1980 - Day Camp Days

Temple City YMCA (Circa 1980-81) My Day Camp Group

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

On July 11, 1980 I walked into the Temple City YMCA (a branch of the Pasadena YMCA). Imagine a suburban neighborhood 2 bedroom house with a backyard pool. That was our YMCA in Temple City.

It was this day that I met with the day camp staff for the first Friday afternoon meeting in preparation for the coming week and my first day as an employee of the YMCA. I was 15 (a few weeks from 16) and had gotten the job because my sister, Jackie, was working with her friend Sandy Nordin, whose mom (Maxine) was the Program Director for that YMCA. It was truly who you know. In attendance was Tony Del Negro, Lisa Russell, Jackie, Sandy, Maxine, Julie Tindall and several other staff.

Later I would meet  Dave Hagen, Bill Gagliardi, Bob Montes, Ron Perry, Wally Wirick, Sam Brown, Auggie Mayne, George Finnerty, Ron Clear, Art & Barbara Wetton, Don Olsen, Marcel Schwantes, Ken Stein, Robin Stein, Patty Hart, EJ Lugo, Brian Kelly, Peggy Conklin, Matt Shea, Josh Greene, Megan Kelly, Paul Cary, Steve Waterman, Julie Czochara, Michael Garcia, 100s of volunteers, over 2000 staff and nearly 53,400 campers that have helped me become a better servant leader and human.

It was and has been the greatest learning experience and I had no idea that it has allowed me on a path to be a Servant Leader over the last four decades of my life. There have been friendships forged that have lasted that long and helped me develop of sense of creating community. It is servant leadership at five different agencies (6 camps) and in the Youth Development Leadership field.

I’ve found that my best days are the ones where peace has emerged from struggle. It is in this struggle that each day has ended and like most camps, we have had difficult moments. It is in that strife that emerges the love and respect as well as all those leadership opportunities.

A camp life I have had the blessing to share (and be supported by) my wife Lee Anne, and our children, Alec, Kelly, and Brian.

Today’s marks 40 years in service. Happy 40 years to all those whom I have had the privilege to work and to serve.

2015 – Is it time yet?

Support Staff Team Pictured is not the person (s) described in the article.

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

Several summers back, we had a new staff member that joined our directing team (known as Support Staff for the camps I have served) who had never been part of our team. As part of our staff training and orientation – we do a campfire skit called “Is It Time Yet?”

The basic structure of the skit is a line of folks with their legs crossed and each one in turn asks the next person, “Is it time yet?” (For the full skit, look below at the end of this story for the script.)

I decided to sit next to our newest staff person, and she decided to share how this skit worked with me. As she muttered the directions of what was happening under her breath to me. Her enthusiasm for the skit was contagious and it seemed she believed I had never seen this one before.

In John Maxwell’s book, How To Lead When Your Boss Can’t (Or Won’t), I recalled the section on catching your boss’s enthusiasm. John wrote, “It’s much easier to work with someone when you share an enthusiasm.”

There is no doubt that I am and have always been wholly enthusiastic about campfire. I sign with all the songs. I laugh at all the jokes, even if it is the same “carrot joke” that I have told nearly 1000 times. I believe campfire is a great program in camp and it allows those of us with the least talent to have our “Rock Star” moments.

Campers who have never gotten in front of their family let alone any outside group have blossomed and thrived from the experience. I have had dozens of parents who call me after summer and ask me about a song or skit that their child tried to share in front of a family gathering when they had never done anything like that in their life. The parents often ask, “What is the punch line for that joke” or “is that song lyric really about little kids losing their pants as the Titanic sank?”

My point in sharing this is that there a few and far between songs, skits or stories from camp, that I have never heard or seen. For 6 years, one of the camps I served had campfire programs nearly every night of the week.

So, back to our new staff person that season. In that Maxwell book, John asserts that “Good leadership is where you are challenging leaders above you to continue growing.” I saw that she was contributing to the team and if given the opportunity, she would continue to share that at every level of camp.

Her energy about helping lead was endearing and I knew that she would do well helping lead others in her new role at camp. It was clear that she was not afraid of leading her new “boss” and my high school drama teacher always told me that I took direction well.

I had a decision to make - Do I reinforce that I have done this skit at least 100 times or was it better for her to help “lead up” and just stay out of her way to teach what she was clearly happy and proud of knowing.

“It’s okay to stay out of someone’s way while they decide to teach, lead, share, or direct a skit.”

IS IT TIME YET (SCRIPT)

5-8 Actors standing, sitting (or laying) with left foot crossed over right and right arm crossed over left.

First Person in line turns to the second person and asks: "IS IT TIME YET?" Second person responds, “I’ll check.”

Second Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Third person responds, “I’ll check.”

Third Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fourth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fourth Person turns to fifth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fifth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fifth Person turns to sixth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Sixth person responds, “I’ll check.”

And so on for the total number of actors participating.

Last Person says: "NO" And the word is passed back to the first person, one actor at a time

After a lonnnnnnnng pause,

First Person in line turns to the second person and asks: "IS IT TIME YET?" Second person responds, “I’ll check.”

Second Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Third person responds, “I’ll check.”

Third Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fourth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fourth Person turns to fifth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fifth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fifth Person turns to sixth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Sixth person responds, “I’ll check.”

And so on for the total number of actors participating.

Last Person says: "NO" And the word is passed back to the first person, one actor at a time

After a lonnnnnnnng pause,

First Person in line turns to the second person and asks: "IS IT TIME YET?" Second person responds, “I’ll check.”

Second Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Third person responds, “I’ll check.”

Third Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fourth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fourth Person turns to fifth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fifth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fifth Person turns to sixth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Sixth person responds, “I’ll check.”

And so on for the total number of actors participating.

Last Person says: "NO" And the word is passed back to the first person, one actor at a time

After a another FINAL lonnnnnnnng pause,

First Person in line turns to the second person and asks: "IS IT TIME YET?" Second person responds, “I’ll check.”

Second Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Third person responds, “I’ll check.”

Third Person turns to third and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fourth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fourth Person turns to fifth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Fifth person responds, “I’ll check.”

Fifth Person turns to sixth and asks, "IS IT TIME YET?" Sixth person responds, “I’ll check.”

And so on for the total number of actors participating.

Last Person says: "It’s Time" And the words “It’s Time” is passed back to the first person, one actor at a time

Just after the first Actor gets the word “It’s time”, they all switch to right foot over left and left arm over right.

THE END

1984 - 26 Miles Across The Sea (The Myth of Kumbaya - Part 3)

Catalina Island, California and backpacker on trail.

26 Miles Across The Sea

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

As far back as 1971, I was camping with my family. We had been in the United States less than 3 years and our family friends Jerry and Suzanne Watts had invited our family to their annual summer vacation where they camped on the beach near Ensenada, Mexico.

I have spent all (and parts of) every summer since 1980 at camp (day and overnight). I have also had camp with leadership lessons throughout the year.

In 1984 was a long and wet winter where I recall Southern California had had a particularly low altitude snow. That means that we had those crisp nights and the grass was always dewy to the frost point.

I can recall running on many mornings where the snow on the San Gabriel Mountains seemed to be just above Altadena (maybe 1500 feet above sea level) and as you traveled east, Mount Baldy (4193’) had that great pure white snowy look with clouds in the fore ground.

My friend Chris and I decided that our schedule at Cal Poly Pomona could take on a one credit backpacking class that we had been talking about for the past two years.

“Coach,” as we called him met with the class for 8 weeks followed by a spring trip that was (scheduled for four days) out on Catalina Island. A long weekend where we had the opportunity to apply the cumulative lesson’s we had discussed and studied during the first 8 weeks of the class.

As each week wore on, we discussed the different styles of equipment and gear that where appropriate to backpacking. Coach and his wife, Mrs. Coach, would share stories about their family trips with their two sons and their Peace Corps experiences in China. Mrs. Coach always had some awkward story about life in China and was very old fashioned in her tales that often shifted to culturally inappropriate.

There were in fact two different classes that met on backpacking and the trip was a combined group at the end of the quarter (Cal Poly being a 10 week and finals quarter school).

We met in San Pedro one early Thursday morning to catch the ferry out to the island. As the song goes; 26 miles across the sea and the ferry took under two hours.

The group consisted of 17 students and the 2 coaches and of course, Mrs. Coach. We boarded the ferry and Mr. Coach and wife took off on their own boat to Two Harbors. I am not entirely sure, why we had not all stayed together and traveled on their boat.

It was early, it was crisp, and we headed to Catalina Island to backpack. Smiles and the scent of new back packing equipment emanated from our group. Chris and I had invested in a new two-man tent or as we called it “the condo with the Jacuzzi suite.” I, of course, was the pack mule for “the condo.”

The trip was uneventful in that we arrived, hiked out, and set up camp on a cove facing the mainland. Coach trudged along and applied the stories and lessons as the group moved up the coast. Mrs. Coach continued to over share some of her stories and was now on the third version of a woman who gave birth to her son while working in a rice patty.

It was not until Saturday evening, while camping at Parson’s Landing that the campfire talk turned to Sunday mornings hike back to Two Harbors and the weather. As the other infamous island songs goes; the weather was due to begin “getting rough” the next day.

The El Nino pattern (that had begun to move northward that spring, had turned back south and we were due for another late spring event), would shower the southland and make sure that the snows were just above Altadena again.

The other coach and his son decided to hike back that evening to Two Harbors and bring Coach’s boat up to the cove where we were.

That morning, we woke and Evan (one of our classmates) had released the goat. Did I mention the goat? Early on the second day, we had climbed to the top of the peak at the northern end of the island and looked out on the Pacific Ocean; towards China. Mrs. Coach was not with us on that excursion however someone made mention that in the distance babies were being born on rice patty’s somewhere in the distance.

Did I mention the baby goat?

We began our trek down towards our cove and began a steady pace that picked up steam over the flat rocks and terrain. Evan, who was in the lead setting the pace started to dart towards a group of rocks and what appeared to be goats in the distance.  He leapt from flat to rounded rocks the size of a Volkswagen and I know I attempted to keep up.

As we approached the wild goatherd, he headed straight into the grouping, in a bounding motion, swept up a baby goat, and kept moving without slowing whatsoever.

It was a few minutes before we all caught up to him. We finally caught up where he stopped at the trail-head that took us back to our campsite cove. We were all impressed with Evan’s speed and agility and even more impressed with his goat scoping agility. He announced that he would keep the baby goat while its mother bawled in the distance calling for its release.

I can’t recall how long he kept the baby goat and for the sake of my story, some conflict emerged as we all encouraged him to return it to its mother. He held tight for a while. As we walked back into camp, Mrs. Coach caught wind of the baby goat and its noises. And again, a Peace Corps story. There seemed to be some unrest about the entire situation. Two of the other students confronted Evan about the goat; they mentioned issues on the hike in; they also brought up cooking duties and clean-up issues. It was general strife and conflict.

It was not until Mrs. Coach intervened that hands were shook, smiles emerged, and the baby goat returned to the hillside with mom. The baby goat kept turning back towards our camp and shrilled at Evan almost longingly.  The goats stayed around for most of the afternoon and into the evening only disappearing from sight as darkness settled on the cove.

My point in sharing this is that conflict happened on a short weekend school sanctioned backpacking trip and most of us would most likely never see each other again sometime after graduation. In addition, this conflict was just a small example of the eruptions that occurred throughout the course of the class and trip and often times in any camp setting.

The Sunday morning, we departed was amazingly clear towards the sunrise over the mainland. Looking towards the ocean side of the island that clued what the rest of the day would turn out to be.

We broke down the campsite and I returned the “condo with the Jacuzzi suite” back on to the frame of my secondhand Scout backpack that had I acquired from a neighbor. I had saved up for it and the entire trip from tips that I made having delivered flowers (in those days Flower Delivery could be profitable for college students) on the previous Valentine’s Day.

As we finished packing the boat was coming into the cove and anchored several hundred feet off the shore. We could see the other coach and his son hauling a dingy on deck and launching it into the water. We were all in our bathing suits shuttling items down near the surf, which at this point was gently lapping and surprisingly calmer than the night before.

We had planned how best to shuttle items out using the inflatable dingy and essentially having all the participants swim out in groups. Essentially, we planned an amphibious withdrawal from an island on what would be a tumultuously stormy afternoon and night.

The groups were assembled by 4 or 5 individuals and was predicated by the size of the dingy and how much weight as well as space for the equipment. We waded into the water with our packs above our heads just past the surf where the other coach’s son was holding the dingy in place. Shark jokes ensued until one of the other participants felt what we all believed to be a jellyfish and a panicked yell led to a collective seriousness.

As we neared the boat and the ground was no longer just below the surf, I felt the lapping begin to roll and I remember thinking to myself, I did not want to lose my pack that I had spent two days of flower delivery tips to purchase. That is when the rolling wave went over my head, I lunged towards the dingy, and the person next to me steadied my shoulder with their hand. I realized in that moment that Evan had a remarkably calming grip and perhaps that is why the baby goat had not strayed far.

By the time the last group made it onto the boat, I had already made my way into the pilot’s area to offer my assistance. I spent the bulk of the trip back at the helm and felt a sense of belonging to a group that just a few short weeks prior had no connection.

This is what happens in every group, team, or organization? 

A)    A previously unknown group with some semblance of topical knowledge brought together. (Forming)

B)        They strive towards a collective goal as knowledge gets passed back and forth. (Norming)

C)  Manufactured or arbitrary strife emerges within the team. (Storming)

D)     The team comes back together to overcome the difficult situation (re-forming to hold hands)

Moreover, the team (if healthy) moves on through the subsequent struggles or goals to perform and perhaps re-form. (Five of us did take another backpacking class the following year and conquered the Sierras where I took a cold dip into a stream during spring thaw and Evan used his calming grip and managed to catch a rabbit.)

As we stood on the cement pier in San Pedro not far from where we had started out a few days prior, no one seemed to want to leave. We had circled up and talked about the jelly, the goat, Mrs. Coach’s stories, and ultimately our successful amphibious withdrawal from an island, pride achieved with the unplanned storming (figuratively and literally).

I believe that we would have stood there for a bit longer to linger and have our moment to hold hands and sing Kumbaya had the actual storm finally turn from misty to pelting rain.

We all long to come together in our groups and tribes and achieve our collective goals. It seems an innate part of the human experience. I imagine our predecessors who roamed parts of the world and collectively survive. How those groups must have managed to camp each night, look up, hold hands, and give thanks for whatever protected them.

I thought to myself, “righteous treasure and knowledge that emerged from wise praise indeed.”

1988 - CAMP IS ALL ABOUT WHERE YOU PUT THE POOP (Part 1)

Camp Fox (Circa mid 1980s) Note: green hills behind the dining hall.

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

In the late 80’s, I had a great tour of a camp that was one of the premiere places to go in Southern California. And the director, Carl, gave me those great words of advice about 20 times during the tour. "Camp is all about where you put the poop." (He may have used a different word.)

I had recently been promoted to a leadership position at a camp and was told to expect a call from Carl. He was from a nearby association and was known as one of the premiere camp directors on the West Coast. His reputation was derived on how he built up the facilities and made huge investments in the infrastructure of the Camp and drove the program forward (as well as enrollment).

Camp Fox was a destination. Situated on Catalina Island, (cue song, “26 miles across the sea, Santa Catalina…”) it was a great place to spend a summer or even just a week during one of their sessions. Water features and traditional programming for a YMCA Camp.

Carl was proud of the camp and he liked to share the upgrades and what he accomplished. He was one of the first people to share with me, which was “no one likes to donate to a toilet” at a camp. It wasn’t sexy or attractive.

Needless to say, I got that call form Carl and met him in San Pedro for the early boat over to the island. The tour was classic Carl. It involved the best features of what he had invested a great deal of his time and dollars raised. The septic system.

As we strolled around he talked about the system and how it was designed and managed. He described that on the Island, the leach fields for a septic system could not go towards the beach and the water. His solution was simply brilliant. A series of pumps from the dining hall and restroom facilities that pumped everything uphill in several locations. He was particularly proud of the hillside where the series of underground leach fields dispersed and made that area’s grass and growth, just a bit greener.

Throughout the tour he keep sharing how “camp is all about where you put the poop.” It really did not matter how many people attended, how much you had for them to do or even how good the quality of food was. Ultimately, where the poop went was extremely important. He talked about different challenges that had occurred in his tenure. The conversations always led back to septic issues.

I thought I had an idea about what he was referring too.  The previous years, I had been a part of several backpacking trips in the Sierras and upon each night’s camp set up, we would determine, “girls tree on the left, boy’s tree on the right.”  I shared that with Carl in an attempt to show my understanding of just what he was talking about.

He stared at me as if, I had no clue. It was confounding. I had the time and attention from one of the premier camp guru’s of the day. He, on the other hand, was shaking his head like I was never going to get it and should just go back to my journalism focus and work at newspaper. He didn’t say it, but in my head he thought I had no business working as a Camp Director.

He had asked me if there were things that I wanted to know about camp and he would gladly answer my questions. I asked about volunteers, and the board, as well as managing staff, new program ideas and activities. It was as if each time I asked a question, he would describe some detail aspect of his septic and engineering that was required to pump the poop uphill.

I’d like to say that I had a deep connection with Carl and he became a mentor. In fact, he seldom ever gave me the time of day again. I’d see him from time to time at training's or camp gatherings. More often I would introduce myself to him and he would get that same look as if he recalled, “oh yeah, that guy who doesn’t get it about the poop.”

Like a good septic system, my ability to process what he was distributing took some time and eventually I benefited from the nutritious information.

It occurred to me, sometime later, that the wisdom Carl was dispensing had everything to do with leading others. Carl shared what John Maxwell shares as the Law of Intuition. Carl framed everything through a leadership lens. He was sharing how intuitive leaders as they lead. Leaders share that intuition through their area of strength. He just had the most fertilizing method with which to say it.

1982 - The Myth of Kumbaya (Part 2, When I First Heard The Story)

1982 – The Myth of Kumbaya (Part 2, When I First Heard The Story)

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

I have heard a great version of the Kumbaya song/story on two different occasions. The first was from a great guy named “Cookie” (I do not recall his real name). He was from the Verdugo Hills, California area and we were sharing a bus going from VH to Pasadena and then on to camp (about a four-hour ride in all).

Cookie was one of those tall, long legged, tan outdoorsy people with a beard. He always had a smile on his face, and he seemed to have his guitar with him when he needed it. He would be doing an activity and interacting with campers and it just showed up. His guitar would be in his hands and I would always think, “Was that there a minute ago?” 

It was the summer I turned 18. Cookie must have been at least a decade older just from how he carried himself and his demeanor.

Our responsibilities that week were to chaperone the campers from our respective region (Verdugo Hills and Pasadena, respectively) and make sure that they incorporated everyone into the general camp population with the Orange YMCA (the primary lead group for the teen session).

We shared a room at the lodge and I never recall seeing him there other than late at night or as he was walking out the door in the morning fully prepped for the day with his guitar on his back.

Cookie and I had some great talks in passing moments throughout the session and late at night. It was after twilight on Wednesday of that week he said, “Let’s go to the tent cabins” (a grouping of three cabins near the archery range where they shared a small campfire space in between the buildings. We both had campers that had been intermingled into those cabins and they had invited several of the older girl’s cabin group for a late evening fire.

It was very social to begin with and Cookie and two of the other leaders with guitars began leading songs.  I was standing near the edge of one of the cabins and he wandered over to ask if I knew the song “Kumbaya?” He had a gleam in his face and I think he winked as he asked me about the song. I had answered yes, and he nodded towards the fire as if to say, stand with me. And, I did.  

As he was strumming, he began telling a story about his life and background. It was past that gloaming part of the evening. Cookie seemed to have everyone’s attention and respectful silence without having to do anything then stand, strum, and share.

Earlier that day, two of my campers from the Pasadena area had been struggling with homesickness and had been feeling like they were not part of their cabin groups. The conflict erupted as a result of a simple lack of respect for one another and a classic us versus them attitude that is ingrained in every culture.

I had intervened at the request of the overall Camp Director. I shared with them my own attempts to be part of the staff team even though I was not from their area. My empathy skills were still a long way in developing, and I thought sharing my own struggle would be a way to bond and overcome the conflict.

I had also shared with them to find someone that they admired and would want to be like, and I used Cookie as an example. That evening they were smiling, talking to other campers, and nodding their comfort level to me as I followed Cookie up onto the dirt center stage.

Cookie’s story meandered about his background and he got to a point where he shared about his not too distant ancestors who were coal miners. He spoke of the factory towns. He spoke of how they were a lot like camp. Everyone supported one another in good times and bad. There was a deep connection.

His story turned as he talked about the times when a mine collapses. The siren would blare, and everyone would run to the mine to help or wait for word from below. His guitar strumming took a turn into the cords of what I recognized immediately as “Kumbaya,” having had his earlier cue.

It was magical and it captured the evening at the end of the day of strife and homesickness as well an air of reconciliation.

“Someone was crying” went the lyrics and then they were “Praying,” followed by “laughing” and ultimately the interpretative “Come by here.”

By this time, there seemed to be camaraderie in the air and my conflicted campers where all side by side hugging and swaying.

It seemed to my youthful eyes and senses; that at the end of that day, holding hands, and singing Kumbaya was a great lesson.

1981 – The Myth of Kumbaya (Part 1)

Big Tony - One of those lifelong friends who planted seeds of Kumbaya.

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

I have often thought that the term “holding hands and signing Kumbaya” was completely misunderstood. I have heard many speakers and leaders use the term in less than positive ways. There was even a Slate article back in 2012 around election time that suggested that it had gone from a “sincere protest song to drippy punch line.”

Imagine a suburban neighborhood 2 bedroom house with a backyard pool. That was our YMCA in Temple City. When I worked in our Day Camp program, we always started the day with announcements and songs. Tony Del Negro was our Day Camp leader and in the morning gathering, he would often make a great attempt to lead the singing for Kumbaya.

“Big Tony” as we called him (because there was a “little Tony” who worked there as well) would stammer through the lines often making up lyrics to demonstrate how the day was going. For example, if a child had been crying, he would emphasize the lyric, “Someone’s crying my Lord, Kumbaya.” Or perhaps a couple of campers had a fight and Big Tony would add that lyric. One time, one of the campers broke a window and Tony decided to commemorate it in song. “Someone broke a window my Lord, Kumbaya.” Of course, we would all repeat the lyric and sing on. In addition, of course, he would croon with “Al will fix the window my Lord, Kumbaya.” It was both And we would repeat. It was often heartfelt and sometimes it bordered on blasphemy.

It was not until years later, when I was introduced to the Story of Kumbaya. The meaning, I learned, was from an origin story about South Africans and their labor in coal mines in the 1800s. How the mixed lyrics that eventually ended in the Gullah folklore of the United States and part of the Creole language. (The US Library of Congress shows the song originating around 1926 with the reference in recordings. Perhaps the most famous version sung by Joan Baez.)

Despite Big Tony’s “Kumbaya,” and the several different versions, I have always heard in nearly 40 years of camping with the YMCA, Scouts, Boys and Girls Clubs as well as 4H had several similar components. Someone was always “crying, praying, singing,” and “laughing.” And in most versions, someone always called upon God, to “Come by hear.”  

At the end of the day, it was all about bringing our community together. Like any community, that day camp had conflict and collaboration. We circled up in one big community, we held hands, and we sang.

I can only hope that our leaders in church, community groups, local, regional, national, and international governments all end their day by holding hands and singing Kumbaya. It is just another lesson from the camp world. It is a love letter to genuine skills that we should all apply in our lives.

John Maxwell shares these “Lessons from King David”

1. He was relational: David's personable and approachable manner enticed hundreds of misfit volunteers to serve him. David accepted anyone.

2. He was resourceful: David made use of every situation and got the best out of it-even in the wilderness. He resourced his team to become all it could be and enabled it to succeed.

3. He was rewarding David quickly shared both rewards and recognition for victory. He affirmed his men and motivated them with words of encouragement and spoils from battle.

4. He was respectable: David modeled a leadership style that others wanted to imitate. Friends and foes alike respected him; people saw in David an example of good leadership.

I believe that David would have embraced Kumbaya. I think of Tony in the same way. One of those early influences (and a lifelong friend) that planted a seed of Kumbaya moments.

The joke goes, that camp folks like to sit around a campfire and hold hands and sing Kumbaya. A fundamental part of delegitimizing the things is really of no consequence. I am here to tell you that that could not be the furthest thing from the truth.

Tony planted a seed in my thought process that would germinate. At the end of every day, no matter who you work with and the conflict or fellowship you encounter, we all want to gather in that unity. Making friends and allies like David and bringing them into our confidence.

I have had my critics and my allies, and I have made every attempt to make sure that I treat both in a kind manner. I want to hold hands and sing Kumbaya with all of them regardless of their opinion.

1994 - That Time I Was An International Arms Dealer For Camp

George (right) and Tom (left) working on Moose (center big green thing).

1994 - That Time I Was An International Arms Dealer For Camp

(40 Summers 40 Lessons Series)

Background - Camp Bluff Lake has been a resident camp for youth for over 70 years. For a portion of that time, the volunteers and staff acquired, restored, and maintained a World War II era half-track that was driven from Glendale, CA to the San Bernardino Mountains where the camp was located. It became a vital piece of equipment that helped the staff and volunteers move equipment, keep roads open, and make its way across the forest service roads in and around the property. In 1994, it threw a track and became inoperable. 

Here is my story:

The phone rang in my office and as I answered, George, our Board Chairperson, immediately exclaimed, “We’ve got ‘em.”

I knew instantly what he was talking about since my return as the Camp Director at Camp Bluff Lake. I had spent most of my teen years at the camp and since a faithful day in my 18^th year, it had been my goal to be the director.

George had spent the better part of the previous 3 decades as a key volunteer and was currently the chairperson. We had been searching for tracks for the piece of equipment, affectionately known as “Moose” for the last 7 months since it became clear that one of the tracks had seen its final days. He and his son, Tom, had spent hundreds of hours making sure that Moose would continue to provide a service to those who attended volunteered and worked at the camp.

The camp was situated at the end of a five-mile long forest service dirt road that was essentially closed from December 1 to May 1 most years when the weather was cooperative. Moose had been used to haul fallen trees and the occasional flatlander who ventured to the roads with their lifted new 4x4 as well as many other essential services that no other vehicle could provide.

The call was a result of months of searching and the board had nearly given up all hope that it was even worth pursuing. George, well he was relentless and a “never say never” person. He was convinced that we could not loose Moose. There had even been an offer from someone in Big Bear who offered to purchase it and do a makeshift repair to get the half-track operational again.

Since my return to the Camp that previous spring, I had been worried about the true cost of operations and Moose was one of those variables that you could never quite measure. George and Tom had spent so much time in maintaining Moose for nearly three decades. I saw perhaps a few hundred dollars a year in basic maintenance cost for oil filters and springs and such. It never amounted to an outrageous amount. I did know that the George had been footing the bill for some time or some of the larger expenses. He was a true volunteer. He raised money; he showed up for work weekends, he spent weeks of his vacation at camp during the summer. He involved his entire family and he gave. In every sense of the word, he gave.

Ever since I had become part of the administration at camp some 7 years earlier, he would never tell me what to do. He would just say something like ask yourself, “how does this help camp? If it is a good decision, which will help the kids, then that’s the right thing to do.”

It was through this filter that George taught me to operate and how he determined that Moose was an asset and we had to have it repaired. It was a clear united vision and it required different skills from different people to complete. George really introduced me to an infinite mindset that I have built on from decade to decade.

This was just at the beginning of personal computers and while we had email and chat rooms, there really was not an internet, as you know it today. I found a guy in Oklahoma who I had read about in a journal about restoring military equipment. I tracked him down and got a phone number that was somehow his house number. (People used to have phones in their home before the MCPE – Modern Cell Phone Era).

The guy, Chris, called me back and we discussed World War II surplus military equipment. It was not so much a discussion as him telling me where and when it had all been and where it all ended up. So, it seems that during the Reagan administration, what was left of WWII surplus was sold to the country of Jordan, in the Middle East.

I knew at that moment that our agency’s administration would not allow me to travel to the Middle East in search of tracks for an outdated piece of equipment. I did know that we would not be able to function without some larger piece of equipment like a tractor or otherwise that in the mid-90’s would cost at least $20,000 or more.

Ultimately, we spent about $1700 per track and found a few donors as well as using that year’s allocation from our operations budget for vehicle repairs that we acquired the tracks. Chris made the connections and began the shipping process from Jordan and all that was required through customs and somehow delivered at the end of Forest Service Road 2N10 in the San Bernardino Mountains.

I think of George often and the lessons that I gained under his guidance and mentoring. Things like, ask people to donate when you install a water heater; Bluff Lake water is good for you; executive committee meetings are best done in a hot tub serving wine. His leadership demonstrated what John Maxwell calls his law of victory. “Unity of vision, diversity of skills, plus a leader is needed to win. Leaders find a way for the team to succeed.”

I know now that my friend and mentor, George, was always thinking of ways that helped us succeed in no uncertain terms. He did not always measure victory in the form of dollars and gains. He measured it in the ways that served the youth that we could influence. What a great definition for leadership.

George (right) and yours truly at camp circa 1995.

Postscript – Moose was eventually purchased by the gentlemen who lived in Big Bear. He restored it and maintains it to this day. Every now and then, reports of a World War II half-track driving on Skyline Road come into the local police department.