A Cry Heard Round The World: Kim Sun-Il died desperate and alone, but he did not die unheard.
Looking At And Longing For Mars: Reflections on a childhood dream.
A Robot May Not Harm a Human Being. Is The Opposite True?: Thoughts on the future rights of artificial intelligence.
Long After The Boys Of Summer Have Gone: What makes a relationship work?
Winter Of Our Feline Discontent: What the cat wants, the cat gets. But what DOES it want?
To Tell The Truth: There may be no honor among thieves, but can't we find it even in a few good men and women?
Should The Human Brain Retire?: We know that we cannot win forever. We know that machines will continue to improve. So why don't we let the human brain retire gracefully now, with honors?
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Published: Sep 16, 2005 01:40 PM
Thu - February 5, 2004
My Big Fat Camp Wedding: Epilogue
—Flora Edwards
One moment you’re a well-adjusted adult, leaving behind you the trials and tribulations of youth, such as the time you married a counselor at summer camp to escape malicious rumors spread by a childhood rival.
The next moment, you're a wanted man, hunted by former counselors from the camp who read your reminiscences about the wedding and intend to collect 30 years of lapsed alimony:
- Hi Ron. My name is Chris White. I attended Camp Beaverbrook back in those halcyon days. I went there between 1969 and 1976. I was probably about 8 to 9 years older than you. My Camp Name was Bedaz. I actually own a "wedding photo" of you and your erstwhile bride.
Interestingly enough, I ran across the address of an old Camp friend of mine in a stack of long forgotten papers last week. I sent a letter to this friend, and on Monday of this week, he telephoned me. We used to be best friends at Camp Beaverbrook, but we have only spoken twice since then.
Needless to say we talked, we laughed, we cried ...
We caught up on old friends. One of our mutual "old friends" is the female subject you knew as "Pluto". He gave me 3 phone numbers for her.
Ron, I represent a small consortium of former "Beaverbods", including... (dramatic pause), - your former "wife"!
I will be sending each of these 5 people, under separate cover, a copy of this email and your response. For now, I must remain your sole point of contact.
We are very interested in re-connecting you with your "former wife". I would like to give you the phone number and email address of the woman you knew as "Pluto". . However, before I give that info to you, I hope either you or your "new wife" know how to bake oozy, dripping, chewy, chocolate-chip cookies.... heh-heh-heh!
Ron, I spoke to Pluto by telephone this very afternoon. I told her about your website. I sent her a link. She is willing to take your call. I have 3 phone numbers for her I could give you, plus her email address. And on behalf of our little consortium, I am authorized to do so — for a price... So Ron..., I gotta know one thing:
How many chocolate-chip cookies is it worth to you, punk?
Well, PUNK? HOW MANY????
You may contact me at this email address, or by telephone on Monday. I look forward to your response.
Please rest assured I have no association with David Kessler, who I might remember, but not really sure, but he sure sounds like a fuckin' weasel.
Yes, it defies all odds, but they found me. And more to the point, they found her. For the past few days, I've been exchanging phone messages and email with the woman that I "married" at summer camp three decades ago.
Talk about a trip down memory lane!
The former counselors helped me fill some gaps in my narrative. Here's what happened to the principal characters in the drama after the "marriage":
—"Pluto" (The Bride), whose real name is Bonnie, remembers that summer as "one of the best times of my life" and the camp as a truly "magical place." She has kids of her own these days—but I doubt she advises them to marry a teenager of the opposite sex.
—"Squeegee" (The Minister), like all good heroes, rode off into the sunset after camp ended, and my correspondents lost track of him. But it wouldn't surprise me if he went on to become a guidance counselor or a wedding coordinator. He certainly had a knack for both!
—David Kessler (The Antagonist) finished the summer session without attracting further notice. Today he doubtless manufactures combination locks to protect camp care packages.
—"Bedaz" (The Search Party Leader) worked in the computer field for many years and is enjoying semi-retirement. He remembers Camp Beaverbrook fondly and remains interested in reuniting other alumni. If that describes you, drop by the Yahoo Group that he's set up and reacquaint yourselves with old friends!
—"Camp Beaverbrook" (The Venue) was sold to two of its senior counselors and soldiered on under their able leadership until the early 1980s. It continues to build memories for new generations as a trailer park campground (see photo inset).
That I am able to share new events in a story 30 years in the making certainly attests to the internet's ability to forge new relationships and to renew old ones, but it also reflects the higher power of deeply felt, shared experiences. When camp ended, each of us moved on with our lives, but a part of us remained behind, forever connected by enduring strands of memory. Posting our story tugged one of those entwined strands. Luck, a sense of humor, and Chris's well-provisioned rolodex helped reunite them.
It's true, what they say: You can never go back to childhood. But perhaps it's also true that you can never really leave it behind.