LETTERS FROM  CAMP

          Johnny’s father and mother were separated.  The eleven year old lived with his mother who held down a full-time job.  Now that school was let out for the summer, Johnny was on his way to summer camp – Camp Little Beaver. 
            Having been there the prior summer, he didn’t want to return, but had no choice.  It had been the strict bible studies camp that his father had gone to when he was a youngster and by gosh his boy was going there too.  His daddy had been a marine and wanted his boy to follow in his bootsteps.  Camp Little Beaver had toughen him up and it should do the same for his Johnny.
          When his mom asked why he didn’t want to go back, he just shrugged.  They are strict, you know.  But your letters last summer said that you were having fun; you know fun swimming, hiking, canoeing, field trips and the like.  Yes, I know, but . . . but.  Nonsense; you’ll enjoy it.  Your friends will be up there, not back here with their mommies and daddies.
          Johnny had no more real choice in the matter than his mom.  The father was paying for it and she couldn’t leave him home alone for the entire summer.  Both of them knew this.
          “Now I want regular letter just like you write your daddy.  Twice a week; understand?”
          “Yes, mamma.”
          Johnny knew what was expected in those letters home.  His mom wanted to know what a good time he was having and to hear about all about the friends that he had made.  His father wanted details about how the strict camp toughen up the boys and meted out discipline.  He wanted news about how they were paddled and beaten with the lake reeds just like he had been in his days there.  Yes, he wanted to know that the camp tradition lived on just like the marines tradition lives on and that his boy wasn’t being spared when he hadn’t been.  He demanded detailed reports just like teachers demanded book reports.  
          Johnny’s letters to his mom and dad couldn’t be made-up either.  They would visiting him on parents’ day.

June 5 
               Dear Daddy.  I got here yesterday.  They put me in the Cherokee Cabin.  The cabin leader is this guy called Drew.  He’s a senior in some military college down state.  Carries this big rattan cane all the time he’s in the cabin.  They no longer use those lake reeds that you told me about.
                Last night, my first night, I got short-sheeted.  I showed it to Drew.  Know what he done?  He turned on the lights and demanded to know who it was.  Nobody told.  So he has everybody but me drop their pjs and lean over their cot.  That bar at the bottom end is metal you know, so it’s cold. 
               There are sixteen cots here, eight on one side and eight on the other.  He goes down the line giving a fore-hander and a back-hander to everybody.  Nobody says nothing.  They much can’t.  Before we had always gotten the paddle.  First time for this cane business.  I can see that it’s hurting them more than the paddle.   They have that surprised look on their face.
               When he got to the end of that line he puts his hands on his hips and yells out:  “Now who done it?”  When nobody says nothing he says he going to get to the bottom of it if it takes him all night working away on our bottoms.
               Then he went down the other line giving a fore-hander and a backhander to everyone but me.  Gets to the end, turns again and says, “Well?”  Nobody fesses up. They all are just looking at their next bed buddies who are down on their elbows.
               Then he started over.  From seeing how hard he swooshing that big cane it seems that he getting madder.  Again the whole line gets two more, only harder this time.  Get’s to the end again.  “Last time I’m asking, boys.  I’ll save my breath from here on.  We may be at this all night, you know.”
               Back down the other line he starts again, swishing and a swashing.  I see him coming.  You see I’m standing at the bottom of my cot.  Everyone else is bent over with their jammies on the floor.
          The swishing and swashing grows louder as he gets near me.  I see Tommy bent over the cot on one side of me looking at bent-over Gary all mad-like.  I heard him whisper, tell him; tell him!  When he shakes he head Tommy calls out that it was Gary just before he gets his two licks.  Gary don’t denies it.  He just pulls out my missing sheet from under his mattress and gives Tommy the evil eye although it’s Gary everybody is now mad at.  
            You know what the cabin leader does to punish Gary?  This Drew goes and gets what he calls a junior cane and has all of us, including me, get in a line with their pjs back on. One by one we walk up to this Drew guy standing there next to Gary who is all bent over and has us give him a lick.  It better be hard too.  And Gary has to say thank you each time he takes a hit.
              This Gary sleeps all night on his stomach a whimpering and a wailing from his caned ass and from everyone being mad at him on top of it.  Kept me awake for a while. 
               After the cabin leader leaves lots of the boys are calling Gary an asshole and that they would get even.  I told them that they already had; to just look at his dumb ass in the morning and see for themselves.  Gary screams out “I’ve already thanked all of you” and puts his pillow over his head.  You see, he’s lying on his stomach.
           Love ya.

               June 5   
               Dear Momma.  The bus ride up here went well.  It didn’t take as long as I’d remembered.  I sat next to Tommy.  We decided to get our cots in the cabin side by side.
               I’m in the Cherokee cabin this year.  The cabin master is a college man called Drew.  Seems real nice and friendly.  Helps out too.   When I had a problems with my bed sheets he got it all squared right with some help from the boy in the next cot.  Tommy is in the cot next to mine on the other side.
               Just wanted you to know that I got here all right.  I’ll have more to write about next time.
               I love you.    

               June 8  
               Dear Daddy.  Remember telling me how they use to have you all make the spanking paddles during woodshop?  They got us doing that yesterday.  They got us making three sizes:  small ones for the 6-8 year olds in the Seminole cabin, mediums for us 9-11 year olds, and large ones for 12s and up.  That means I’d be getting the large next summer if you sent me back.  Boy do they look mean.
               For those large ones they aren’t having us shave and sand them all smooth but leaving them raw like, you know.  Speeds up things even though we are having to bore holes in them.   Since we aren’t shaving them they have lots of splinters around the sides and those holes.  The woodshop teacher has us just drilling in from one side so that we leave lots of little splinters around the holes on the other side.  Wants us to jiggle the bit as we pull out so that we leave splinters all about the other side too.  He sure knows his stuff.
               They got us putting tape on those big one’s handles too.  He explains that they don’t want to get splinters on their hands.  They also say that the tape make them easier to hold onto.  It’s kind of sticky.   I guess they are going to be able to really swing them good.
               I’m telling you this so that you won’t be wanting to send me back up again next summer.  I’d be 12 then you know.  I’d be swatted to smithereens with those things.  So save your money next year.  Just let me go to the beach.  Please no more Little Beaver for me.
               Love Johnny.

               June 8
               Dear Momma.  Wanted you to know that I’m taking woodcraft.  It’s fun.  They got us carving all sorts of things – things like toys and stuff.  We’re learning to use saws and carvers and those things they call rasps.  They even got me in the woodshop making paddles that they use right here in camp!  Paddles for the canoes and kayaks, you know.  I really like it and can’t wait to use one that I worked on.  Maybe I’ll be able to bring one back home with me.
               I love you.

               June 10
               Hi there boy.  Sounds like this Drew fellow is my kind of guy.  Don’t know much about rattan canes.  They used those river reeds on us sometimes, as you know.  Only canes we had were those sugar canes that grew wild down in the hollow.  We use to suck on them – that sugar juice sure was good.  Guess you don’t suck the rattan ones.  Sounds kind of sissy-like to me.  Something better used on  girls.
               In my day up there we had woodshop too.  They keep us real busy making those paddles.  You see they used them for kindling wood in the dining room and at those campfires at night.  Of course they never the burnt good ones.  So they busted our buns for as long as it took to have enough shreds and broken ones to use as kindling wood when they ran low.  They just didn’t want to have to pay to have kindling delivered.
               I remember one day they caught this boy telling the others to chisel cracks in them so that they would break easy like.  Stupid kid didn’t think the swatter wouldn’t see that.  
               Do they still have you all using that tool that roughen the surface?  Splinters around the holes is okay, but you want the whole damn thing to be rough as all hell.  Leaves a better impression, you know; lasts longer.
               Love, Dad.

               June 10
               Dear Johnny.  I’m glad you had a nice ride to camp.  I play cards sometimes with Tommy’s mother, you know.  This Drew fellow sounds like a nice caring young man.  I know you must feel lucky to have his for your cabin leader.
                I’m also glad to hear about your woodshop projects.  Yes, do plan on bringing one home at the end of camp.  I know that the scoundrel (your father) would like to see it as a piece of memorabilia.  After all, he is paying for your camp experience, you know.  
                Keep up the fun times.  You are building a lifetime of memories that you’ll be able to pass down to your own boys someday.
                Miss you.  Momma

               June ll 
               Dear Daddy.  I was right about those large paddles I told you about.  The woodcraft teacher had us all try them out.  Said that the proof of the pudding was in its eating, and that we needed to appreciate the difference between them.
               So he goes and had all of us in shop go over a workbench and drop our drawers.  He gives each of us two swats with the small and then two with the medium and then two with the large.   Wow wow wow!  Boy did that big one hurt.  He calls it the senior paddle.  Sure glad that I won’t be 12 till next year.
               Then he has each of us write a report – you know; like a lab report.  We had to write just how each one felt.  When two boys got a failing grade he had them repeat so they’d know better how they felt.    

               June 11
               Dear Momma.  I’m fine.  I hope you are fine.
               They have a syrup up here that I really like.  It’s called Aunt Jemima.  Can you get some?  Goes on pancakes, you know.
               Can you believe it?  They’ve gone and got us writing reports just like we were back in school.  Yep, the woodcraft teacher had us all write how different type woods look and feel.  What kinds of trees they came from and all.  I got a real feel for them.
               Had us write how they worked as paddles – which paddled are stronger and all, you know.  Which ones float the best and which ones burn the best as firewood.  We also learned which are stronger – which ones you can paddle hardest without breaking and splintering and all.  I’ve really learned a lot.
               The instructor let us watch him make a baseball bat.  He used this thing called a lathe and a spindle gauge.  Had to wear a safety mask.  Showed us how hard he could hit too.  Oh boy but can he hit.  Out of the park most every time.  Never bunts.  Makes a big impression on all of us as he gives us his individual attention.
               I love you.

               June 14 
               Dear Daddy.  I don’t know if they had an herb garden when you were here, but they do now.  This guy they call a horticulturist, if that’s how you spell it; he has us studying in this glass hothouse that they’ve gone and built.  There are tomatoes and cucumbers that we eat.  There also is ginger and peppers and onions and even bamboo.  They too are used right here in camp.  Would you believe it?  
               Having this hothouse saves them money, they say.  Just like having us make the paddles and then break um up over our asses for kindling.  Saves them more money.
               Yesterday the horter (that’s what we call him) gave us all a few licks with the bamboo just to get a feel for it.  Then he had us put those ginger roots up our butts after we had carved our own.  See, they need to have a groove to hold them in place so they don’t squeeze out.  Bet you’ve never heard about that.
                They call it figging.  Had to leave it in about fifteen minutes but it seemed lots longer than that.  One boy got a hot pepper up his butt.  He was carrying on such that the horter took it out pretty quick. 
               Gosh I’m learning so much.  Sure hope they don’t go and salt and pepper me.  Course you’ll probably say that they tarred and feathered you.  

               June 14 
               Dear Mommy.  Now they got us farming up here.  Can you believe that?  Me; a farmer? 
               They have this hothouse where they grow our own vegetables; you know, like tomatoes and carrots and all.  They grow herbs too.  Ever tasted a ginger root?  Bet not.  It’s kinda stingy like, you know.  They got peppers and onions too.  They use them on us; I mean we eat them.  Saves them money, they say.  Seems everything is about saving money by working our butts off.  But there’s plenty of just plain fun time besides the learning time.
               The hothouse instructor is nice.  He picked me to give special, private-like attention.  Showed me how ginger roots are used in so many things; even inside things!  They are used things to perk them up and all; to give them spice, like girls.  You know, like girls who are made of sugar and spice and everything nice.  Ha Ha.   
               Love ya.

               June 17   
               Dear Daddy.  Yesterday we had what they called a field trial.  They pilled all of us in the Cherokee cabin into a couple of pickup trucks along with a bunch of those big senior paddles that we had made.  They didn’t tell us but they had gone and stuck name labels on them that we had made.  Told us they would going to have a field trial.
               They drove us way out into the country along these dirt roads that run through fields.  Had other cabin leaders come along.  Then they would stop, let a cabin leader off along with three of us with the paddles that we had made and drive on.  We didn’t know it but the back roads they took made for a circle.  
               Well I gets out with Freddie and Greg.  He has Freddie drop his jeans and shorts and bend over.  He goes and hits him as hard as he can.  Wow!  What was that for?  Then he looks at the paddle.  It’s okay.  He explains that this is a field trial to test out the paddles; to see how good we made them.
               So he hits him again as hard as he can with his backhand.  Freddie almost falls over.  He checks Freddie’s paddle.  It’s still okay.  So he sends him off a-running.  See, this field trial is to see if the paddle you made is good and strong and won’t splinter and break and all.  They can’t have all of them breaking up for kindling.  They have to have some to keep those 12 and 13 year olds disciplined and all.  Of course those that pass their test and are use on us are the strongest ones which hurt the most.
               I got to the fourth test station before mine breaks.  The cabin leader at that station was a big brute – probably a wrestler.  My paddle breaks right in half where I had bored two holes too close together.  But don’t worry.  They had brought along plenty of extras, you know.  
              Since I had made it halfway through before mine broke, I got credit for three of the six stations.  So I only got nine swats.  Kinda like getting a D minus, I suppose.
              We didn’t think it was right to get hit with paddles made for 12 year olds when we are 11.  They said they had no choice.  Said that they didn’t offer woodshop for them.

              June 17
              Dear Momma.  Yesterday we had a field trip.  It was fun.  They drove us way out into the countryside in pickup trucks.  We got to sit in the open bed.  A bunch of cabin masters came along with us.  One played the guitar and one played the banjo.
               We had a road race on one of those dirt roads.  I did pretty good.  I got to what they called fourth base in good time.  I did better than lots of the others who got beaten real bad.

               June 20
               Dear Daddy.  Knew you would like to hear about the campfire we had last night.  The kindling was made of the splintered paddles that they broke on us in that field trial. 
               The ghost stories were weird.  I think Drew must be an English literature major in college.  He had all these stories how headmasters over there caned their students and all.  This English literature is from England, that place that you can’t drive to from here, you know.  I think that’s how he came about getting these rattan canes.  
               Anyway, you see the camp fire last night wasn’t very big.  It didn’t have a real lot of paddles burning, so it wouldn’t last long.  Guess how it kept it going.  Then I guess you don’t have to guess.  That’s right; he brought along a shit-full load of extras.  Kept the fire going by firing our asses.  He didn’t want to burn good ones so he hit our buns real hard like to keep making more kindling.  He kept our asses all fired up so that we could keep the camp fire going.  He’d say sorry guys but we got to keep the fire going.  Hoped we had noticed that the extras weren’t those senior ones.  So we should be a thanking him.
               He did let us keep on jeans on.  I expect you’ll think that was all sissy-fied; not like the good old days when you were up here.
               If it makes you feel any better you’d want to know that all this time sitting around the camp fire we all had a ginger root up our butts.  Said he wanted to add some fire to the fire.  If it came out when we got whacked we had to tell him.  You see, he checked on this a couple of times. 
                He found one guy with the root just lying there in his drawers inside his jeans.  To see that that didn’t go and happen again he had to stay butt-naked the rest of the time.  Now we got scared whenever we felt that the ginger root might be trying to ooze out.  Crazy feeling trying hard to keep that stinging thing inside when you know we want to grunt it out.  Crazy feeling.

               June 20
               Dear Momma.  Last night we had a campfire out in the woods.  It was spooky.  Drew told us some ghost stories from England – you know, that country over there where they talk like us do here.  
               We built the fire from the leftover wood from the woodshop.  Drew kept us busy rekindling it by breaking up more wood.  Now I know how to build and keep a camp fire going good. 
               Did you know that you can start a fire without matches by hitting flint stones together?   Now that not the Flintstones you know.  Ha Ha.

               June 22
               Hi there kid.  Boy does that campfire bring back memories.  Of course we had it harder back then in the good old days.  Nobody would of ever dreamed about letting us keep our jeans on.  Them mosquitos need to eat too, you know.  
               Everything now days has gotten so sissy-fied; so “politically correct.”  No more rope swings out over the creek.  Everybody has got to wear seat belts and helmets.  Now days playgrounds can’t even have seesaws.  Good God Almighty.  I wish I could tell John Wayne what’s been happening.
               Not that everything now a days has gone soft, you hear.  I have learned about these English fellows and their canes, figging and all.  Guess us Americans don’t know everything; don’t have the best of everything after all. 
              You and me need some catching up too.  Sorta behind on our behinds, you might say.
               Now that camp is about over, I’ll be seeing you soon.  The sooner the better.  I’ll have a couple of them rattan and some of those gingers waiting for your homecoming.  I checked myself out on the ginger roots.  Gave them a good grade.  But I can’t try the rattan out on myself very good.  No, I need you to help me out with that.  Daddy

               June 22
               Dear Johnny.  Did you know that I once was a campfire girl?  I bet you didn’t.  Your letter brought back such good warm memories.
               Good news!  You won’t be having to ride the bus back home from camp.  No, your father will be picking you up.  Says he just can’t wait to see you.  Probably wants to share some camping experiences with you.  You can’t beat that!
               Maybe the scoundrel isn’t such a scoundrel after all.  Says he’ll even be sending you back up there again next summer!  Tells me he wants to spend more time with you so that he can give you more of his personal, hands-on attention.  It’s what they call male bonding, I guess.  
               Your daddy also said that you made some things for the 12 year olds.  So next summer you should be entitled to them.  Something extra to look forward to.
                Mommy.