Hastily constructed to serve as an administrative office for the Girls' Camp director and program director and housing for the girls CITs in the early 60s, Hird Lodge is by now a skittery, dilapidated, house-of-cards with unbearable summertime heat braising those who live on the second floor, bowed stairs with lots of "give," and walls so thin you can hear people breathing from one end to the other. And yet every time I walk into the place in the summer--it's been in recent years the home of Quinnipiac or "Pac" village--the kids and staff insist on its sacredness and sheer beauty. The old lodge is a legend by now. Back in the day, the girl LIT's (Leaders-in-Training, a second summer of training
after CIT) lived there and had an unending good time. But just imagine that loud hilariousness (and mischief, I'll add from personal knowledge) being had above the offices of the camp director. When Wawayanda was for boys (on the whole east side of camp) and Camp Henry Hird was for girls (the four groups of 5 cabins each above the lake, that dining hall, Hird and Turrell Lodges), the main "living room" of Hird was used as a social spot for women staff coming back from staff lounge late at night (the lounge was in Pigeon Lodge in those days and served hamburgers, hot dogs, grilled cheese sandwiches, root beer floats, etc.--cooked by Marie Hess--and you paid cash). Funny how such camp buildings go through phases: first, new and luxurious; second, horrible & no one wants to live there; third, a treasure that every camper anticipates for years as the culmination of tradition. Dari Litchman saw this entry and got "teary-eyed and nostalgic," and offered this addition:
Pile of sticks indeed! One of my favorite lodges ever. I remember the first summer of PAC [1985?] - how great was Dave Gold in all his glory? MEET THE PAC? Probably the best cheer that ever was. I remember when Hird Lodge was the mailroom! Can you imagine how many packages were stolen and eaten that summer? (It was the mailroom AND Pac lived there at the same time, whose bright idea was that?) The best memory though, was one flag raising held there. I recall an amazing performance - Tom Cometa himself channeling Jimi Hendrix. We are all bleary eyed and still sleeping when the counselor door at the top of the stairs is KICKED open and he commences with the Star Spangled Banner. What a way to wake up! (Maybe we were kicking off Hirdstock?)
I'll note that "Meet the Pac" was sung to the tune of the N.Y. Mets theme song. Dave Gold, Pac's founder, and I were huge Met fans.
Hastily constructed to serve as an administrative office for the Girls' Camp director and program director and housing for the girls CITs in the early 60s, Hird Lodge is by now a skittery, dilapidated, house-of-cards with unbearable summertime heat braising those who live on the second floor, bowed stairs with lots of "give," and walls so thin you can hear people breathing from one end to the other. And yet every time I walk into the place in the summer--it's been in recent years the home of Quinnipiac or "Pac" village--the kids and staff insist on its sacredness and sheer beauty. The old lodge is a legend by now. Back in the day, the girl LIT's (Leaders-in-Training, a second summer of training after CIT) lived there and had an unending good time. But just imagine that loud hilariousness (and mischief, I'll add from personal knowledge) being had above the offices of the camp director. When Wawayanda was for boys (on the whole east side of camp) and Camp Henry Hird was for girls (the four groups of 5 cabins each above the lake, that dining hall, Hird and Turrell Lodges), the main "living room" of Hird was used as a social spot for women staff coming back from staff lounge late at night (the lounge was in Pigeon Lodge in those days and served hamburgers, hot dogs, grilled cheese sandwiches, root beer floats, etc.--cooked by Marie Hess--and you paid cash). Funny how such camp buildings go through phases: first, new and luxurious; second, horrible & no one wants to live there; third, a treasure that every camper anticipates for years as the culmination of tradition. Dari Litchman saw this entry and got "teary-eyed and nostalgic," and offered this addition:
