mind you, this girl was a good little swimmer. And today? . . . Camp Indian Trails does not exist, and their owners are bankrupt and living in disgrace!â
He paused, then repeated, âJob Number One.â
As Jerry talked on â I mean he was saying good, positive, helpful things, but my mind couldnât help but wander â I looked around at the other counselors in the big circle, their faces illuminated by the campfire. They were all paying strict attention to Jerry, taking in every syllable. Over the three days of Orientation, I had checked out all the counselors, by which I mean to say, all the girl counselors. Already some couples had started to pair off. You could see the quarterback-types pursuing the cheerleader-types. Marcus and Stewie had kept up a steady commentary about the quality of âthis yearâs cropâ (I am quoting Marcus) for the past two days. All the guys lusted after the ultra-blonde Sharon Spitzer, the aloof goddess-like girlsâ swimming instructor, whose body âdid not quit.â I just kept my mouth shut. Itâs generally the ugliest, fattest, least attractive guys who are hardest on girlsâ appearances.
But truthfully, as I looked around that campfire, I did not see any girl for me. I was younger than most of the girl counselors, and I just didnât feel anything from anyone I had seen. Which was OK. If I just did a good job, had a low-key summer, and saved my money for Columbia, that would be enough â more than enough. I didnât need fireworks or excitement; I didnât need anything special to happen.
Iâm just saying that I went into that summer at Mooncliff with the purest of intentions. Before that summer, I never had trouble with any authority figure â not my parents, or anyone elseâs parents, or any teacher or principal. I was/am a good kid. What happened happened, not by any great, nefarious scheme of mine, but by Fate. Or something like Fate, or Love, or Destiny. Or maybe it was the Fate Within Us. In any case, it was both the luckiest thing that ever happened to me and the beginning of the end.
Record of Events #2 - entered Tuesday, 5:31 A.M.
â
I remember we were all very ready the next day for the kids to come up. All this talk about the campers-this and the campers-that, camper safety, camper letter-writing, camper nutrition; it was time for the little buggers to arrive. The buses had left collection points in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Connecticut, New Jersey, and several places on the Island early that morning, so we were expecting them to arrive at Mooncliff shortly after lunch.
The Moon-shak, as I said, was very organized. We had been given the names of the campers in our bunks and were now aligned in rows on the baseball field. We stood next to big, colorful signs that the girl counselors had made for each bunk with Magic Markers and glitter on oak tag, mounted on big sticks. When we finally saw the first of the big silver buses rumble down the entrance road onto the main campus and into the sunlight, we all cheered â the real work was finally about to begin.
âLetâs get this show on the road!â I said, standing with Stewie and Marcus and the rest of the Inter Boysâ counselors as the first bus rumbled onto the baseball field.
âBe careful what you wish for, kid,â someone behind me muttered.
I turned around quickly and saw Jerry standing there, winking at me, his crew cut bristling in the sun. I smiled reflexively, but I was surprised by how easily he managed to sneak up on me like that. He clapped me on the back â hard â and walked away.
Marcus nudged me in the side and said, âTheyâre always around.â
âWho?â I asked, watching Jerry as he worked his way down the line of counselors, pep-talking different guys.
âSome supervisor or other,â said Marcus. âThereâs no privacy here. Someone is always watching
He paused, then repeated, âJob Number One.â
As Jerry talked on â I mean he was saying good, positive, helpful things, but my mind couldnât help but wander â I looked around at the other counselors in the big circle, their faces illuminated by the campfire. They were all paying strict attention to Jerry, taking in every syllable. Over the three days of Orientation, I had checked out all the counselors, by which I mean to say, all the girl counselors. Already some couples had started to pair off. You could see the quarterback-types pursuing the cheerleader-types. Marcus and Stewie had kept up a steady commentary about the quality of âthis yearâs cropâ (I am quoting Marcus) for the past two days. All the guys lusted after the ultra-blonde Sharon Spitzer, the aloof goddess-like girlsâ swimming instructor, whose body âdid not quit.â I just kept my mouth shut. Itâs generally the ugliest, fattest, least attractive guys who are hardest on girlsâ appearances.
But truthfully, as I looked around that campfire, I did not see any girl for me. I was younger than most of the girl counselors, and I just didnât feel anything from anyone I had seen. Which was OK. If I just did a good job, had a low-key summer, and saved my money for Columbia, that would be enough â more than enough. I didnât need fireworks or excitement; I didnât need anything special to happen.
Iâm just saying that I went into that summer at Mooncliff with the purest of intentions. Before that summer, I never had trouble with any authority figure â not my parents, or anyone elseâs parents, or any teacher or principal. I was/am a good kid. What happened happened, not by any great, nefarious scheme of mine, but by Fate. Or something like Fate, or Love, or Destiny. Or maybe it was the Fate Within Us. In any case, it was both the luckiest thing that ever happened to me and the beginning of the end.
Record of Events #2 - entered Tuesday, 5:31 A.M.
â
I remember we were all very ready the next day for the kids to come up. All this talk about the campers-this and the campers-that, camper safety, camper letter-writing, camper nutrition; it was time for the little buggers to arrive. The buses had left collection points in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Connecticut, New Jersey, and several places on the Island early that morning, so we were expecting them to arrive at Mooncliff shortly after lunch.
The Moon-shak, as I said, was very organized. We had been given the names of the campers in our bunks and were now aligned in rows on the baseball field. We stood next to big, colorful signs that the girl counselors had made for each bunk with Magic Markers and glitter on oak tag, mounted on big sticks. When we finally saw the first of the big silver buses rumble down the entrance road onto the main campus and into the sunlight, we all cheered â the real work was finally about to begin.
âLetâs get this show on the road!â I said, standing with Stewie and Marcus and the rest of the Inter Boysâ counselors as the first bus rumbled onto the baseball field.
âBe careful what you wish for, kid,â someone behind me muttered.
I turned around quickly and saw Jerry standing there, winking at me, his crew cut bristling in the sun. I smiled reflexively, but I was surprised by how easily he managed to sneak up on me like that. He clapped me on the back â hard â and walked away.
Marcus nudged me in the side and said, âTheyâre always around.â
âWho?â I asked, watching Jerry as he worked his way down the line of counselors, pep-talking different guys.
âSome supervisor or other,â said Marcus. âThereâs no privacy here. Someone is always watching