What It Was Like Read Online Free PDF Page A

camp doctor who spent the whole day tanning himself; Captain Hal, a Navy veteran and head of the boating program; Estelle Davis, the tall, stringy Inter Girls Group Leader and Dale’s opposite; Esther, the sour little gray lady who was the secretary in the Main Office; Sal, the head of the Boys’ waterfront – special people like that. Stanley Marshak was smartest of all: he had his own separate little green-and-white house, on a pretty little hill behind the Main Office. I guess it pays to be the owner.
    From the beginning, Dale seemed to be a fair guy. He sat us down in the middle of Inter Circle, on the circular bench under this enormous tree, and told us what he expected of us Inter counselors this summer.
    â€œThis is the fourth year I’ve been doing this,” he said, chewing on a piece of grass. “And I’m here to tell you that the Marshaks are good people to work for. Most of you guys are new, but a couple of you know me. Marcus. Sam.”
    We new guys looked at the two veterans, who nodded positively, then back to Dale.
    â€œThis is how I work: you play by the rules, you don’t make me ride you, you watch your kids, you don’t call attention to yourself . . .” Dale paused to let that sink in. “Then you should have a good time this summer. I can’t be fairer or plainer than that.”
    Fair and plain: that was my first impression of Dale, and it stood up for the entire summer. No matter what, he tried to be a good employee for the Marshaks, a good boss to us counselors, and was a good leader for the Inter boys – all at the same time. All in all, Dale was super-fair to me later after the difficulties started, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
    On the night before the kids were to arrive – K-Day – there was a big campfire in the field out behind the Rec Hall, and a barbeque with burgers, hot dogs, and this fresh-from-some-nearby-farm yellow-and-white corn-on-the-cob that tasted like candy. They were letting us relax on this last night of freedom. One of the guys brought a guitar, and the girls started singing folk songs as the fire grew and sparks flew up into the black night sky. I thought I had seen stars before, but the night sky at Mooncliff was like the Hayden Planetarium times ten. You could actually see the milk in the Milky Way: so many stars behind stars, behind more stars.
    That’s when the Crew Cut gave us one last pep talk.
    â€œI just want to say one last thing –” Jerry started to say when Harriet wisecracked, “For now!” And everybody laughed: by now, we all knew that Jerry liked to hear himself talk.
    Jerry shot a look at Harriet – they would needle each other all summer, but never in front of the campers – and continued, “One last thing.”
    He looked with one long sweeping stare at all us counselors, sitting or lying on blankets around the glowing fire, and pronounced, “This summer – these next eight weeks – can be the best summer of your lives.” He paused for dramatic effect. I could hear the crickets all around us.
    â€œI mean that,” he said. We were all listening with complete attention because we all, me included, wanted this to be the best summer of our lives.
    â€œYou can make it whatever kind of summer you want it to be,” he continued. “ Provided you remember that this summer is, first of all, about responsibility. And children’s lives .”
    I looked around at everyone listening, concentrating on Jerry’s every word.
    â€œSafety and protection is your Job Number One,” he raised his voice even higher. I don’t think anyone but me knew or cared about his bad grammar.
    â€œSix years ago,” he continued. “A little seven-year-old girl named Susan Factor drowned at Camp Indian Trails, just outside of Honesdale. During a completely normal General Swim, on an ordinary afternoon, in the middle of August. And,