Stories, Memories, Impressions of Camp
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Hyde Bay Camp For Boys Stories, Memories, Impressions of Camp |
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Stories, Memories and Impressions of Camp Also see Strange, Harrowing, or Humorous Trip Events. Click here to add your story
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A Story About Nothing - Colin Murray Colin Murray 11-07-14 - A shred of a memory emerged from pre-UL days... ’60 or ''61-ish. Maybe one or more of the three or four others in the 'cadre' might also have a similar recollection.
Five Sonnets by John Mercer
A SHOCKING EPISODE Charlie Burnham 07/24/12 - Enjoy reading the multitude of memories! I don't ever recall having a camp nickname but do remember Mouldy handing out awards one night in the dining hall and he introduced me as "London Bridges Burnham down"
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PONY CLUB GIRLS GONE WILD During the summer of 1963, I bunked in the Mouldy City annex. On Saturday night August 3, 1963, plays were in full swing. For reasons I don’t recall, I walked back to the annex and heard clattering and commotion in Mouldy City. It sounded like a fight. I walked around to the front and heard the distinct sound of springs as bunks were being overturned, thumping of trunks and bed-stand orange crates being thrown around. It was no fight, but, at the sturdy age of fifteen and having heard most of the ghost stories, I figured it was a coalition of monsters that had finally come to eat the entire camp. I was almost scared out of my business. During my heart-pounding, surrealistic run back to the theater, I noticed some tents had been flattened. Out of breath and shaking, I excitedly reported the incident to Mouldy. I had totally lost my calm and might not have slept well that night. Here is the excerpt from the Volume 37, Number 5, August 6, 1963 (Saturday) Home Letter: "An unfortunate Incident occurred while we were watching the plays. We will explain this briefly simply to avoid any erroneous rumors. The camp has also been informed of the full story and everything is completely back to normal now. Four young girls (14 to 16 years old) came into camp, with the endorsement of the father of one girl, let down four of our tents, upset trunks, and turned over beds--the initial thought being only to short-sheet the beds. One thing leads to another and the end result was far more extensive than a simple prank. Two of the girls along with the father were apprehended and were interviewed by the State Police. The other two girls found their way home on their own. Pranks are somewhat understood but not when such things are sanctioned and promoted by unthinking parents!!"
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GIRLS IN TENTS? WHY, THE VERY IDEA.... I have to agree with Tom Lynn. When our group was in Mouldy City, our counselor was Josh Shoemaker. Dave Dubie and myself were in the annex. On many occasions, Josh would bring Joannie Hatfield back to the cabin for whatever reason. Tom was right about one of the nights. I actually remember it quite well. Joannie did go around and give all of the guys a kiss. Dave and I, being in the annex, unfortunately missed out on the fun. A side note to this event. Joannie Hatfield was HOT!!! I also remember the tents coming down but was not privy to who did it or what the outcome was. The rumor at the time was just "townies." Dad {Mouldy} was really mad.
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THE BATGIRL OF THE OTESAGA On the evening of Saturday, August 6th 2011 Frank “Nature Boy” Pine and his wife Lorraine “St. Lorraine” Pine (because she puts up with Frank) retired to their quarters on the fifth floor of the Otesaga after another wonderful day at Durbar. As they opened their door, they noticed a small winged mammal configured like an F-117 Stealth Fighter jet swooping and banking through their room. It was an Otesaga bat. Frank & Lorraine wisely shut the door and proceeded to the 4th floor elevator to alert the front desk. As they reached the elevator, Mike “Mikey” Hilliard, his wife Georgia, and Pete “Pierre” Black emerged. Frank informed the Hilliard’s and Peter of his mission, and the Hilliard’s and Peter proceeded up the stairs to the 5th floor. On their way up the stairs, Peter asked Mike, a retired cop, “Did you bring your gun?” Mike looked at Peter in puzzlement, and Peter responded, “You could shoot it. I had a bat in my house, and Ruthie (his wife) was upset. So, I got out my 22 and shot it. Then Ruthie got mad at me because I put a hole in the curtain.I mean - I took care of the bat!” As the group reached the 5th floor, Peter immediately retired to his room, but the Hilliard’s noticed the Otesaga bat had now reached the 5th floor hallway, where it was performing all sorts of aerobatics. Mike opened the door to the stair well with the well-intentioned thought that the bat would fly down the stairwell and out the lobby door. Georgia wisely instructed Mike to call the front desk and inform them this airborne creature was now in the 5th floor hallway. Mike called the desk. Batgirl answered, and said, “OK.” In less than a minute Batgirl bounded up the steps into to the 5th floor hall. She was just over 5 feet and slender. She was dressed in a black pant suit and white blouse. She was only equipped with a large and slender key ring. The bat had now secreted itself in an air vent in the hall’s ceiling. She immediately closed the stairwell door and asked Frank and Lorraine for a chair. Frank quickly gave her a chair from his room. She placed it directly under the vent. She then sprinted down the hall and closed the door dividing the 5th floor hallway, swiftly entered the housekeeping closet and retrieved a white towel. She then quickly alighted the chair, and used the king ring to gently coax the bat out of the air vent. It then swooped down the hall. As it reached the door dividing the hallway, it banked and returned at a high speed towards Mike, who ducked. The little stealth fighter banked down the hall again towards the other end of the hall. It repeated its maneuver at the door dividing the hallway swooping again towards Frank, Lorraine, and Mike, but Batgirl was ready. She tossed the towel in the air, and the bat flew in it. Batgirl gently gathered the creature in the towel and bounded down the steps. Within seconds she returned to the 5th floor still breathing normally, handed the chair to Frank and said, “Thank you.” She then disappeared into the night down the stairway. Everyone slept peacefully that night thanks to the Batgirl of the Otesaga. _____________________________________________________________________
THE DIRECTOR'S LITTLE TRICK When the Director attended Rotary meetings at the Otesaga, he drove the Chevy pick up we used to haul garbage to the dump with those lovely juices dripping out from the tail gate, and he would park it next to the newest shiniest Cadillac he could find on the lot. _____________________________________________________________________
POIGNANT MEMEORY OF CAMP The most poignant memory I have of camp was the summer following camp’s closure when the Picketts, the Hilliards, and the Davisons closed the camp. One evening as the sun was setting; I was sitting on the dining hall porch alone with Mouldy. It was beautiful. The sky was a clear blue. Otsego Lake was becoming Glimmerglass. I must have said how much I will miss this. Mouldy looked at me and said, “This will always be mine and yours. No matter what is here. This is ours. No one can take that away from us.” He was right, that evening is still etched in my memory, and Hyde Bay is still his, mine, and ours. _____________________________________________________________________
ZOOM, SCHWARTZ, PERFIGLIANO In the mid-60s, campers ready to move on from Four Square had another way to test their competitive chops, a cut-throat word game called Zoom, Schwartz, Perfigliano. It was a kind of verbal tag in which those words were briskly parried around a group of players, the aim being to eliminate your opponents by getting them to mess up on the rules that went with each word until you alone remained victorious. _____________________________________________________________________
MOTOR THE CORN BORER John Mercer writing -- My brother, Tom-tom, was recalling the other day that Heb Evans did not only tell ghost stories around the campfire, but also told long jokes, usually word-play jokes, one of which was something like this:
MEMORIES OF CAMP This weekend I visited Cooperstown and our beloved Hyde Bay. It was a glorious summer day with a good breeze blowing across the lake. I am especially thankful to have known Moldy, Betty and Rusty, but have many fond memories of . . . The train trips from Mount Vernon Station, Baltimore with Mr. Hilliard, through New York City and the Bus Trip to Cooperstown. “How Many More Miles Mr. Hilliard?….” Climbing the gorge up to Lookout mountain, where we enjoyed the greatest view of the lake and had breakfast for 30 out of a 24” Frying Pan. Big Mr. Henry “Ain’t no more, Aint’ no more (pancakes),…. Next Sunday,…..Next Sunday.) Helping Bergy Bergstrom with the glassing of Comet 3168. Building the crazy contraption out of conveyors to slide down into the water. What did we call it,….? The “Mouldy Rail?” I was a camper in the early – mid 60’s and enjoyed what must have been the best years of the camp. By that time, the Archery and Tennis were in full swing, the Equestrian program had been established for several years. And there were lots of other activities, however having caught ‘Sea Fever” in previous years, upon arrival at camp in 1967, my entire mission was to get out in a Comet sail boat. Although the councilors did their best at morning sign up to encourage me toward a variety of activities….. I spent every possible moment on AND in the water. Of course this meant passing a series of swimming challenges of increasing difficulty. First the swim to “The Raft” and back. Then, to “The Tower” and back. Next…. To the point. And finally….. From Clarks Point back to camp. So, that is is not surprising that within a week, I had developed a severe sunburn and flaking skin. Fortunately, Betty knew just what to do. She provided a ‘magic’ cream that eased the pain and told me to stay out of the sun for a week. A WHOLE WEEK??!!!@@#@#$ Fortuntately, Mr. Hilliard’s ‘Shop’ had an incredible assortment of plaster casts for ‘slip’ molding, as well as a wide variety of materials and projects for any interest. The stories could go on and on, as I am sure you know. _____________________________________________________________________
ETHICAL CULTURE CAMP It was great to read about the life of an Ethical Culture camper. I distinctly remember how mysterious it all seemed “down the shoreline.” The thing I most recall, though, is the rumor/myth that was shared among my fellow campers when we were first starting to feel our male hormones “awaken.” The story was that the swimming at Ethical Culture was done in two separate shifts: one for the boys and one for the girls. Not particularly fascinating in and of itself. However, what compelled us to squint and strain to see in the direction of ECS was that these shifts were — most assuredly — swum in the nude! Oh, how we 12 and 13 year olds were so sure that we had occasionally glimpsed … something! How exotic and continental those ECC campers surely were! (Where were the binoculars when we really needed them?) Ps - When I mentioned this to my father, he said that they had the same belief in his day. He said that some of them had even paddled a canoe down toward ECC and hidden themselves in the trees to get that same glimpse that I was wishing for 30 years later! (I wonder if this rumor was purposely passed down from the older boys as they eventually found it to be untrue — Woolly Ants, anyone?) Pps - Oh, FYI: I was only looking during the supposed “girls’ shifts” — not that’s there’s anything wrong with those who looked during other “shifts.” ____________________________________________________________________
CAMP MEMORIES "Ah, the memories of paddling against choppy waves; horse ligament and saddle soap; sail fabric snapping in the wind; eating bacon on Nebo; bleeding on the rocks of Trenton Falls; having to pee in the middle of the night but being too scared to leave the tent for fear of “The Monkey’s Paw;” peeing out the side of the tent; paddling against relentless winds; fresh milk in a glass tumbler with cookies; ripping the pages from comic books for toilet paper; blood blisters from improper use of “Big Bertha” on the shuffle board; bruises on the wrestling mat; Mouldy City; paddling against the waves and wind; being bitten by green “deer flies;” staring transfixed into the heart of the bonfire; sneaking to the girl’s camp down the road at night; droplets of condensation forming on metal pitchers of ice-cold red “bug juice;” the candy line; setting off cherry bombs with time-delayed cigarette fuses; the solid heft of a wooden tennis racket; flacid tennis balls; looking everywere for the “Hot Rock;” mowing the outfield; trying to grasp a greased watermellon; waiting for the next reel of 16mm films to be queued; the Cardiff Giant; crunching on rock-candy at the Farmer’s Museum; cold hands and snowballs at Snow Gulch; having to (ugh) write home…" _____________________________________________________________________
MIKE HILLIARD'S ACCOUNT of AFTER CAMP In the spring of that year, what has been referred to as the "Final 'Final Banquet'" was held at Eudowood Gardens in Towson, MD right outside of Baltimore, which is now the site of Towson Marketplace. I remember attending it with my parents, Dee-Dee, the Davison's, and the Pickett's. I recall it as being the bitter sweet occasion, and my recollection is it was mostly attended by adults. I do not remember seeing a lot of my generation at the event. In the summer of 1970 the Pickett’s, Hilliard’s, and Davison’s moved the Russelorum, Little Bohemia, and I believe the Counselor's Lodge to Beaver Valley. The kitchen equipment, plates, silverware, tents, cots, mattresses and some boats were sold at an auction on the camp site. Mouldy negotiated a deal with the owner of the company that transported the buildings Jim Hurtibiest, and the ownership of the Hacker was transferred to him as all or a partial payment for the moving expenses. I remember riding in the Hacker across the lake with Jim to a boat yard on the east side of the lake. Just as we reached the boat yard, the Hacker ran out of fuel. Sandy and I jumped in the water and literally swam it to the dock. I can recall visiting the camp site in the summer of 1971 with my parents. We were returning to Baltimore from working that summer at Adirondack Wilderness Camp on Long Lake, New York in the Adirondacks. Mouldy, Betty, and Sandy were still spending the summer on the camp site. The dining hall and the campers lodge along with the residential cabins were still on site. I remember sleeping in the cooks' cabin with Sandy, as I did during the previous summer. _____________________________________________________________________
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE... Ok, this is my favorite Hyde Bay Camp story. Circa 1971, I was on the cross country team at Amherst College. My second year I was eating lunch in Valentine Hall, and one of the senior captains, Henry Hart, sat at my table. We were talking about 'form vs. function' and somehow I mentioned that I was 'stamped for life' by my summer camp experience. We both then began extolling the virtues of camp, and also commented to each other how negative our impressions were of 'whistle camps'. He said he had gone to a neat camp in upstate NY, with heavy waterfront activities, and no schedule. I then said I went to a similar camp on Otsego Lake. NATURALLY, he said his camp was on Otsego Lake -- we looked at each other, and you will all be able to guess what happened next?! I looked at him with a wink and said, "STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE" he looked at me laughing and SHOUTED AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS (it seemed) "HUCKLEBERRY PIE", and after that we shared Hyde Bay Camp stories for the next hour. Of course that being the early '70's, with both of us standing and screaming the camp cheer in the middle of the college dining hall -- I am quite certain that most people were thinking, "Uh, oh, the boys on the cross-country team are high again!" Only high on the Hyde Bay Camp experience. And, I have definitely been stamped for life by that experience. Thank you to Hyde Bay, anyone else have a similar story of post Hyde Bay 'discovery'? ________________________________________________________
SCATTERED MEMORIES I was at HBC 1948-53, 1955, and have fond memories of the place and people. Bobby Russell was my first counselor when Sam (Peter) Wallace and I came for the summer (my parents went to Europe, so some things had to be done to take care of my older sister and me. Did well in swimming and learned to sail, which I loved. Billy Barker and I won the sailing competition in 1953 (I think). Charlie Classen and I roomed together as ULs in 1955 in a kind of annex to where the students lived. Pitched a nohitter on doubleday field in 1955 (end of baseball career). Also enjoyed wrestling and the commodore's antics! cook Henry considered me his boy! A few scattered memories: My first summer, 1948, I recall a canoe trip to Shadow Brook with counselor Bobby Russell and somehow we turned ove rand I felt my self going down in soaked clohes, but Bobby grabbed me and brought me to safety. My first experience on a comet scared me to death when it heeled over, but I later came to love sailing and all the details about the boats, etc. Dick Fryberger persuaded me to be his crew (1952?) and we won the competition, which he, Harry Bodwden, and Peter Powell fixed so that all three would have turnes with each boat. It seemed much fairer. I recall getting to red boat ready for the final race. Also recall capsizing in the mddle of a race with crew Bill Barker; we just kept heeling up and gradually flipped: only time that happened, but it was embarrassing because I think we were ahead in the race. In 1953 final race in the white boat I recall nearly colliding with Jimmy Merrick. He was screaming for "bouy room." I always felt a bit sheepish at winning that race! ________________________________________________________
Chenango Wrestling Nemesis Reading Stan's story about Chenango opponents makes me wonder how many other HBCers can recall personal Chenango nemeses from long-ago contests. I'm sure that Flu, Chooch, and Pierrie had plenty. I had only one - and it was only a two-contest "history" at that. It was Larry "Stud" Studenski. He was a particularly muscle-bound fellow who was so rippled and bulging (biceps especially) that when he played outfield for Chenango, the joke was that he couldn't bend over to field ground balls and had to make himself fall down to do it! Well, though I wasn’t a baseball player, I was a fairly good wrestler (thanks to Eddie Brown’s program at Gilman – where I was one of the “lightweights” instructed by my father’s wrestling coach, our beloved Ed Russell). I believe it was 1967 (The Summer of Love) or 1968 when “Stud” and I first squared off during a HBC-Chenango match. Although I had some decent muscle development myself (for a 115-pounder, that is!), it was nothing to compare with Stud. When we were called to the center of the mat, the first thing he did was take off his t-shirt! Jolly started to yell for me to take mine off, too! I decided in favor of a little gamesmanship, though. I turned to Ref Mouldy and said that Stud had to put his shirt back on so I could get a good grip on him -- instead of slipping on sweat. Mouldy agreed! Having that “grip” was essential as I was able to hold and “follow” on Stud’s every move. Though he got an escape on me at one point, I got a reversal with my trusty (and, at that time, unstoppable) switch. Result: Lynn by decision, 2-1. It was either the following year or the year after that, we wrestled Chenango twice. The first time, I didn’t wrestle Stud, but our “coach,” David Dube, moved me up to wrestle a much larger guy. Because he was so much taller, I decided to try something I’d never done, but which Mr. Brown (who was always up on the latest techniques) had shown us the previous winter. Rather than pursue him on my feet first period, I went down to one knee and let him come to me. He wasn’t very experienced, I don’t think, and he “wandered” into a double leg take-down, straight into a full-nelson pin. At the end of the matches, Stud (who had won his match handily) rushed up to me and (seeming not to remember me at all!) gushed about how great that move was and how he had only heard about people doing it. He was impressed - but apparently not scared! And he didn’t have to be… In the second match that summer (or was it the following year?), Stud and I had our rematch. Wish I could say that it was another titanic struggle - but, no. I spent pretty much the whole match, on my back, “bridging” for my life! I kind of think that good ol’ Mouldy felt a little sorry for me and never smacked his hand on the mat - even as my back felt pretty darn flattened out! I think I lost something like 8-1, if I got any points at all. Would have liked a rematch with Stud, but that was the last year of camp. I was feeling pretty low that day, and maybe the next, too. But good ol’ Josh gave me something to cheer me up. (And, yes, I think that, being a low-level hoarder, I might still have it hidden away in a closet somewhere!) What was it? It was an improvised laundry bag that Josh, or one of the other councilors who had gone into town, had “found” in the Cooperstown laundromat. It was a pillowcase with a wire hanger threaded around the opening. In black ink, crudely spelled out in child-like block letters: “L. STUDENSKI.” I win.
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