Cold War Secrets: Unscrambling the Certain Uncertainties of Family Secrets by Pitcoff Paul

Author:Pitcoff, Paul [Pitcoff, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

S ince my first summer at Hurley I had emerged progressively from the molasses of adolescence insecurity. Official recognition came with a “promotion” from plain old camper to responsible work-camper in my second summer. Work-campers were around the age of sixteen and not supervised like other campers. On a daily basis girls and boys were given work assignments for maintaining and improving camp facilities by our supervisor, George McCracken. We were mostly on our own to perform our tasks during the day.

The guilt my mother experienced in working so hard at her career must have been eased by the outside reinforcement that I was of an age that needed far less supervision. Perhaps the elimination of the camp’s fee also gave her hope that in the future I might no longer be a dependent.

Work-campers washed at the same outdoor trough sink used by teen campers and their counselors. The second week at camp I carried my toothbrush, towel, toothpaste, and leaking collapsible tin cup for my final washing of the night. The sun had retired hours before, the evening had a Catskill chill woven into the light air, and only the familiar outlines of buildings and trees were visible in the darkness, punctuated by an occasional sweep of a distant flashlight. Hysterical moths attacked the two bare light bulbs laboring to ward off the darkness around the sinks. It had been a satisfying day of physical work, conversations with friends, a few innings of baseball, and a swim. All that remained was the five-minute walk back to my bunk, some concluding gossip with bunkmates, reading a few pages of Dissent , and ultimately sleep.

Across the sink was a pleasant-looking girl, wearing an open flannel shirt over a blue denim work shirt. A towel was thrown over her shoulder. Her face bobbed in and out of view as she rigorously brushed her teeth. She lowered her head to take in water directly from one of the six cold-water faucets, which she would spit out and then repeat the process. The aroma of Colgate toothpaste masked the scent of the pine forest. Each time her head appeared above the faucets she sent a toothpaste smile my way, chuckled, and encouraged me to get to work on my teeth. Her dark blond hair was cut short and she seemed comfortable with allowing it to do its own thing. Her lighthearted humor made me assume she was a camper and younger than me. I nodded and she smiled again and mumbled a greeting between her closed teeth. Finally, she spit out into the sink.

“Hi. I’m Mickey, Mickey Brodsky. You’re in Mac’s group, right?”

“Yea,” I answered. Mac had already gained the affection and respect of all the work- campers. He was tall, in his thirties, had an athletic body, deep chocolate skin, and penetrating eyes. Accepting and charismatic in his leadership, George McCracken was from Chicago and completing his master’s degree in social work. Leading the work-campers was a senior position at Hurley, because one had to provide freedom to adolescents and at the same time ensure their safety.

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