The Sunday Memory Drawer - Camp Mohawk

Here's a snapshot of the Mount Vernon, NY South Side Boy's Club.  I have never set foot inside of this building.  But, plenty of times, I was in the Mount Vernon, NY North Side Boy's Club.  Well, not plenty of times.   I was there for two horrible weeks.

I was in a dreaded day camp.

That said, this was my sole camping experience ever, whether it be day or sleep away. 

When we used to go visit my uncle way upstairs near Newburgh, we'd motor through some back roads.  And pass a sleep away camp that sported my name.  Camp Len-a-len-a-pee.  Or something like that which sounds like urine.  I'd look out the car window of the back seat of my dad's Buick and see the kids cavorting on the camp grounds.  My mom would chime in from the front seat.

"Doesn't that look like fun?"

Um, not really.  To me, summer was all about hanging around the neighborhood.  Playing with your friends.  Watching TV in the air conditioned living room.  Waiting for the nightly arrival of the Good Humor Man.  Live up here in the sticks with a bunch of strangers?  Meh.

I'd see the TV commercials about donating to the Fresh Air Fund and sending some poor inner city kid to the country.  The little boy in the ad was beaming.  Me?  Better him than me.  This is where I wanted to be.  On the streets of Mount Vernon during the day and curled up next to the kitchen fan with a book at night. 

So, imagine my surprise and horror when, on one early June day, my mother made the dastardly announcement.

"We're going to send you to Camp Mohawk."

What, who, and why?

My mom had inquired at the North Side Boy's Club about their summer programs.  For some reason I will never fathom, my folks must have thought I was bored by simply watching "Dick Van Dyke" reruns all July and August.  PS, I wasn't.  So they decided to see how I would fit in with this day camp. 

Kill me now.

With Camp Mohawk, there was an eight week program that lasted throughout the whole summer.  Luckily, my parents hadn't gone all in.  They signed me only for the first two weeks initially.

"We'll see how you like it."

Okay.  And, by the way, I will hate it.

Never were truer words ever thought by yours truly.

You got dropped off on the first day at the Boy's Club and were immediately issued a Camp Mohawk t-shirt.  You were given a specific color because that's the group you would be identified with.  Mind you, they gave you one shirt.  To wear every day.  In the summer.  With lots and lots of New York humidity.  I figured that, by July 1, my t-shirt could stand up in the corner all by itself.

We were immediately escorted to the Boy's Club gym and thrown into a game of dodge ball.  What the hell?  This is nothing but gym class and I already hated that.  The summer was supposed to be my respite from whatever fiend was my gym teacher. 

Kill me now.  Again.

Day Two was even worse.  Back down to the gym and, to my horror, all the gymnastic mats were on the floor. 

Oh, crap.  This is when I used to get a nurse's excuse for gym class.  I hated gymnastics and, most particularly, tumbling.  One more freakin' time, I was going to have to negotiate with whatever Neanderthal was running this program that I don't tumble.  Ever.

I counted the hours, the minutes, and the seconds till the end of the day.

Oh, it's not like we didn't go anyplace with Camp Mohawk.  Yes, there were field trips.  First up was the Wilson Woods Pool for swimming.  At that time, I swam almost as much as I tumbled, which was hopefully never.  Plus there was the very public dressing room and kids in various stages of undress and partial puberty. 

Kill.  Me.  Now.  Please.

There were bus trips to nearby locations.  But the trick was that, wherever you went, the bus needed to have you back at the Boy's Club by 4PM.

We went to the Bronx Zoo and got as far as the elephants.

We went to the Museum of Natural History and got as far as the early settlers.

We went to a Yankee game and left in the fourth inning.

We went to a Met game and left in the third inning.

You get the idea.

What we did get to complete in total was any game in the gym.  Or the arts and crafts.  Or anything that was remotely uninteresting.

I never came home at the end of the day with a smile on my face.   I think it was duly noted by the powers that be.  Because, at the end of the first two week cycle, my mother asked the simple question.

"You don't want to go for another two weeks, do you?"

Duh.

I triumphantly returned to the neighborhood like General Douglas MacArthur.  Now my summer of fun with friends could really begin.

The very next morning, I was sitting in air-conditioned comfort.   And Dick Van Dyke was tripping over the ottoman right on time.

Dinner last night:  The pre-game buffet at the Dodger Stadium Club.