After that summer at Pemi, I drove Doc Nichols’ big station wagon back to Oberlin for my last semester, and the production of my thesis, my last season of football, and the last few months before I, like all of us, ceased to be boys.

I think a significant memory for any parent considering sending his boy to Pemi is this:

We were on a multi-day hike in the Whites. I was counselor to some older boys, some strong and lean, some city boys who were … not so much. There was a quiet boy in my cabin named Ray, a young man at 13 who could turn on a fastball better than many 18 year-olds. He had the ropey arms of an incipient athlete, and the emotional distance of someone who had, too-early, experienced an important disappointment. I hope that he became an athlete and that he found a little more happiness as things went along.

On this overnight in the mountains we overtook a group of young women, in which one had turned her ankle, perhaps breaking it, but in any event, sat on the ground, unable to walk.

The other counselor (a fellow whose name I cannot recall, but a student in the Oberlin Conservatory, I believe) with my group took the boys ahead, down the mountain. So that problem — the problem of keeping our crew together and safe and on course — was solved.

Ray and I carried the young woman down the mountain. It really wasn’t a big deal. After climbing and skiing in the Rockies, it wasn’t a big deal and the major challenge was maintaining conversation with a disabled female for a few miles. At the bottom, Al Fauver, meeting us, was matter-of-fact. Obviously we had done the correct thing, and obviously Ray was the boy to select to assist, and … what’s for supper? We were hungry.

Thirty years later (as a parent and an executive) I am often surprised and distressed at the cosseted nature of child-rearing and the low expectations that we place upon our boys and young men. The Reeds and the Fauvers were always old school, and I presume that Pemi yet today offers a culture of play, exploration, learning, and responsibility. It is a memorable place, offering memorable experiences. I think an important element in the Pemi experience is that young boys, and older boys such as myself, once a counselor, may be expected to behave as young men. Tom Reed was the director during my brief time, and that is what I recall of his leadership. Of course, we did not always meet that standard, but the standard and expectation were plain.

Here’s to:

Steve Webster, Steve Howser, Dick Yoho, Tim Cushing, John Graves, Doc Nick, Kevin LaWare, Ralph Wallingford, David Zonis, Bruce Wright, Pete Rapelye, Jim Simmons, Roy Keithly, Stu Cordell, Richie Stone, Will Powers, Jack Rowell, Craig Leroy, Jim Staples, Jim Graves, Ed France, Walt Scott-Craig, Scott Walker, John Carman, Scott Withrow (Sr. and Jr.), David Withrow, Marty Snider, Dan Potter, Bernie and Marc Seres, Andy Brummer, Scott Whitsell, Mark Whitney, Burgie Howard, Billy Taft, Tuti Toro, Jaime Garcia, Eric Porter, Billy and Rick Hopkins, Bill Pruden, Rick and Dwight Moody, Fred Rasmussen, Rick (“Driving Boat”)Davenport, David Bruce Fanger Duncan, Estebita Garcia, Kap and Ace, Jim Winston, Jim Murphy, Danny and David Walker, Steve Barnard, Rob Bernard, Rob Naylor, Larry Davis, Admiral Cryer, Drew Eginton, David Ross, Edwin Rosas, Billy Muller, Grant Wilkinson, Robie Johnson, to the faces I see vividly now without the ability to name, and to the others that elude a stream of consciousness at this late hour.

And, especially, Tom and Betsy, Al and Bertha, Seebeck, Rittner, Tom and Dottie, Grabill, Wensberg, Viper, Peter, Fred, Penelope, Jon and Janet, Zock, Nikki, Charlie, Chowder, Pete Cowles, Ethan, Gar Wyman…

If I have any integrity, if I have any generosity of spirit, if I have any sense of decency, if I know right from wrong, and if I have any courage, it comes, in very large measure, from Camp Pemigewassett.

Thank you for 43 years of living, loving, and now, mostly, remembering.

RSMcE
1.19.10