces the fifty cents in change, and then Stern grabs a Dew. We pop the tops and drink, that first cold sip of pop tasting so good in the North Woods air.[7] Even as a counselor, pop still tastes significantly better at camp than it does at home. Ain’t that just how it goes?

As the head of the softball project, my pre-camp responsibilities include all field preparations. It is difficult work. We have grass infields with dirt base circles, but the grass tends to grow in during the spring, which means the first thing that we must do is dig out the grass and soil in order to create the spots for the bases. I am given a crew of four guys, including Scott, my new friend. Scotty and I go to Lou’s Diamond, while the other two go to Dan’s. We get to work.

“No kidding. What do you think so far?” I ask as I dig my shovel into the grass, digging out the soil and flipping it in a clump.

“It’s great. Everybody’s really nice. Sure beats working indoors all summer.”

Along with my work as softball head, I am also highly involved in all land sports, which means lining the ball fields. This is easy in the middle of the summer when the lines are established, but it’s a real pain in the ass during pre-camp. Every summer I say that I am going to set stakes into the corners of the field just so that the following summer I know where to start painting, but since the end of the summer is so crazily packed with End Of The Summer stuff, I always forget. One day.

Once the initial lines are staked out, though, lining the fields is fun. I did it with Dan during my first summer on staff, and I’ve since taken over full responsibilities. We have one of those cool little field-lining carts, and the coolest part of the whole gig comes just at the end of making on of the lines, because you’re walking very slowly, making sure that the arrow at the end of the cart stays right on top of the string that is stretched out across the field, and since your eye is on it for like 120 feet or so (at the longest), when you’re done and you look up you get a cool little optical illusion in which the ground moves. I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.

It’s a good day of work, though getting the diamonds ready proves to be a very difficult chore. The winter has been rather harsh on the fields, and even with the four of us teaming up and pounding away at the grass and soil with our shovels, everything is thick and slow to move. I talk to Dan, and without flinching he takes me to the office and gives me a phone number, telling me to rent a roto-rooter for tomorrow. And a devilish smile flashes on his face, and he grins, rather excited about the prospect of using the rooter.

In all of my years at North Star, I have never been in the Junior Village. I was 11 in my first summer at camp, and though there were three other cabins of 11-year-olds, we were the eight-week group and so we got the higher cabin. We were I-2. From there we went to I-4, and then in 1995 as 13-year-olds we were back on the Ridge for our third summer in a row. That was the first summer that I ever knew of in which there was the Pine/Manor two-cabin split, so we ended up in I-6 before getting into the Villa for our final two years as campers. As a counselor, I’ve been on the Ridge all three years, meaning that six of my eight summers at North Star have been spent on the R-I-D-G-E. In fact, the only extensive time I’ve spent in any of the J-Village cabins—apart from visiting someone—has been during pre-camp.

The staff is shuffled out into the J-Village cabins for the first four or five days of pre-camp, and during that time Important Things are Happening. In the cabins, the returners are teaching the new and younger staff how to lead a cabin. We do cabin games, discuss Cruiser Day, and do a candelight ceremony. But most of all, we are showing the new staff how to manage a cabin…from wakeup to cabin cleanup to rest period to meals to night time activities to wash house time and finally to bed time, we cover it all.

Meanwhile, Leb, Sue, Jeff, and the V.D.’s are determining cabin assignments. Some are obvious; Shlensky is always in J-1, and he gets one C.I.T. and then either a J.C. or a new staff member…Weiss will probably be with the Juniors, and I will probably be on the Ridge, even though I’m hoping for Pine Manor. Other counselors are trickier to figure out. Guys like Frost, Ari, Heldman, and other returners are very versatile and can be used just about anywhere, so the key is just figuring out where the needs are…while some new staff members are very clearly meant to work with either the younger kids or the older kids. Then there are the J.C.’s, and while each cabin needs an S.C., we often get experienced J.C.’s like Stern who are placed in a cabin group with a younger staff member and a first-year S.C., with the J.C. Stern acting as the “lead counselor” despite his age. It’s all a big shuffle, and as the first few days of pre-camp move on, everyone slides into place as we see the strengths and weaknesses of the staff.

Finally, on about the fourth or fifth day, we finish breakfast with Leb telling the staff to “please gather around the flagpole for a special announcement.” Cabin assignments.

When the kids arrive at camp, everyone will gather around the flagpole. Leb will begin by introducing the J-Village director—Shlensky this year—followed by the Junior Village cheer: “J-U-N, I-O-R, juniors, juniors, best by far.” Leb will then announce the three counselors for J-1, followed by the campers. He will then give a rundown of the campers just to make sure that he hasn’t forgotten anyone—it’s happened before—and then a real big “And you…are…outta here!” And the kids will go bounding away with their counselors to set up their bunk and shelf areas.

Counselor teams are announced in the same fashion, meaning that the counselors go through the same “wait-and-see” experience that the campers do. Actually, we’re much more in suspense than they are, because older campers have a good sense of where they’ll be and who they’ll be with. Not so for the most part for us, particularly this year, with so many guys hoping for Pine Manor.

I’m talking about all this with Ari—who, like me, wants nothing more than to be off to Canada for the second time in his career—when Dan finds me. He’s got the roto-rooter.

“Come with me,” Dan says grinning, and since Ari is on a break from the climbing wall, he comes along.

What we’re going to do is use this thing to dig out the spots for the bases, the areas that proved so difficult yesterday with our shovels. Dan lines it up and begins the brief tutorial.

“Alright,” he says as Ari and I eye him with extreme interest/skepticism, “it’s real simple. First you get it planted wherever you want to dig. Then you fire it up with this thing…”—and he pulls on the lawnmower-style starter cord to get it going—“…and then it’s on and cutting, and all you have to do is gently guide it through the soil. See?”

It should be noted that Dan is about six-one and not skinny. I mean, he’s not fat, and he’s not muscular, but he’s no Calista Flockhart or an Olsen Twin or whatever other freakishly-skinny celebrity might come to mind. He’s got some weight on him…still, it appears as if everything he is doing is easy, and he flips the off switch and invites me over to try. I’m starting at the pitcher’s mound, and, ideally, moving safely towards home.

Of course none of this works, and as soon as I get saddled in behind this thing and jump it, it starts wigging out completely. “You have to apply more pressure!” Dan keeps telling me, yelling over the sharp cutting sound and smoke. “No, more pressure!” Meanwhile I’m flying around like a cartoon character holding onto a crazed fire-hose. This all happens in less than three seconds, as the moment it’s on it starts dragging me forward, and as I’m screaming “OK! OK! Dan, frickin’ take it already!” I begin plowing up towards home plate until I’m almost in the netting that we use for a back stop, and I try to lift it off the ground and out of the dirt which proves to be simply a horrid idea, and the thing kicks up and is now cutting air as I desperately hold onto the back end. Ari is laughing and fearing for his safety, and as he backs away Dan comes around the other end, grabs it from me, and flips it off.

“Why don’t I just loosen everything and you can dig out out with shovels?”

There are many reasons why we have our no candy in the cabin policy in place. They attract bears, ants, and mice, they create an atmosphere of the “haves” and the “have-nots,” and if you have candy then you’re going to eat it, which means that your emphasis on camp is shifted from being a part of the community to sitting in your cabin and eating your food. These are all good reasons, and I agree with all of them, but while kids are not allowed to have food in the cabin, it’s not as if they go candy-less throughout the summer. Quite the contrary. Attached to the back of cabin J-3 is “Wanegan,” the camp store, the place where campers get their mail and are able to “buy” camp staples like stamps, envelopes, bug spray, fishing lures, and various toiletries.

But these are not the main reasons why campers love Wanegan. No, the reason is that three nights a week just after dinner the campers line up along the side of J-3, walk up the platform on the back of the cabin, and are greeted by the Wanegan King and his Wanegan Staff, the candy men. A varied selection of candy is out, both in bar forms and “other,” and the kids walk through and grab the candy of their choice as the counselors on Wanegan staff chant the campers’ names and partake in other fun Wanegan gags. This is Wanegan,[8] and each year one staff member is selected to be King, and it is then up to the king to select his Staff, which is a mish-mosh of new and old counselors. But the King is the focal point. In 2002, it was Shmerling. In 2003, it was Brian “B.A. Baracus” Annen. Last summer, it was Robby. And this summer, it’s Ari.

“It’s you, Frost, Weiss, Byron, Glickman, and the new guy Scott, and I’m still figuring out the rest. Probably Jim Anderson…”

“No, I mean, I’m really excited, but when Leb told me yesterday I got the feeling that this meant that I wasn’t going to get Pine Manor.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m definitely excited about Wanegan…I just hope that this wasn’t my consolation.”

We’re cleaning up breakfast, doing our K.P. duties, and as we do Leb gets on the mic and tells everyone to “gather around the flagpole after breakfast for a special announcement.” The buzz begins…

“I know that you really wanted Pine Manor,” aw nuts, “so I wanted to call you in here to let you know before hand. We want you on the Ridge again; it’s nothing personal as you know…actually, it is personal, since we know that you do a great job with that age…not that you wouldn’t do a great job with the Pine Manor guys--”

I smile, disappointed but very, very appreciative that Leb decided to call me in like this.

“I know what you’re saying, Leb. Thanks for telling me like this. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want you to find out and then be upset out there. Better this way.”

“So, you’re going to be in I-6, and it’s just you and Chris Gibbs, so that should be fun.”

Along with Spece, Gibbs came to camp last summer. They are friends from home in Virginia, and they both did great jobs last summer and decided to come back for Year Two. That always excites me. Chris is an awesome counselor; I am super excited to be with him.

“So it’ll be you and Chris, which should be great. You guys have 14-year-olds. Here’s the cabin list.”

I check it out. Ten campers, a great size, including two kids that I had last summer. Very cool.

I laugh. I’ve been in there twice before: in 1995 as a camper in I-6, and then in 2003 as a counselor. I thank Leb again—I can’t express how cool that was of him—and I go outside to join the rest of the staff. Leb follows me out shortly thereafter, and I go over and stand next to Gibbs.

As expected, Robby and Weiss end up in the Junior Village. From here on out, things get kind of tense. We’re all good friends, and we’re all good guys, so regardless of who does or does not get into Pine Manor, everybody will be cool. There’s usually a bit of tension at this point, because guys always want the Villa, but the tension is higher this year because everybody knows that if you make it through the Ridge without hearing your name, there is an 80% chance that you will be going to Canada. I did not see anyone else meet with Leb—though it’s entirely possible that others did—so unless there were others, the guys waiting most anxiously right now are Hamer, Heldman, Frost, Glick, Bryon, Shmerling, A.J., and Ari, who I am watching the whole time as he shuffles around nervously.

Mike jumps out into the middle of the circle and leads his first ever Ridge chant as Village Director. “R-I-D-G-E! On the Ridge is unity!” It’s very cool to see him out there, and I smile, and then the madness begins as each cabin is announced. The bubble bursts for Heldman, Byron, Shmerling, Hamer, and A.J., and each one is visibly disappointed, but only for a moment. Ultimately, we all know that no matter where we are, we will have a good summer, and we are happy for those who get to go, and since we’re all naturally positive people, even those who are disappointed are quickly excited for their cabins…me included, as it would be at this point in which, had Leb not called me in, I would have been crushed, but I’ve already dealt with that and so I am ready and waiting for I-6 with Gibbs. Leb reads off I-6—“counselor Chris Gibbs!” and everyone cheers, and then, as I wait, knowing… “and counselor Jack ‘Abu’ Silverstein!”…and I run out like a mad man and high five Gibbs—and now the Ridge has come and gone, and along with Jake and Dan, three notables are still standing: Ari, Frost, and Glick.

I look at Ari, who is trying desperately to contain himself, but he’s not doing a very good job of it because he is jumping up and down with his hands on Frost’s shoulders as Jacob and Dan lead the Villa cheer: “V-I-L-L-A! Villa! Villa! All the way!”…and we’re all laughing with delight as we watch Ari. And then:

“And so, cabin Senior 1…counselor Josh Frost!...” And Frosty goes bouncing into the middle, and now Ari is leaping up and down, knowing full well that the only thing that will keep him out of Pine Manor now would be a freakishly strong counseling team of Frost and Ari, and since we all know that won’t happen, Ari is beyond himself. Leb reads off the other two names, and my eyes dart around to Jacob and Dan and Shlensky and Swiryn, all of whom have been trying to contain their own excitement, and are now looking at Ari and Glick and smiling, and while we’re all excited for Glickman, everybody—including Glick—seems to be looking at Ari, who continues to leap around like Willie Mays Hayes when he made the team.

Glick ends up in Manor with Dan, Jacob goes to Pine with new guy Keith Donan, J.R. goes to Mc with Weiss’ friend Dave Wasserman and Canadian Kyle, and Ari joins Whalley in the yet-to-be-named fourth cabin. It was great to see Ari and Glick’s faces after the S-1 team was read off; just a great moment for those guys, particularly Ari, who was greeted with high-fives and congrats from all of his friends as soon as the announcement was over. The circle disbands, and everyone walks back to the J-Village to pack their stuff and move into their new cabin. Over the next two days, we will set up the bunks and shelves, sweep and mop, make our job wheels, and do anything else necessary to be ready for the campers’ arrivals on Monday.

When taking a day or a night off during the summer, you have to coordinate. C.I.T.’s cannot be left alone in the cabin, so the older two counselors can never have time off together. Additionally, each project needs a certain amount of qualified staff, particularly the ones with more specific skill sets such as waterskiing and climbing. Sure I know how to “teach” softball—actually, I’ve really become quite good at my job, and my project has excelled because of that—but if I’m gone and something “goes wrong,” the worst that happens is we get a kid with a bruised head from an errant bat or ball. Those kinds of accidents, though, can happen anywhere. But make a mistake belaying or driving a ski boat, and that’s when you’re in a lot of trouble.

So you have to coordinate, and obviously when camp is in session, we need a certain number of staff in camp. So it is with much excitement that we embark upon the lone day off of pre-camp, because every staff member is out. It’s sweet.

Gibbs and I have our cabin set up, and once we’re done we shower and get our laundry together. Staff do laundry in town, and nearly all time-off begins with a trip to the Laundromat. Everything after that is fun yet difficult; since we’re all nice guys and all good friends and all highly tuned-in to the art of compromise, we usually spend a good deal of time attempting to agree on one place to eat and one thing to do. That’s why, once a summer, I take one day off and just split out on my own. I head up to Duluth, a 90 minute drive with nothing but me, my thoughts, and my music, and then I go to my rock perch that hangs over the intersection of Seventh and Mesaba, and I sit over the traffic, write some poetry, and just cool out. When you’re at camp, you’re constantly talking to people, and even though they’re your best friends and even though everything is cool, it’s still constant talking and planning and, well, compromising. Even on time-off, the time in which you’re supposed to be chilling out and recharging, even then there are Decisions To Be Made. So to get that one day a summer where it’s just me on my own…

…but none of that is on my mind right now, because it’s the pre-camp time-off and we’ve all been working our asses off for a week and now everybody’s out. Plus, the staff is very cohesive now, and so new staff flows in and out of the old, all of us chilling together. Our sister camp Birch Trail is only twenty-five minutes away from town going the other way on 77, and since Hayward is, remarkably, a significantly more happening town than Minong, the BT girls—many of whom are good friends with Robby, Heldman, Weiss, Shlensky, and Jacob—are often out in hoards, and indeed we see them at the Laundromat at the start of our day.

This day is always great: it was on this day two years ago that we stormed Tremblay’s, the fudge shop, and ended up leading the patrons and employees in a singalong of “Piano Man” and “Crocodile Rock” with our friend Rick Fox sitting at their old piano that sits lonely in the corner. And it was a year ago that we became engrossed in a rather intense battle of “key ball,” a version of roof ball played with my car keys on the awning outside of the laundry mat, a game that was much more fun that it had any reasonable reason to be. But as much fun as all that was, I have a feeling that nothing will ever top the day we had today.

Knowing how difficult it is to get everyone coordinated on the day of, Dan and Robby had made an announcement a few days earlier to get people settled on going to the Flat Creek Eatery, a restaurant attached to the Hayward Inn & Suits. About 30 staff members put their names down, and so after finishing up at the Laundromat—Patty, the bouncy, greyed, spiky-haired proprietor, was very happy to see us… “Back for the summer, eh?”—Dan and Robby took charge and led us to Flat Creek Eatery, leaving the Birch Trail girls behind. Off of the main restaurant area is a back room with a long table, and with Dan and Robby having made reservations, we had the whole thing to ourselves.

There we all were, about 30 good friends stretched out at a long dining table, Batman-style, everybody talking and laughing and telling stories. A big laugh from the returners as I ordered my burger, eyeing the waiter very closely with my special instructions, and then an explanation to the new staff as they stared at me curiously. And then, as we were getting ready to settle up…

“There’s a wedding,” Shlensky said, having just returned from the bathroom.

“I don’t know. I was leaving the bathroom, and these two girls were hanging out in the hallway, and we started talking and they told me that they were at a wedding party.”

Shlensky’s so modest, and supremely not single, and a notorious non-partier. He rambled on. “Oh nothing.”

“Nothing really. I told them where I was from, that I was here with my friends and that we all work at a summer camp, and she told us to come along to the wedding party and I said--”

And with that, I galloped out of the restaurant and led us all to the wedding party.

Indeed, they were happy to see us. I introduced myself to the groom, explaining the situation with Shlensky, and he waved us in with a smile and told us to enjoy ourselves.

And we’re dancing, and hitting on bridesmaids, and eating free cake, and everywhere I looked it seemed as if the ratio of camp people to wedding people was at least 2-to-1. And so…

“Hey, Shlensky. Is it just me or is this party a tad light on actual wedding guests.”

“No, that’s not just you. Apparently what happened was that they bride and groom wanted the wedding to be dry, but most of the groom’s family wanted to drink, so they all took off and are now celebrating on their own. So it’s just the bride’s family and guests, and some of the groom’s closest family and friends.”

Indeed. I looked around, re-evaluating, and I realized that we had rolled in 30-strong to a wedding party that, once I counted, was approximately 20 people. And that was before Heldman calls the Birch Trail girls and told them to rush over, bringing another ten North Shore Jews to the fold…

That’s the thing about Hayward in the summer: there is a very definite split between the locals and the Others. We’re the Others. But it’s all good, as most everyone in Hayward is extraordinarily inviting and hospitable, as indicated by the tremendous reception we received at this wedding party.

And then, without really saying anything, Heldman, Robby, and Weiss walk over to the groom and began talking to him, and it looks as if they’re demonstrating something for him, moving their hands up and down in a lifting motion.

“Yeah. They’re into it. We told them that we wanted to share one of our traditions with them.”

A.J. and I run over to grab some chairs, and set them in the middle of the dance floor, and the bride and groom sit down on the chairs…and at this point, having already been amazed by their incredible hospitality, I was pretty much blown away by the supreme amount of trust that the bride and groom placed in us, this suddenly overwhelming group of strangers from a different culture and background who had invaded their wedding party. The bride in particular seemed very cool, especially when considering everything that I know about women on their wedding day…she wasn’t simply chill with everything, but was rather excited, and hopped up aboard the chair, swooping her dress up as she did. Up went her new husband, and with friends and family gathered around clapping us on in celebration, the North Star gang lifted these two newlyweds high into the air as we sang the Hava Nagila and danced the Hora. It was quite a sight.

And with that, Heldman leads me over to the bride and groom, who are dancing around with Hamer, A.J., and a few of the BT girls, all while Jacob videotapes with my camera, which we grabbed out of the car shortly before the Hora.

“On behalf of North Star Camp for Boys, I would like to thank you for sharing your special day with us. It was truly a treat.”

The groom laughs. “Hey, we want to thank you guys. I mean, you made it a party.”

“Well, we do what we can. But before we leave we were wondering if you would do us the honor of giving you your first dance as husband and wife.”

The bride gushes. “Aw…” She looks at her new husband. “What do you think?”

And so once again, Heldman and the rest of us gather everybody together. We circle up, arm and arm, and as the bride and groom step to the middle and embrace for their dance. And we begin to sing…

You know a dream is like a river/ ever changing as it flows/ and a dreamer’s just a vessel/ that must follow as it goes…

This became a big song the year before, when during our end of the year staff party it was revealed that when Marc was the counselor of Pine in 2001—with Weiss, Sammy Kraus, and Matt Bernstein—he used to lead them on this song while canoing on the Canadian. We had a big singalong during that party, thus pushing it into the “unofficial camp songs” pantheon. And the bride and groom danced, and then the bride’s father pulled the bride’s mother into the circle, and with tears in his eyes he danced as we sang. It was amazing.

On our way out, and we all signed the guest book and finished up our cake. We shook the hands of the bride and groom, thanking them both and wishing them a wonderful future. And one by one, out we went, and as the newlyweds began the rest of their lives, we skipped out, heading back to camp, a new classic story tucked away in our memories.

If the Lodge is camp’s heart (and maybe its central nervous system as well, the more that I think about it)…(metaphors are rarely perfect), then the Council Ring is its soul. Leave the Lodge and walk away from the lake, across Lou’s Diamond, over the athletic fields, and then up a rolling, grassy path with tall grass and weeds to the left, and finally up to the Norman Hughes arch, two wooden poles going up on either side, a large wooden slab across the middle with the words COUNCIL RING carved in. You get to the top of the hill, and then there’s a short dip, and then you see the campfire area to your left, almost a pitted area that sits tucked away from everything else at camp. The benches and the campfire create a powerful hush, yet until you get to the top of the rolling path and then over the dip, you can’t see any bit of it. Three sections of wooden benches—tree trunks cut in half and smoothed, like if you sawed down the middle of a baseball bat starting at the top of the barrel and moving down to the shaft—all making a half circle facing the fire pit and the woodsy DAD WERBEL podium.

We are not a Jewish camp, though we are predominantly Jewish, and as Lou and Renee were both Jewish they decided to dedicate Friday nights to meditation and reflection. Every Friday night we have a service, and apart from the one camper who reads the Kiddish, nothing else is Jewish. Instead, each service focuses on one of our values, such as friendship, social responsibility, or respecting the Earth. One older camper leads the service, the camper choir sings a song, the counselor choir sings a song, campers and counselors read certain selected readings, and one counselor delivers a sermonette based on the theme of that service. And then there is the Key Log Ceremony, perhaps the defining activity of North Star. You take a small piece of rectangular wood called a key log, and you stand at the fire and thank anyone who has helped you or made your week better. You can also wish friends and family from home happy birthday, or send your best wishes to someone who is sick. Then you throw the key log into the fire and walk back to the benches.

It is Saturday night. Our cabins are close to being set up, and pretty much everybody knows everybody else. We are going up to the Council Ring for an annual pre-camp activity. Everyone brings one item up with them that means something, and tells everyone else about it. That’s it. Shmerling brings up a violin that he found in his attic which may or may not be worth a lot of money. Ari brings up his Cubs hat. New counselor Joey McIntosh brings up a picture of his dog. Stern brings up Night Night, his blankey that goes everywhere with him. As for me…

“Hi everybody.” I’m always way more nervous than seems reasonable. “As a lot of you know, my girlfriend and I went on a road trip around the country this spring. When we were planning the trip, we were trying to figure out where we were going to stay, and the more I thought of it the more I realized that I had a lot of friends from camp who lived in a lot of different places. We ended up staying with J.R., Bubba, Tommy and Annie, Cousins, Hitch and Corrie, and Stroup-a-loop, and we also saw Leb and Sue and Beth and Kacy in Tuscon along with a slew of campers, plus Adam Heldman in Seattle and Musch and Team McCormack in Denver. It was very cool, and then I realized that I always have North Star with me, and not just spiritually. I mean, half of the clothes I’m ever wearing are not mine. So that’s what I’ve brought up. This Denver hoodie was Musch’s, this t-shirt was Will Summers’ from last summer, this North Stars hat was Dan’s, this anklet was from Alan Brooks, who was my co-counselor last summer, and I think I’m wearing one of Kyle Silberman’s socks that I borrowed on UN Day last year.”

“And now, if those of you who have been here for ten years or longer will please come down and join me.”

Sue, Garrett, and Kacy join Leb, as do Dan, Tennis Mike, and Glick, and for the first time ever Swiryn, Robby, Heldman, and Jeff head down as well. It’s an exciting moment—certainly for them, but also for their closest friends. I’ve watched the ten year men (and women) head down for eight years, and now I’ve got four guys of my generation heading down, including Swiryn, my brother in camping. Next year it will be me and up to eleven others, and in thirty years when people look at the Big Ten plaques hanging in the lodge, they’ll see all of our names, one on top of the other. Pretty cool.

And as we do at the end of each service, we sing Forrest Green and then taps. We listen to the trumpet. And then we follow Leb on the Camper Benediction:

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[1] I really enjoy playing all of this stuff up, as if I am somehow a direct descendant of North Star Camp, like the guys who point out that MJ was coached by Dean Smith who was coached by Phog Allen who served under James Naismith who invented the game…(actually, now that I think more about it, that one is way cooler than my NSC connection. Still, mine’s not nothing.)

[2] Marc was at Tamarak with Mike and me, and in the summer of ’92 Marc came to North Star for eight weeks at the age of ten, just as his father had. Mike came second session, and I joined the two of them for eight weeks in 1993.

[3] Denny’s Den is named after long time North Star man and program director Denny Shefcyk. The Shefcyks are a camp family, with Denny’s son Paul joining Denny on the 20 year plaque, and his daughter Beth putting up about 18 years in three separate stints, including the past two as program director. The Handler Health Center is named after long time doctor Ray Handler and his wife Arlene, both of whom were 20 year folks. Their son Jon is our first Second Generation Doctor.

[4] The camp newspaper, written by campers during the summer, and then written by Sue over the winter as a newsletter.

[5] C.I.T.’s are 16, junior counselors are then 17 and 18, and senior counselors are 19 and above.

[6] Swiryn was in a cabin with Ross in 1992, and he had told me about his candy-espionage, but I had to see it to believe it. This kid was incredible. He went Shawshank with it, bringing large, hardcover books like Moby Dick and A Tale of Two Cities to camp, only the insides were cut out and he had candy stashed in there. His other specialty was chocolate and cinnamon covered toothpicks, which he would suck on while hanging in the cabin. Of course, all of the creativity in the world can’t top the sheer volume of simply filling one of those huge black trunks with a pair of twelve packs, along with the ever-delightful Ritz Bits crackers and about two or three bottles of spray can EZ Cheeze…which, naturally, Ross advanced to pretty quickly, as did the rest of us. But it was in those early days in which he pulled every trick and even invented a few that I began to admire his flair.

[7] “It’s so good! Once it hits your lips, it’s so good!”

[8] The add-on itself, the physical room and platform behind J-3, is called Wanegan, the same name as the candy hand out, also called Wanegan. When the “store” is open, it is called “Supply Wanegan,” and when it’s mail time, it’s just called “mail.”

[9] Each cabin in the Junior and Intermediate villages is designated as a certain cabin. Facing the J-Village, from left, is J-7, J-1, J-2, and J-3. To the right of J-3 is the double cabin along the lake, with J-4 in the front and J-5 in the back. Walking past the duplex along the lake towards the Ridge, the final cabin is J-6. The cabins on the Ridge are, from left to right, I-6, I-1, I-2, I-3, I-4, and I-5, which is the closest to Swim Point. However, do to the fact that the cabins are different sizes, the names of the cabins change from time to time, which leads people to say things like “I’m in I-3 in the physical cabin of I-5.” Like most things in life, it’s not that confusing once you’ve been there.