Summer Camp Memories: August 1970 (xviii)

On the AM radio stations in August 1970, “Band of Gold,” and “Ride, Captain, Ride,” and the Carpenters’ “Close To You” were being played often. The hourly news reports only indicated, however, that the number of ghetto rebellions during the Summer of 1970 had diminished greatly, in comparison with previous summers of the 1960s. The campers in my group and I were bored with our daily camp routine, fed up with Mayer’s micro-management of the camp, and, like prisoners, counted the days for the camp season to end.

Susan, the 16-year-old waitress, however, seemed to be still enjoying herself at the camp, despite the prohibition on grass use. Her youthful enthusiasm, good nature and looks still attracted different hip male counselors; and she enjoyed the sensation of going horseback riding on her days off.

One morning she was in a particularly happy mood, and I was surprised that, after we walked alone towards each other on the grass lawn in front of the cabins — she going to the dining room, me returning to my group’s cabin — Susan stopped suddenly. After saying hello to me, she next smiled, gave me a hug, and turned me on a bit by putting her right arm around my waist and touching the skin of my back tenderly.

But before I could respond to her sudden show of tender affection or talk to her about whether she was interested in getting to know me better, Susan started walking again at a quick pace towards the dining room. I still felt attracted to Susan, but realized I was probably too world-weary and too old for her in the Summer of 1970. So, despite this sudden show of affection by Susan, I did not start competing with the other hip male staff people whom she was seeing in August 1970.

Nancy — a physically beautiful, blonde 19-year-old local woman community college student who was employed during the summer cleaning each cabin every few days — also put her arm around my waist one day and touched the skin of my back in a tender way that turned me on. I had spent about ten minutes talking with her about her life and how it was like living around Honesdale, Pennsylvania, after I bumped into her during one of my daytime free periods, while she was cleaning my group’s cabin.

Nancy, however, was not around the camp often enough to give me a chance to talk further with her during the rest of the summer. So, despite her show of affection, we got to know each other no further.

Like Susan, Nancy was not as world-weary or politically conscious as I was, despite being three years older than Susan. So, despite our intense conversation and mutual physical attraction, Nancy probably would have lost interest in me, anyway, once she realized I was no longer a student like her, was still more of a political activist than just a hippy freak, and had poor future upper-middle-class career prospects.

The other reason, however, for not attempting to get to know Nancy better, was that by this time in early August, I realized that I had fallen in love with Sandy. A folk song I had written by then for Sandy, for instance, included the following lyrics:

“You know how to love And you’re so much fun Sandy, Sandy.

“Nothing new has happened And nothing special am I But I wish you would love me Before we both all die.”