Summer Camp – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

My Childhood Home was Destroyed

I am Sitting Shiva for My Leanto

By Mitchell Slepian

Me by my leanto at the bottom of Chappegat Hill

For those of us who never attended Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR) or perhaps hiked or camped along the New York State’s Adirondack and Catskill Mountains, along the Finger Lakes Trail, and other parks like Harriman State Park, you might not know what a leanto is. Let me explain. A leanto is a three-walled structure used for sleeping. The front of it is open. You can build a small deck on its front and add screening. You wanna keep the bugs out. But bug juice (a camp drink) is fine.

That’s what I lived during my teen years on Chappegat (Chappy) Hill, TMR. Mine had a deck, screening and electricity. It had fridge stocked with Cherikee Red (A now-discontinued super sugary red soda), other soda, etc. We had boxes of Freihofers chocolate chip cookies and home-baked cookies from Noni (my grandmother). I shared it with my camp friend. Many people crashed in it. Some crashed every night.

The inside and outside of my leanto (1988)

We played Risk, ate food from El Monaco’s (Now closed), McDonald’s, and I kept my Frosted Flakes there. I rarely ate the lish (delicious) meals prepared in the Kunatah Dining Hall. May it stand forever. We played music on Bertha. She was the boom box that one of our crashers brought up to TMR. It was a double-deck cassette player with a CD player on top. Remember those? U2 (My bunkmate hated them. Right now, I have mixed opinions on the band I worshipped all my life.), Steely Dan (My bunkmate loved them), The Clash, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Sex Pistols, The Beatles, The Who, Mojo Nixon, Jethro Tull, Squeeze, The Ramones, XTC, and, unfortunately, Pink Floyd played 24/7.

Camp was the time of my life. I looked forward to it all year. I remember riding around in the “WhoMobile “(A 1966 F-85, A basic version of an Oldsmobile Cutlass). Sometimes the camp staff drove it. I remember when Kousin Keety (Keith) got his license, and we would ride around listening to “Rock Lobster” by the B-52’s. That’s the only song he had on the tape. We just kept playing it.

I drove the “Truckster” (A 1976 blue Cutlass station wagon). I cranked Depeche and U2. Joey cranked Judas Priest and Metallica. Larry, our assistant scoutmaster, would, in his good nature, make fun of us teens and our music. We would drive him around to Peck’s Supermarket (Now Pete’s), the hardware store, and other places to go shopping for camp. And of course, until we lost him, he teased me about my famous episode of getting lost in Hawley, PA, a Wayne County, Pennsylvania, borough along the Lackawaxen River.

We all had fun canoeing down the Delaware River and swimming in the Ten Mile River. Most of us earned many merit badges. There was special list for those who did not earn badges. I never slept. On my first morning in camp, about an hour before wake-up time, I was sitting at a picnic table by the Palace (our office), staring at the black rattle snake in the fish tank. Larry was walking from the willy (latrine) where he may have come from the shower and asked me what I was doing. I said, I don’t sleep. He decided I was the Chappy vampire. Quickly, everyone knew. They still call me Dracula. It’s cool, unlike Bela Legosi, who’s dead. I am flying around.

We had action-packed days. But eventually, some people needed to sleep. So, we retired to our leantos. Chappy closed after the summer of ’88. It should have never closed. That’s another story. My leanto was at the top of the hill. To get to the top, you climbed muddy steps.

After Chappy closed, my leanto was moved to the bottom of the hill. I slept in it during Alumni Weekend of 2009. I visited it on every alumni weekend. The grounds of Chappy were part of the Rock Lake Camps (D1 Kothke, D2 Chappy, D3 Kunatah, and D4 Ihpetonga). Sadly, that section is in the process of being sold. Much of what was there was destroyed, my leanto was marked, “NOT TO BE DESTROYED.”

I am chair of the Ten Mile River Scout (TMR) Museum, located at TMR’s HQ. At our facility, we have the Dr. Karl E. Bernstein (My camp hero) Cayuga/Kotohke Cabin, a willy (Sadly it is not operational), and the former Kunatah Trading Post, which will soon be the Hal Rosenfeld Museum Annex. My leanto was supposed to be moved to the museum. A week or so ago, one of our trustees cleared the area where it was situated and got it ready to be moved. He went up a few days later with his friend to haul it over. As soon as he arrived, he saw that a machine had crushed it. There’s nothing left. My name and other names had been scribbled all over it when it was alive. When I heard, part of me died. To all my camp friends, remember the trails you hiked and the lakes you jumped into. You never know when they may be taken from you. I am sitting shiva. You’re welcome to join me.

In Camp

Marc and Alana went to camp. They were in the section that was closed. This was the spot that was Marc’s many moons ago. It was closed down my people called professionals. The only thing they are professional about is stupidity. Campers were running around the remainder of the operating camps. Both were under capacity. Marc set up the fire lay. He would light it later. Alana was in her black bathing suit, yearning to jump into the lake. The two’s eyes met, and they frolicked down the lake. They jumped in. They swam for over an hour. They walked out of the lack, hand in hand, like love cats. They got back to their site. Marc lit the fire. Alana changed out of her suit to her The Cure t-shirt from the concert the two attended in August of 1989. Marc still had his shirt. That was one of the best nights of their lives. Thirty-five years later the two were still in love and still argued nonstop. Perfect. The steaks Marc grilled were perfect. The ice-cold Genesee Cream Ale was perfect. As were the bags of Wise chips. Alana wanted to bake brownies. For some reason, she could not find the ingredients. She would bring this up with Marc. Supposedly, he had a friend who was an expert on getting brownies. It was getting dark. Love & Rockets was cranking out of Alana’s iPhone. They were sitting by the fire and nodded to each other. Off they went to Marc’s old leanto.

Marc is Busy at Work

Marc was sitting in his office. He was pleased that his website updates took. He began writing some corporate statements. He has yet to respond to the headhunter from the other day. The job market sucks. So, who knows what roles are real and lasting? It’s too bad he can’t be a superhero for hire. He goes about his business and takes of business. He often has to work solo. But loves it when he and Alana tag team. Toss in Anat and Jerry, and they are unstoppable. They are their version of the Fantastic Four.

Everything was so quiet. It was late Friday morning. Marc was wondering what he and Alana would do Friday night. She’d light candles. She probably got the usual takeout dinners. The two of them sometimes cooked. It was an experience.

Alana texted him that she just bought a challah and was gonna cook salmon. Marc texted back his approval. The market was tanking. What else is new? The Cure was cranking on YouTube. “Disintegration” came on. It brought him back to the 80s and his first date. He took Laura to see the Cure at the former Giants Stadium. The Pixies and Love and Rockets opened. It was a night of darkness. They loved it. The two were too young to buy beer. They shared M&Ms and held hands. She kept saying how angelic Robert Smith’s voice sounded. Still does. He remembered Depeche Mode dates with Dina and Erasure with another girl. And all the shows he saw with Alana. They will continue to see many more. Of course, he saw a few shows with Jen. Some of these women were camp girls. Not his. He went to an all-boys camp. The girls went to the typical jappy camps. Anat and Jen met and had their first fight at one of those camps. It was the only time Jen ever beat Anat. She didn’t yet have her powers. For the girls in those camps, it was who had better clothes. The guys in those camps weren’t much different. Marc was more rustic and met the best people ever.

His group was extraordinary. Anat fights with dried fruit. This delicacy played a significant role in Marc’s camp. As did dairy products, voodoo, and resting. Sometimes things went wrong. But everyone was always very apologetic for their wrongdoings.

Just as “People are People” came on, Marc hit send on the document to senior leadership. He anxiously awaited their response. He sipped his water and again checked MarketWatch. The Dow was lower than earlier. Don’t even think about the NASDAQ.

About an hour or so later, his inbox lit up with comments. Minor edits were made, and the document was approved and scheduled to go live Monday morning. Marc grabbed his coat and headed to the subway.

He approached the station and saw some madman spitting at people. He usually stayed away from these crazies. He knew he could stop them. But too many people filmed these individuals.

A young child was spit on. The guy was throwing things out of his pockets. The kid’s mom was in tears. She looked like a sweet young woman. She was dressed like the girls from the camps Marc’s girlfriends went to. Alana didn’t bother with camp. She only went one summer. Alana was the mixed-up cutey in all black. She kept to herself and listened to Joy Division. She’s still mourning Ian Curtis’ death.

Marc couldn’t let this kid get hurt. His mom was shaking. He walked up to the perp. He told him to stop and leave the poor little boy alone. The guy tossed a bottle at Marc. He then launched a decrepit old sweater. Marc ducked. The guy got closer to him. Marc shot pomegranates out of his eyes. He loved the feeling. He always wondered what Palpatine felt like when he was shooting Force lightning. The assailant fell back. He rose back up. Marc nailed him with honey. It hit him in the eyes. He fell back. Marc fired a few pomegranates and wished Alana was here to fire her apples, wine, and figs. Marc saw that guy was not getting up anytime soon. People were circling the nut and taking pictures. Marc used that as his chance to run down the stairs and catch his train.

Marc sinks into a depression

Marc was thrilled to see the Woodsman. He knows his words speak many truths. Yet Marc was so depressed. Here he was in his childhood home and now it was just barren land.

Alana put her arms around him. She felt his pain. She knows as brutal and cold as his, he will always crumble when things happen to his home. She remembered when they tore down the original Yankee Stadium. He went there and prayed at its ruins. Whenever he visits the new Stadium, he walks the park’s grounds where the House that Ruth Built sat.

In his mind, Marc was contemplating his next course of action. Most important, he had to do something that would make the Woodsman proud. He walked the trails up to a window that is quite picturesque. He took in the view and traveled a little further toward a cliff. Here were the ruins of former cabins, a dining hall and a latrine. It has been a long process, but this place has been made smaller and smaller through the years.

His iPhone buzzed. It was Anat. She wanted to know how he was doing. Alana called her. It’s amazing how the three of them became friends after all the fights they had. She said Jay was still bothering her and Jerry, who is getting stronger.

Marc was pleased. He knew he’d have to provide security at her wedding. Of course, Jen would be there. At this point, he didn’t care. Marc was happy Jen was doing well. He and Alana would go on till the end of time. Probably longer.

Jen talks marriage and has memories of camp

Jen and Jake were dining on juicy bone-in ribeyes with perfect marbling at Reserve Cut. A bottle of Shiloh Legend was poured into their wine glasses by the wait staff. Things were getting serious with these two. Jen was hoping a ring was not so far away. Jake felt the same. He even started looking for them with his mom and sister.

As Jen dug into her perfect cut of meat an old camp memory hit her right in the head. She remembered Anat Ovadia. She was a weird kid in camp. She wasn’t the friendliest. She didn’t bathe much. She always wore boots, whether she was hiking the trails, playing softball and soccer. She never took them off. She had an affinity for eating dried fruit. Her grandmother often mailed her platters of it. She never shared.

Jen remembered one late evening when she and her girlfriends, all about 11 or 12 years old grabbed her out of their bunk. She was wearing her boots. The tweens held their noses. They dragged her down to Stone Lake. They pulled her boots off. Anat freaked. They had to gag her to shut her up. They put a life preserver on her and tossed her into a canoe. Jen and the others got into their own canoes. Sarah jumped into Anat’s canoe. They all paddled out to the center of the lake. Jen paddled over to Sarah and Anat. Sarah gave the high sign. Jen swamped Sarah’s and Anat’s canoe. Sarah pulled herself over the side of Jen’s vessel. The other girls circled Anat and started a splash war while Anat struggled. She was not a good swimmer. Thankfully she was wearing a life preserver. She was treading. Tears fell down her face. The girls were taunting her. They stopped and paddled back to the docks. They left Anat in the center of the lake.

The girls sat on the docks and had chocolate snacks. They laughed while they watched Anat slowly swim back. When she got out of the lake, they made her swear to keep her mouth shut. If she blabbed they promised they’d take her fruit snacks and leave them out for the raccoons. They let her put her boots back on and made her march back to the bunk in silence.

Man, we were mean Jen thought to herself. She sipped her wine and gazed into Jake’s eyes. Jake started talking to her about marriage. Jen felt the butterflies tingle. As he was talking she thought of Marc and was wondering whatever happened to Anat. She was connected with all of her camp friends on Facebook and Linkedin. One or two might even be bridesmaids if everyone goes as she wishes. Later she’d look Anat up. She figured she probably turned out ok and might even be a mom. Her mind flipped to the time she was kissing Marc as Bowie played Starman at the Garden many years ago.

The two left the restaurant, kissed each other good night and headed to their respective subway lines.

Meanwhile, Anat was trolling the city munching on dates and apricots. Life was not kind to her. But she was not kind too much.

Jewish Unity and Inclusivity: Do we want it?

Right now, I am not high on Hashem and question his, her or its existence. Let’s face it there’s no proof.

But let’s put that aside. That debate will go on until the end of the world. Yesterday, I was gallery hopping on the Lower East Side and decided to walk over to Williamsburg. As I walked over the bridge, I saw the hipsters — the furthest thing from real New Yorkers. And of course, the Satmar. I am not sure who is more clueless. But decided the Satmar is.

Despite my intro, I would like to believe. As I walked around I saw the microcosm of the city. The Satmar mom with the stroller and numerous kids following, the kosher meat store and raggedy looking kids on their skateboards. Of course, their rags were pricey as hell. The men with their long coats and flying pais were nearby.

I had enough and knew I had to meet a friend at Penn Station in the early evening. So I went back to the City. I knew Mincha/Arvit at Midtown would be in about 45 minutes. For some reason, I decided I was going. I usually do. Not sure why. I think I’m praying to someone who is deafer than deaf.

I could have easily found a place in Williamsburg and not rushed back. But the question rises would I be comfortable praying with the people and would they let me? Not sure. But doubt it on both accounts.

A few years ago, I was at the Kotel. I love it there. And do feel a connection. But I feel a spiritual connection in summer camp and Yankee Stadium.

I had my talit, siddur and teffilin. I wanted to join a minyan. I saw one of the Chasidic minyanim assembling. I walked over and got ready. I opened my siddur and began to read. I wasn’t expecting an aliyah. I’ve never had one in Israel. One or two of the “gentleman” in their fur hats in weather that was over 100 degrees, long black coats and leggings asked me to leave their minyan. They pointed me away. I didn’t care that much. I walked away and found an amazing Sephardim minyan that was welcoming. I‘m Sephardic. I just didn’t see them when I got to the Kotel. Or maybe they weren’t there when I arrived. I prayed and went up to the wall.

Bottom line, all of the people davening there are dreaming of the Moshiach coming. Let me ask if you turn away a fellow Jew do you really expect him to arrive?