There is something about camp that just seems to carry a
magical presence to it. It is this experience which so many people remember
with such fondness to make it a standout event in their childhood. For almost everyone who is fortunate enough
to experience a stay at camp, be it through the YMCA, the Boy or Girl Scouts,
or through a church group, it represents
a combination of fun, excitement, adventure, and frankly that slender line of
maturity that helps you grow up as you come to learn more about who you really
are.
It can easily be said that most kids look forward to going
to summer camp, but in the summers of 1953 to 1957, I doubt none more than
me. Every summer while at Maryville all of us kids attended a summer camp in Eagle River , Wisconsin Northern Wisconsin and had all
the charm and magic you could possibly hope a camp would have.
Life at Maryville
was nothing, if it wasn’t slow, monotonous, and methodical. There were stretches of time that if it had
not been for the occasional visitations by my mother, individual days would
have been impossible to pick apart. With a life so steeped in regimentation and
boredom, the prospect of anything, much less a week at camp, was enough to
consume my thoughts entirely.
Sometime prior to summer we learned which week our hall (Isabelle Hall) would be attending camp and the excitement would begin. When we finally learned when we would be
heading up to Wisconsin , I am pretty sure that
a comet could have struck Maryville
and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
From that moment, every free minute of my life would be consumed with
planning, contemplating, and counting down the days until we left. I couldn’t
wait till that week came. It’s funny
thinking back on it now, we only stayed at camp for one week but it felt like a
month of endless fun.
The night before we were scheduled to leave, there was pure
excitement among all of us. We went to bed early that night due to our early
departure the following morning, but I could have cared less, going to bed
brought me that much closer to heading to camp.
The night passed quickly, and with our wake up call, I readied myself
rapidly. Some of the kids were tired and
groggy but not me, I was ready and rearing to go.
We made our way downstairs to find the exceptionally large
motor coach waiting for us. We all piled
on, I don’t remember even saying hi to the bus driver, I had waited for this
moment for so long that it all became a blur in my excitement. We took our seats; we were each given a bag
with our breakfast in it. Sister Madelyn
gave us final instructions and a dose of her charm with a few threats about
what was going to happen to kids who did not behave themselves. With that I heard the engine start and I knew
we were leaving for camp.
The ride was exceptionally long; it took eight hours to
drive from Maryville to Camp St. George in Eagle River , Wisconsin Wisconsin .
We all piled out in front of the A&W Root Beer stand. As we departed
the bus, each child was handed a nickel and told we could buy a frosty mug of
A&W root beer. For a group of institutionalized, deprived, and generally forlorn
kids, this represented one of the best simple pleasures of our young lives. I
can only imagine the look on the A&W employees’ faces as our bus pulled up
packed with thirsty little kids soon to be armed with nickels. It was fabulous;
I hold the memory of that root beer fondly with me to this day.
After our great A&W adventure, we piled back on the bus
for the final leg of our great journey; excitement built with every passing
mile. I remember as we were getting close I recognized many of the familiar
landmarks; I could feel my excitement building. It took another four hours of driving, and we
arrived, as we always did, just before dinner time. As the bus driver took that final right turn
and I could see the dust picking up and Camp St. George in front of me - I knew
we had arrived and I was going to have a week of pure fun and magic.
