Camp Augustana Midnight Run

The Lutheran church in Rockford also had an affiliation with Camp Augustana in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. This meant that our church youth group would get to spend two weeks at “Auggie” every summer….boys and GIRLS! It was a blast! One camp experience, however, stands out above the rest.

The camp had a beautiful location on the shores of Lake Geneva. There was a large dining hall, an arts and crafts building, a chapel, and cabins. There were 8 cabins: 4 for boys and 4 for girls on either side of a large athletic field. My best friends, Gary Johnson, Terry Downey and I were in a cabin in which the senior boys included Ron and his friend John Cook. They took a perverse pleasure in lording over us at every opportunity, and punishing us when we screwed up….which was often. So we plotted our revenge.

We would wait until the last night of camp and then short-sheet their beds. This meant pulling the foot of their bottom sheet back up to look like it was the top sheet. They’d only discover this when went to slide in and their legs would only be able to go half way. The only way to fix it was to re-make your bed. We decided to embellish the trick by putting sawdust and some dirt in the bed at the same time……devilishly crafty!

So that night, after the final campfire, everyone went to their cabins. Gary, Terry and I got into our beds and were trying hard not to let anyone hear our giggles as the seniors got into beds. Suddenly, there was loud cursing and yelling, and we dug our heads beneath our pillows to squelch our body-jerking laughter. It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes for them to figure out who did it, and they came over and literally rolled us out of our beds and tore our beds apart. Then they made us make their beds correctly. When we were almost done, they asked if we wanted to go for a little run. “What? It’s 11 o’clock at night”, we said. They told us to strip down to our underpants, and while one guarded us the other went across to the girls cabins to wake them up and tell them to watch from their porch while a couple of knuckleheads ran by.

Silhouetted by the full moon, we took off at full speed. I was fast, Terry next, but Gary was portly and slow, and took the majority of the abuse and catcalls from the girls as he lumbered by. For months, we were referred to as the “Midnight Raiders” or the “Midnight Streakers”. Ahhhh, adolescent humiliation.

The Acolyte Fiasco

Growing up in Rockford meant church every Sunday at First Lutheran. Kids went to Sunday school, adults to church. Giving up a few hours of your Sunday morning was painful, but not as painful being in Sunday school instead of the actual boring church service. When I turned 12, however, I was informed that I needed to take confirmation classes….every Saturday morning…for a FULL YEAR! No more lounging in my pajamas with a bowl of Frosted Flakes watching Tom&Jerry cartoons. Yikes!   If I was going to suffer, at least I would be doing it with my best friend, Gary Johnson. Confirmation classes also signaled the end to Sunday school, and we would now be attending the adult services in the youth choir (where, incidentally, I perfected the art of lip-syncing which was later used by many stage personalities). It also meant that every Sunday two of us would be selected to be acolytes during the main service - where we would get to light the altar candles at the start of the service and extinguish them at the end. This was a highly prized honor because not only did you get out of choir duties, but you also could make your parents proud seeing you in a position of authority at the altar with the pastor. Playing with fire was a secondary perk.

Around Christmas time, it finally happened that by chance my name and Gary’s came up on the same Sunday to be acolytes. We arrived early to get dressed in the white robes and reviewed the instructions from the pastor: we would be stationed behind the altar curtains and come out on each side at the start of the opening processional hymn to light the 15 or 20 candles on each side of the altar; and again at the sound of chimes just before the recessional hymn, to extinguish them. Pretty easy. During the rest of the service, we were to be seated behind the altar and follow the service with our programs. Gary, however, had other ideas.

Gary knew that the pastor’s private bathroom was also behind the altar next to his office, and that it had a tile floor which was perfect for pitching pennies – our gambling addiction. So, right after we lit the candles, we ditched our poles and headed to the bathroom for some serious gaming. We were having a blast and forgot about the time (as 12 year old boys are wont to do), when suddenly Gary said, “Was that the chimes?” In a moment of panic, we raced out of the bathroom in time to hear the start of a hymn, which we assumed was the recessional hymn, and which meant we were late to be out there putting out the candles. So we piously walked slowly out from either side of the altar…paused momentarily to signal each other with a slight nod…and proceeded to extinguish the candles. I glanced sideways to smile at the pastor and give a little wink when I noticed the look of surprise in his face. We finished our duty and retired behind the altar where we looked at our program just as the pastor was beginning his sermon. “Holy Crapola!” Gary said, “The service isn’t over!” In fact, there would be another 40 minutes of candle-less service before it would be over. We were both dead and we knew it! How could we be so irresponsible and stupid? We knew precisely what our parents would say, and how they were mortified and embarrassed by our behavior.

I don’t remember the exact punishment, but I’m sure it fit the crime. I also don’t remember being asked to acolyte again. This did have a silver lining, however, as it allowed me more choir time to perfect my lip-syncing.

My Favorite Meal

In my life - I have been lucky enough to travel the world and eat amazing food. I have had seafood both caught and grilled within the hour, I have sampled delicacies from the finest restaurants in Chicago, and I have a mother who is an amazing cook and chooses only fresh and organic ingredients to cook with. Through all of these experiences, I have acquired a very fine (some might say expensive) palate.

However, there is one delicacy that will always be number one on my list of best/favorite foods and, like the Bible on all the book bestseller lists, will always retain its position. The delicacy I am referring too? Nana's Chop Suey, of course!

Let it be known that there is only one way to cook Nana's Chop Suey (specifically, I am speaking to my mother) - by using the vegetables of LaChoy #2 which can be found in the foreign foods aisle of your grocery store.  There is nothing fresh in this renowned dish nor should there be.

Cousins needed

I think we should expand the blog to include more episodes involving the cousins: skiing, Grand Junction, Camp Nana Bob-Bob, Disney World, Lake Powell, Steamboat Christmas, etc., etc.... How about it?

Please, I can't keep making stuff up anymore!

Burt...............

Bros and Sistas...

OK, we may all have them, but can we live with them? Yes, brothers and sisters.

Based on what I have blogged, it may be questioned if I lived with humanoid family members. Yes.

I have to say, that despite our childish normal activities ( hey, PINK BOX train derailments, acorn fights, rubber band fights, etc).. oh well, we got over WWI, WWII and Korea so I am OK with how I deal with my siblings.

I do have to say that through the years, we are really closer now than we were as kids. Though we don't talk that much, we know we are there for each other and that is what counts. I recall a time when a paper boy was "after" our dog and I went ballisistic when he had teased our dog. He was much bigger, but logic was not part of the equation. While getting a whooping in the front yard, my brothers blew out of the house (Springfield) and totally defended their little brother. Needless to say, the paperboy was never a threat again. Thanks. guys...

Lou is always there for support. She is always the ballast of feminine sense and why we are a family and she pulls the "boys" together. Thanks.

Gardening 101

NO ONE knew gardening better than Auntie Nell, Auntie Mae and Uncle Bud. Living in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the growing season is always very short, but their garden always seemed as perfect and robust as any would find at EPCOT today. They were always particular where they bought their seeds and made sure they readied them for the soil long before it was time to plant.

They had a knack that is difficult to explain. I cannot remember anytime going to Minneapolis when the garden wasn't perfect. It was a perfect ORTHO garden, marigolds, hyacinths,etc.

They loved their garden and it showed. As I work my garden every day, I wonder why the gene pool stopped before it hit me!

Sock Hops

Well, I am venturing into dangerous waters with this title....sock hops were junior high school sponsored dances.. usually a Friday evening in the converted cafeteria. Eventually records were replaced by live bands with TONS of teachers with AK's at every exit and restroom. For once, the cafeteria was dark, or at least dim... so you could not see that the ugly girl was not so ugly and the ugly guy was not so - premonition of future beer induced states... or the short guy wasn't that short.... nope-still short regardless of amounts of beer- depth perception still worked.

Anyhow, you spruced up to your best and you got your pals together to "strategize" how to get to meet those girls you see everyday, ALL DAY.. but didn't have the guts to talk to. Hey, ask them to dance..any idea how many girls have a bad leg when you ask them to dance? Softball and girl's soccer are a killer sports on your love life!

As the last songs were being played and everyone was planning a post " sock hop" rendezvous, you always had to remember that mom or dad were picking you up and dropping you off at who's house for what and when are you coming home?

Hungry Jack Lake

For years, we regailed in Ron's scouting adventures in northern Minnesota's boundary waters. Canoeing, fishing , just living with nature in the wilds of the 'NORTH'.

One year, we decided that northern Minnesota would be the ideal place to take the "Aunties".

Similar to their youth in northern Michigan, wild and rugged.

When we sprang it on them, they were all a twitter. We selected Hungry Jack Lake Lodge on the Gunflint Trail as our target destination. Months of planning included stops at various waterfalls and gardens in Fort William/ Port Arthur (now Thunder Bay) before moving up the two track road for about a million miles. After hours of snaking our way through lakes and high timber, we reached Valhalla, Hungry Jack Lodge. The Bunn family had owned and ran the lodge for decades. It was perfect.

The cabins were clean yet you knew you were in nature's home.

The lodge was awesome, large fireplace, log paneling and a huge dining room where they would prepare the day's catch. Mother Bunn was advanced in years, but very spry. She cooked the meals, and made sure every guest was happy and welcome. A lady I will never forget.

Every morning, we would all have breakfast then dad and I would head off out on the lake, bait perch in hand, to catch the BIG one that we knew lurked just feet below us.

Those were the best hours....just talking about anything and everything. He knew me like a book after that week, as if he didn't have a clue before.

I recall on a subsequent trip to Hungry Jack, we were joined by family friends, the Schroeders. They were the consummate fishing family. Hot tackle, huge tackle box and lots of experience. Dad and I bought our stuff from Sears catalogue, but we thought it was cool. On the second

morning, dad and I took our boat out before breakfast for a bit of fishing. We latched on to one huge rainbow trout. Upon taking it back to the dock for cleaning and prep for that evening's dinner, the Schroeder's had a hard time believing their eyes and without finishing breakfast hightailed it to their boat, while dad and I leisurely enjoyed pancakes, maple syrup and eggs.......with a big smile and a twinkle in our eyes.