This is an excerpt of an article taken from Canadian Camping Magazine – December 1950 Issue
The Camp Directors Dividends – Bruno Morawetz
I once asked a young woman how it feels to be a mother. Her reply was:”It is wonderful. Of course, sometimes I get annoyed, but when I go into the baby’s room in the morning and there she lies awake, smiling at you, that second alone is worth everything in the world.”
There are many incidents in the life of a camp director which are worth “everything in the world.” Who would forgo the opportunity of reading a story to a group of tired little boys, safely tucked in? The priceless gems that strike your ear after “lights out” and the overheard conversations meant for “men” only, are ample return for a hectic day.
What camp director does not love to sit in the evening listening to the counselor’s stories of the day’s highlights. Still better times are the evenings in the fall and winter, when irksome worries have vanished, when the toil is forgotten, and only the fruits remain.
When my mind wanders back to the good days at camp, the first thing to strike me is the wholesomeness of camp life. I rejoice in the laughing faces, hearty appetites, the thrill of the beginner’s first strokes, the satisfaction from a thing made with two little hands, the manliness after a hard trip, the welcome of a parcel, the compassion of the nurse, the counselor’s enthusiasm, the affection of a new friendship, the excitement before Council fire, the vehemence in friendly competition, the silly questions, the blush of a trespasser, the fervor on the portage, the rapture of discovery, the embarrassingly good memory of youth, the warmth of the sun, the glistening stars, the songs of nature, the animals, the woods. Much of this is any man’s heritage.
The camp director’s unique privilege is his campers. I shall never cease to marvel at the sincerity and honesty of young boys. That alone is worth “everything in the world”. In a small camp like ours, we can afford to be under organized at times. In any family there is sometimes less and sometimes more at the dinner table. At outdoor suppers the hot dogs are sometimes counted and sometimes not. The line forms for “firsts”, then “seconds”, “thirds” and so on. No one keeps track of each boy’s consumption, yet I am sure that each boy joins the line where he belongs. Here, trust is honoured.
…When the boys leave, a lump forms in your throat, yet the director can not help but feel deeply satisfied. Sometimes a boy even says “thank you” as you bid him farewell.
…You browse through your snaps of the past summer. Hundreds of memories surge up, little things completely gone from your memory. You pause and let them flow – these are the camp director’s dividends.