Camp Lore - 6. Chapter 6

When Linden came back to our car, again he began by quieting people.

“We’ll be in Norwich in five minutes,” he announced. “As most of you know, from there we go by bus. Things sometimes get a little disorganized at the station, but that shouldn’t affect you. Still, I don’t want to lose anyone.”

He grinned.

“Even you, Nate.”

Nate just waved. Royally.

“Now I want all the activity counselors – those not assigned to bunks – to help the other counselors. And once everyone else is off the train, I want all the waiters to go through and pick up anything that’s left – including all the garbage the counselors have put in bags. And be careful. One year someone accidentally left a hamster on the train – in a shoebox. And the boy who found it didn’t know to keep it closed, and the little critter got loose. And it took four of us almost an hour to find the darn thing.”

As before, we laughed, and Linden waited for us to settle down. Then he simply said, “See you at camp.” And he blew his whistle and left.

Soon after, as Nate was moving up the aisle, collecting our garbage in advance, he spotted Andy and me.

“That’s who you are,” was all he said. Then he grinned.

I smiled back, while Andy quietly laughed, and Nate moved past us.

“He’s pushing a little hard,” Andy told me. “But I think there’s something really interesting about that guy.”

I thought for a moment.

“I don’t see anything special.”

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you haven’t been watching. But I think there’s a lot more going on than he’s lets people see.”

I looked at Nate again. I still didn’t see it.

When the train reached Norwich, kids who weren’t already in the aisle, crowded into it, carrying their bags and other things. When they cleared, Andy got up and, as he left, said, “See you real soon.”

“See you real soon,” I repeated, in Donald Duck. “Been great talking with you.”

“Ease back,” Nate suddenly whispered in my ear.

I turned from watching Andy go to facing Nate. I really didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You’ll never get anywhere by pushing too hard,” he went on. And I had to laugh.

“That’s really funny. He just said almost the same thing about you.”

Nate seemed to consider that for a moment, then simply answered, “Interesting.”

Then we heard Linden’s soft whistle and hurried out.

The bus took less than a half hour to reach the camp, and since our group had only the fifteen waiters, we were the last to leave the station, slightly behind everyone else. It was almost three o’clock when we pulled under the sharp green and white arch welcoming us to Seneca.

“Welcome to the Rich Kid Camp,” Nate paralleled, popping out of his seat and somehow deciding to stand besides mine. “That’s what they call it in town.”

“Openly?”

“Yeah – we don’t get a lot of respect.”

I was surprised. And I told him that.

“I suppose they don’t honestly hate us,” he went on. “Since probably fifty of them work in the camp every summer. And it’s not a big town – a couple of thousand at most – even Norwich is only two or three times that. And since they all depend on our money, they always smile when they take it. And we do give them something to complain about, so I suppose that adds to their lives.”

“Besides, it lets us make townie jokes,” one of the girls put in.

Nate looked at me, maybe waiting for a reaction. As usual, I shrugged.

“Let me give you a tour,” he continued.

“Great.”

“That’s the office.”

He pointed to what looked like it had once been a farmhouse, but now it had a neat, black-lettered sign tacked to the top of its whitewashed porch.

“Behind that’s a much slicker house – more modern – where Linden and his wife live.”

Our bus had stopped in front of the office while the driver ran in, maybe to tell them we were here. He quickly came out, but before that, Nate had pointed me across the narrow asphalt road in front of us – which obviously led to the camp.

“That’s the boys’ Rec Hall.”

It looked like a large, whitewashed barn.

“There’re two important things about it,” he said. “Mainly, it’s where the Canteen is. You see the one-story building, tacked on the front?”

“Yep.”

“That’s our snack bar – we meet there every night. The waiters and counselors who can get free, and some of the older kids after the young ones are put to bed. It’s the only place we can legitimately meet the girls.”

I nodded. “And the other important thing?”

“Well, there’s a stage in it – built at one end. They use it for all kinds of activities – performances and shows. And somewhere up in the rafters – though I’ve never been able to find it – is supposedly Rod Serling’s autograph. You know – the guy who wrote The Twilight Zone.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope, he supposedly went to camp here in the thirties.” He hesitated. “I think thirties. I’ve never bothered to check. Maybe earlier.”

“I didn’t know the camp went that far back.”

“Oh, yeah. Somewhere in the Mess Hall are pictures of the original place. Old bunks. Outdoor showers. Stone age.”

It reminded me of what my grandfather said.

“I’d like to look at them.”

“They’re easier to find than his autograph. We walk past them all the time.”

And the bus started again.

“Now, those are the parents’ cabins,” Nate said, pointing my attention back to the office side of the road.

“Parents?”

There seemed to be about a dozen bungalows.

“Yep. Other camps have one or two visiting weekends – in early and late July. Here, parents are always welcome.”

I couldn’t imagine mine coming – or needing to. We could stay in touch other ways.

“They’re really nice,” he finished. “I’ve snuck in once or twice.”

“More than ‘snuck,’” one of his friends commented.

“And more than ‘once or twice.’”

“Hey, I didn’t steal anything.”

“I’d have to ask the girls.”

Nate grinned at me. “Well, they’re really convenient – being right across from the Canteen. And – early in the week – they’re never full.”

“But Linden keeps them locked,” one of the girls added.

“Carefully locked.”

“As we all know.”

Nate was just studying the ceiling, smiling. And all the waiters laughed.

“Not everyone can pick locks, Nate-o.”

Nate wiggled his fingers. Which set people laughing again.

From the cabins, we drove a minute-or-so to the main camp – the boys’ side.

“There’s the Mess Hall I was telling you about,” Nate said.

It was also whitewashed and was on the right side of the road.

“It looks old, but parents like it that way. And Linden keeps the kitchen up-to-date.”

“It looks like a McDonald’s,” one of the guys said.

“With better food.”

“It’s really good.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s good.”

“Our parents wouldn’t stand for it otherwise.”

This was going on among the waiters.

“You think John and Joe will be there again?” one of the guys asked.

“I can’t imagine they wouldn’t be.”

“Summer wouldn’t be the same without them.”

“Camp wouldn’t be.”

“John’s the cook, and Joe’s head of the kitchen,” Nate explained. “You’ll meet them soon enough. Almost everyone else in the kitchen’s from town.”

The bus stopped in front of the Mess Hall, and the guys got out. Four of them scrambled ahead of us, though the fifth followed more slowly. Then the bus moved on.

“It takes about two minutes to get to the girls’ camp,” Nate told me. “Almost double from the Canteen. And it takes ten minutes to walk, where the Canteen takes five.”

“You go there a lot?”

“The girls’ camp? I told you – it’s off limits. So only every night.”

He waited till I acknowledged his joke.

“Besides, it’s just the older guys who care. And once they’re Seniors – fifteen – they can go to the Canteen every night – for an hour. So sneaking to the girl’s camp is less important.”

I didn’t care what Andy said. This guy was straight.

“And there’s the camp,” Nate said, pointing across the road. “Fifteen bunks – fifteen kids each. And the HQ, and a mess of other buildings. Arts and Crafts. Nature. Music. Computers. All that stuff. And the waterfront.”

I looked around. The buildings were all whitewashed and were laid out on three sides of a rectangle. The fourth side, a long one, was the waterfront – docks, boats, canoes, rafts, floats – you name it. A carefully mowed lawn filled the center, and the American and camp flags flew on a flagpole in front of the HQ.

“It looks great,” I told Nate.

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah – I guess I am. Everything looks so nice.”

“It’s not the Boy Scouts.”

And he turned to follow the other waiters.

“Let me show you our bunk.”