Bill Madden found us recently because he's been urging his nieces to attend summer camp at FV. A nice phone conversation with folks at camp led him to this blog and then to reminisce about his years there. He was a camper in the late 60s and early 70s. In the photo above: Counselor on porch - Sam Pack; campers left to right: Robert Kishpaugh, Bill Madden (the fly smasher), Mark, Eddie, Gordon Trinkler, Stephen, Leroy, David, Robert Roux; Junior Counselor at foot of the stairs - Gil.(Later: David Magid writes to suggest that the JC on the stairs was indeed Gil...Gil Short. David writes: "I'm pretty sure Gil was a CIT with me in '69. I also believe Gil was related to Digger Shortt - a nephew?")
Bill saw the photo of the old dining hall in a recent entry here, and remembered a story that seems in part to involve me. Here's Bill:
The dining facility had a large main area where campers and counselors ate and a much smaller dining room in the back where staff ate. Sometimes campers who skipped their assigned activity periods could be found playing board games kept in a small cabinet in the staff dining room.
One afternoon, I skipped an activity period and went there to play, and found it empty. Well almost empty. You see, someone must have left a window or door open and I found myself in the room with many, many, many flies. Strangely, on this particular afternoon, the tables had already been set. Fortuitously, for no reason I can think of, someone had left behind a cake spatula. It is one of those utensils with a wooden handle and a flexible rubber head. Most importantly, this item makes a fantastic fly swatter. I decided I certainly wouldn’t enjoy eating with all of those flies in there, so with all good intentions, I set myself upon the task of smashing the flies. And a BIG task it was, I’m not talkin’ just a few flies here. Well, the best I can describe the activity is as follows: flies landing on table tops and large flat dinner plates were easy kills. Almost as easy as plates, were the flies landing on napkin holders and sugar jars. Much trickier were salt and pepper shakers and utensil handles. Those locations required a special flick of the wrist. Cup rims were impossible, and after a few failed attempts those flies were ignored until they landed in a better location. I stayed at the job until I had smashed them all. I remember my great sense of accomplishment and, hoping for a few accolades, I went searching for someone in the dining facility to tell them what I had done.
Well, I found no one, and camp being the busy place it is, I soon forgot all about the flies.
The evening meal for campers always began with someone coming to the microphone and announcing the food was ready. The announcement would trigger a rush of campers (one server per table) heading to pick up the food. The rules required them to walk, and I have often thought the sport of speed walking may have started there.
On the evening of my good deed this routine varied just slightly. The person, not sure who (maybe Al Filreis), coming to the mike did not immediately announce the food was ready. Instead he started off saying “whoever smashed the flies”. I don’t recall the remainder of what was said, but vividly remember feeling tremendously surprised by the immense disapproval in his tone, followed by a great sense of relief that I had told no one as of yet, and firmly resolving not too. In fact, I have not said a word about it these thirty-some odd years. But now, finally, I confess it is I who smashed the flies.
