The summer of ’65 my mother got tired of combing the corn fields, empty lots and weedy playgrounds of Wilmette, Illinois night after night. She was looking for my eleven year old brother who never met a pick-up baseball game he didn’t like. He didn’t come home until you couldn’t see the ball any more, and she worried about him riding his bike after dark. And she vowed that next year things would be different.
To that end, a man showed up at our house with a movie projector and a sales pitch. He had been summoned to entice my little brother to give up Little League and run away from home. All the way to Eagle River, Wisconsin. To a place called Camp Ojibwa.
I don’t remember the movie. I do remember pulling my brother out from beneath his bed where he had gone to hide. But whatever the film and the pitchman was selling, by evening’s end, Kenny was all in.
And thus, when June 1966 rolled around, my brother, friendless and with one eye bandaged, (a close encounter with a cherry bomb) boarded a camp bus bound for the north woods of Wisconsin. As the bus pulled away, he was a pretty forlorn sight- sitting there all alone and half-blind to boot. And my mother had a twinge of remorse. Had she done the right thing?
She needn’t have worried. Eight weeks later, Kenny returned home a bar mitzvah – a man. He had gone through this rite of a passage at the hands of giant of a “rabbi”- athletic director, founder of Camp Ojibwa, builder of men, mensch– Al Schwartz.
These days we hear the words “role model” bandied about so often that they have lost all meaning. Sports stars, rappers, actors, football coaches, astronauts, generals, baby tech billionaires. I have heard this term applied to all of them. Some have deserved the title. Some have let the team down.
Because in truth, a role model is a rare commodity, and if you’re very, very lucky, your boy might actual encounter a real one during his formative years. Like Al Schwartz.
Count Kenny among the fortunate- along with thousands of other kids whose compasses had been aimed true north and ended up at Catfish Lake. Al started the camp in 1928, moved it to its present location in 1930, got thirty-seven boys to enroll, and from these humble beginnings, a legend was born.
Al Schwartz believed in the virtues and moral teachings that rigorous athletic competition hold for young boys. He knew that there were important and enduring life lessons to be garnered from playing team sports and communing with nature. He knew the worth of winning and losing- and the good sportsmanship that was required of both. He knew what it meant to a kid to be able to paddle his own canoe. He believed in the value of communal living and getting along with your peer group.
And although many of his campers came from privileged backgrounds, Al and Ojibwa tested their mettle with events like the camp Olympics and Collegiate Week. These athletic battles were hotly contested and hard fought. You needed skill and grit to win them. Your dad’s checkbook didn’t help much on these level playing fields.
And Al never underestimated the importance of great food.
(Sidebar: My brother so loved the camp cooking that he would worry all winter that Otto, the camp baker, would die. And when Otto did pass away, my brother, now all grown up, would pay a reverent visit to his grave every once in awhile. I only hope he does that for me!)
Al- along with wife Perle, and his kids, Mickey and Ellen- formed the nucleus of an extended family for my brother. Kenny loved them all- along with the newfound friends that he met at camp.
First there was Barry. They met on the bus going up. (My brother didn’t stay friendless for long.) They went on to be best friends in high school, roommates in college, and I know Kenny talked to him last week. Oh yeah, and Barry was the guy who introduced Kenny to Mary Lu, my sister-in-law of now thirty-seven years.
Then came Grant and Steve and Larry and Eddie and Dave and Scott and Elliot and Ricky and Robby and… oh the heck with it. I never show anyone these posts before I run them so Kenny has no idea that I’m writing this. If he had known, his list would have been longer than the post.
So just consider anyone who ever went to Camp Ojibwa his good friend and honorary blood brother. I know that he does.
This gift- lifelong friendships- was also part of Al’s legacy. Like Endicott Peabody, the great headmaster of Groton and mentor of presidents, Al schooled generations of boys and groomed them to be successful businessmen, husbands, fathers, and worthwhile members of their communities. That’s what a role model does, right?
There are so many guys here in Chicago- and all over the world now- who might have had two bar mitzvahs- the traditional service in a temple and another coming of age in the rec hall, or on a ball field, lake, on the camp stage, or in the mess hall.
(And on many were bestowed a new name as well. Not a Hebrew one. An Ojibwa nickname. This was a special mark of respect and affection and I used to know a bunch of them. For some reason, “Nemo,” is the only one I can clearly recall now.)
Al Schwartz presided over these ceremonies with humor and grace and the special blessing granted to all those who do great things in the lives of children.
Kenny has slept in the pine woods under the stars in Cabin Twelve as a camper, a counselor, a husband, a father, a grandfather. Each August, he and his family- now including two spunky little granddaughters- attend a session of post camp. I don’t think he’s missed a summer since 1966. And he’s not the only one.
Today my brother is still one hell of a ball player and a great guy. And you don’t have to take my word for it. Ask anyone who knows him. He’s learned Al’s lessons well.
He did you proud, Al. They all did.
Mazel Tov.
Ellen, this was a wonderful story and so very true. It brought tears to my eyes as I remember all the great stories about Camp Ojibwa. My brothers went and so did my son. I would have gone to, but it was just for boys; so I went to Agawak, the sister camp. Kenny and Nemo probably went for as many years as possible. Thanks for the memories.
Love,
Terri
Spectacular entry! Yes, today role models are few and far between…because just when you think you have found one, an under the radar story surfaces that questions his/her integrity…morality. I hate to be so cynical but I think we should teach our children to develop their own voice and their uniqueness. I think we should teach them to develop a certain level of skepticism. In our family, one of our mottos was/is ” skepticism is a virtue”. It may not work for everyone…but I have created a family of contrarians.
So true Ellen, we loved every minute of every summer, for as many years as possible (11 in my case). We made many lifelong friends. Even though Kenny is older than me, I consider him a friend & camp legend, and looked forward to seeing him and Barry every summer. Thanks for the honorable mention.
-Nemo
Ellen……Thanks for the memories. I think you have captured the life of what Ojibwa was and is all about. My brother and I spent many great years there and all of the Schwartz’s became part of our family. My son Jon and nephew Scott also became part of that family as part of the next generation. Thank you again. Neal Mall (brother of Terri Lind who wanted to go to Ojibwa, but had to go to Agawak)
Hey, Stilt……..How ya’ doin’?
Go Bernie go! Go Bernie go.
This story was terrific. Al was a mensch and knew what values
make an honorable person. Basic values and what makes someone a mensch actually never changes. People may be more sophisticated today…..maybe more worldly , but the same basic needs of people and the same values still apply. Thank you Ellen for reminding us of what still counts and who defined it. Great story. Sorry I never met Al!
Wow!! What a tribute to Al. He was incredible and Ojibwa certainly changed my life!! I’m not worthy. But he was.
Ellen, I enjoyed reading every word of your essay. Thanks for the mention of the Paddor twins–Ricky & Robby! I have nothing but fond memories from Camp Ojibwa. One of my favorites is when Al Schwartz would come out of the kitchen on Saturday night (Steak Night in those days) and after grilling 200+ steaks do the Ted Lewis catchphrase “Is Everybody Happy?” to the grateful campers and staff.
Just want to remind everyone of Rick’s many years as editor of The Medicine Man and The Warrior Yearbook. Thanks for your input here!
Pads just semaphored me from sea. It is called the Daily
Medicine Man. Aye aye, sir. Hope everything is ship shape, now.
And for my non Ojibwa readers, it’s pronounced “Paaaaads!”
Your description of life long lessons learned from special mentors such as Al Schwartz was perfect. As a former Agawak girl, I was lucky to know the Schwartz family and had the honor of attending camp with Al’s daughter Ellen. So many fond memories of friendships, growing up together, learning basic skills, competition and just being happy. I share so much of what Kenny feels. I have attended reunions, post camp and always look forward to the next event. Al’s legacy lives on…Kenny is also the model camper who learned well. Ellen…your words bring back so much joy. I look forward to every post!!!! Thank You for sharing this!!!!
This brought back the best memories. But Ojibwa and Al Schwartz created an atmosphere that made for lifelong friendships so” memories” is not quite right since every week I’m surrounded by my lifelong Ojibwa friends. I may not see Kenny often but when I do it’s like we’re back at Camp together and that’s a great feeling. Ojibwa is the greatest place anywhere. The friends from Ojibwa are real friends.
Thanks for the story .
Jimmy Rubens
This Menominee boy can sure relate… Great piece!
For those of us who attended Ojibwa…how lucky were we? I remember Al Schwartz, at many of the Friday night shabbat services, telling us how lucky we were to be attending a camp such as Ojibwa. I think that most of us didn’t really understand his “sermon” until later on in life when we became adults. How lucky were we to be in a place all summer long that taught us to compete, to share, to lead, to get along with others, to try to be good sports whether we won or lost. How lucky were we to be in a place that truly prepared us for many things that life can throw your way. How lucky were we that we came from families who could afford to send us to Ojibwa where we learned many life lessons and had the time of our lives. Most importantly, how lucky ARE we to have so many enduring life long friendships with so many people who went to Ojibwa. Although I am now living in the Far Field of San Diego, the fraternity of Ojibwa is always present. Just reading some of these posts from Neal Mall, Ricky Paddor, Kenny Roffe, Jimmy Rubens etc. brings back so many memories. Thanks to Al, Mickey and the Schwartz family for starting something pretty great. And thanks Ellen for reminding us how one or two great people can influence so many others in such a positive manner. One last thought…the only time I ever struck out in a softball game was on a called third strike…Hey Elliott, that was a terrible call. (Ok, that sportsmanship thing? Some of us are still trying to learn that lesson!!) LOL!!!!
Ellen – Thank you so much for this great posting. You have written a great piece about your brother, captured the essence of what camp was all about and at the same time, honored my grandfather and family. Reading this was really enjoyable and touching. We all consider Ken (and Barry and Grant and Steve and Larry and Elliot (well, maybe not Elliot- just kidding El…) a huge part of the OJ family. This is truly a great group of people. You are lucky to have Ken as a brother and we were lucky to have him at Ojibwa. Ken – you are worthy…
A few asides to this:
My grandfather felt the food was so important, that he actually lured Otto out of retirement to come work at camp. Otto had a bakery in town that my grandfather loved. Unfortunately, Otto developed arthritis, so he shut it down. My grandfather invited Otto to stop by and bake at camp if he ever felt the urge to bake again. One day, he actually showed up. Otto told my grandfather that he would like to try it out for a day to see how he felt. He asked about ordering the baking materials and my grandfather told him, “This is not a bakery for profit. I want you to use only the best ingredients, make whatever you want and no skimping.” Otto hugged my grandfather and worked another 19 years at camp after that, full time. When Otto died, my sister, Karen, cousin Margi and I drove to Eagle River in a snow storm for the funeral. He was that important to us. Not only were his baked good the absolute best, he was a great person.
As for the values and virtues my grandfather (and grandmother (and father)) taught us at Camp, he always said, “If you make just one friend at camp, you will have had a successful summer.” (He also said, “When Mother Nature calls you must answer….” but that is for another posting) Most of us made many more than one friend. Like many of the others who have posted to this blog, I do not think I can count the many friends I have as a result of Ojibwa. The most amazing thing about it is that my friends from Camp range in age 35 years older than me to 30 years younger than me, and the list continues to grow as I meet more Ojibwa campers and counselors. If you were a camper at Ojibwa, it is a pretty safe bet that I will like you because you have been taught the morals my grandfather stood by and you know how to live and work together with other people. If I am wearing an Ojibwa shirt pretty much any where in the world, someone will stop me and tell me they went there or know someone who went there. As I practice law, I am constantly running into other lawyers, judges, and businessmen who went to Ojibwa and who cannot say enough great things about it. Each time it happens, it makes whatever deal I am working on that much easier to complete.
I could go on all day with stories and thoughts about camp, my grandfather, and my friends from camp, but it is already 11:00 p.m. and I still have work to do. Thank you again for your incredible posting.
Thank you again for writing this.
Ellen, Kenny … and especially Billy —
Camp holds a special place in the hearts of the Harris Family. Alan and Herb (H. Reed) started in 1943 and Sydney joined many years later. We were post campers in the 60s and 70s and I began in 1978, the 50th Year.
To Al / Mickey / Bill’s value of “making a friend”, our family’s go back 69 years and I’ve know Bill my whole life, enjoying camp, High School, College, and post college experiences.
I visited this summer after a long absence and immediately re-connected. It stands the test of time and has shaped my life …
Best, Jason “Sabe” Harris
Thank you, Bill, for this “Director’s Cut” addendum to the post. God bless you.
And can you take over Letter when I want to take a vacation?
Camp Ojibwa???? Never heard of it!!
A funny statement coming from “The Walking Man”! From fellow Cabin 13 big Four Member, Neal Mall
I THINK I WAS THE YOUNGEST CAMPER TO C\GO TO CAMP. I WAS FOUR MONTHS SHY OF MY 6TH BIRTHDAY. MY OLDER BROTHER WAS AT CAMP IN WOODRUFF WIS. IN 1928. HIS LAST YEAR AT CAMP WAS 1940. MINE WAs in 1939,WITHOUT DOUBT THE HAPPIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE.. AL TAUGHT US WHAT IT MEANT TO BE A GOOD SPORT. HE ALWAYS ENDED LUNCH BEFORE A CAMP COMPETITION WITH THE GRANTLAND RICE QUOTE, REMEMBER BOYS, IT ISN’T WHETHER YOU WIN OR LOSE, IT’S HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME. SOMETHING I HAVE NEVER FORGOTTEN.
WHAT DID I LEAVE OUT ?
Grant Bagan and I try to set up a golf game at our club once a summer with Jimmy Rubens and Barry Feldman. One summer, I was in the locker room waiting for them and talking to a friend who was considering sending his son to Camp Ojibwa. I told him that my two sons’ best friends are from Camp. In walks Jimmy. I introduce him to my friend and tell him that my friend is considering sending his son to Ojibwa. Jimmy says, “let me tell you, my best friends are from Camp Ojibwa.” Then Barry walks in, and I make the same introduction. Barry says,” let me tell you, my best friends are from Camp Ojibwa.” And that is what would have made Al Schwartz so proud. He always counseled the campers to make a friend for life.
We all were so fortunate to have Al Schwartz in our lives. Al taught us so much about life, friendship, honesty and fun. His memory and life lessons still pervade Camp. And now, I am bursting with pride and joy as I prepare to watch a third generation of the Boehm family, my grandson, go to Camp Ojibwa next summer to learn the same life lessons that I learned.
Bob
AWESOME article. A very difficult outcome to Collegiate Week 1970 on Kenny’s Yale Team but “what a memory!” Kudos to Al and the Schwartz’s and especially to my favorite guy, Denny who brought my ancestors through camp. Sonny Skor, program director 1929, Buddy Wineburgh, JC & Counslor 1941-3 & me, 10 year camper, JC & Waterfront director. What a Life, great memories and the BEST ongoing camaraderie ever.
I think of you all: all of the time…
DROOP
Ellen, you really hit it out of the park with this! Your mention of the old Al & Mickey slideshow and presentation brings back so many memories and reminds me what I told countless later recruits … worst slide show, best camp.
I was part of the last generation to have been a camper and counselor right before Al retired. It was many years later when Al passed away, but at the time I tried to articulate to my family the immeasurable magnitude of his influence, and why it was I had such reverence for a man who I couldn’t even say for certain knew who I was.
But it didn’t matter.
Many kids make that overnight-camp leap of faith with a group of friends. But, like Kenny, I too was an alone and friendless kid making that first bus trek. Like so many of us, it started an Ojibwa career that “officially” lasted into my 20s (and “unofficially” still continues). In most all respects, my story is a mere variation on the same theme known to every other Ojibwa lifer. And to the extent it was any different, I was just like any other 9 year old in suppressing and obscuring those differences.
No kid wants to be different. But having lost my father just a few months before that first summer at overnight camp, I was. My mom was very apprehensive about sending her boy into the unknown for 8 weeks. But not me. Dad and I had already been talking about Ojibwa for nearly 2 years. The contagious enthusiasm of the father thoroughly infected the son. Like so many of our fathers, mine never went to overnight camp. He understood the wonder of it all long before I would have a clue.
But my personal comments are meant only as a reflection of what Ellen has described better than I ever could. I’m just one minute example of the infinite ripple effect Al made when he made that proverbial jump into the water (“The Cat”, of course).
Even 40 years later, someone might say to me something like, “it must have been rough for you as a child … growing up without a father … no male role model … really unlucky”, etc.. Almost instinctively I look over my shoulder to discern who is being spoken to, Surely it cannot be me.
No role models? No fatherly influence? Had it rough? Unlucky?
I can only respond with a self-satisfied smile, for the tables have turned and it is my pity thrust upon them.
Quite obviously, they must have never known Al Schwartz or heard of a place called Ojibwa.
Mfish
Great post, Fish.
I remember you as a first year camper. It was a whispered discussion among the counsellors that you had just lost your father. Few, if any of us were mature or confident enough to broach the subject with you, but I remember thinking that I could never have put myself in your place to imagine how difficult it must have been.
You were a brave little guy that summer.
I consider the lessons I learned at camp, many of them difficult ones, to be of the most valuable in my lifetime.
You articulate your thoughts very well. I am glad the memories are meaningful to you.
Feeling a bit humble having worked just the one summer as an Arts&Crafts counsellor, being a young student from the Netherlands. Still very clear memory of camp, and its traditions and still thinking fondly.. thanks for allowing me to be a part of the tradition! Best regards !
Thank you Ellen for writing such a beautiful piece regarding Al Schwartz.
As I sat in my ofice reading over the piece and all the comments it put me back in that HAPPY PLACE of Eagle River, Wi. and CAMP OJIBWA. The memories and life lessons that I was fortunate to experience back in the 70’s and the friends that were made has always been with me.
I left chicago in 1988. A few years ago, I brought my wife and 2 boys to Ojibwa during camp and Denny was nice enough to allow me to show them around the camp. I took them out to the far field where we played baseball and soccer and then when parents came up on parents day turned into a huge parking lot. We walked the campsites- all 13 of them- and came across that beautiful plaque that was put up for Al. I took them into the cabins that I was either a camper or counselor in and we went into the mess hall and rec hall and looked at all the plaques with the winning teams and the names of counselors named on them. We sat on the chairs by the office and watched the softball game on field 1 that Al Furtransky (who I was a camper with)was the umpire calling balls/strikes and chatted with Denny and then Doc Nach who was a counselor when I went to camp he was spending a week as camp doctor. (Nach passed away last year very sad) .
My family was able to see in my eyes all the wonderful times I had and my wife said that is a memory that she will remember forever.
I told her that Camp Ojibwa and Al Schwartz was a memory that I will never forget…
I may have gone to camp a couple years after you all but I can’t help myself, I have to say something! Just spoke to my father, Dopey and I feel bad that I am chiming in before he got a chance to as I know he’s itching to get into the mix of things with you all; but again, I just can’t help myself. Thank you for this post and thank you all for being the tradition makers for all of us that had the chance to enjoy camp years later.
I am thankful of a father taking the train and bus up to the North woods each summer. Thankful of my dad introducing me to the many life long friends he made over the years to then have the ability to form the same bonds with some of those same friend’s sons during my years at camp. Thankful of the many years I spent learning, failing, succeeding on the grounds of Ojibwa and if I could turn back the hands of time I wish I was a little boy again, going to Post Camp with the Roffe and Bagan Family for the first time “Testing the waters” seeing if I was “ok” to go for the Real Show.
I was absolutely going to be a camper as soon as possible. Thankfully I was excited on my own will to go b/c no matter what I was being sent to that camp whether I liked it or not. Really he needed any reason to go up there to visit so he could show me where the range burned down, where he signed his name on the rafters, how far Jimmy Rubens could hit a softball, the 69 Tree Plaques that I still give grief to Barry to this day…this place allows those that went the chance to go their happiest of days. Although that summer was a rough year for getting into the winner circle for Barry he always counters with the ultimate…at least I was Chief! Because of Camp Ojibwa you can get two grown men that can go back 40+ years and still act like it was yesterday!
I can’t count the times that when Collegiate Week comes up in my family in how I was so very close to winning it all on multiple occasions but fell short whether it was that one missed pop fly by some kid on JV you’ll always remember, screwing up the fight song during Stunt Night, the slow obstacle course time, the missed call by Elliot late in the 7th 🙂 kidding, kidding…whenever it comes up I can see in my dad’s eyes that he knows he got me. He won a couple times and I didn’t and he still smiles about it…Camp competition and history, I love it. But guess what dad…I may not have won the big one… just so happens I was the Chief of the Braves as well!
I recently got engaged and of course I am thinking about the future and building a family and I came to realization that I must have a boy…many boys…several years apart not because I want to field my own hoops team, or to just carry on the Matasar name…but really I want a reason of my own to go and visit and be at Camp Ojibwa summer after summer for many years.
This camp has made boys into men, the lessons learned will always be with me and although camp changes and evolves over the years it’s a true testament to Al and his family, Denny and Sandy and their family and the many people that came before me that made this place truly the greatest place on earth with lifelong traditions and stories that last the ages.
Awbijo!!!!
Laurie and Dave, you must be kvelling! I am and I am only his collaborator. What a doll. Pooh pooh pooh. Much love to you all, Ellen
To rehash the tribute Ellen created with her post can not be done more eloquently or poetically, so I will not try. My wife, after years of hearing my stories about camp, can now repeat many of them word for word. She groans a little hearing them over and over, but from her outside perspective looking at me as I became the person I am today, I know she loves and appreciates Camp Ojibwa as much I do. And as did my bothers, Marc and Brian, and my brother (well, my brother-in-law) Mickey Caplan and his brother Gary did too. Oh and my sister too … who met her husband Mickey, after sizing him up as being cuter than Mickey Sampson, one visiting day at Camp. But in a large part I am who I am and my wife loves me because of the experiences I had at Camp and how they molded me into a man.
So to Bill Schwartz; your Grandfather Al had the strength and power to touch others (even girls) that he never even came in direct contact with. My wife knows things like what Collegiate Week was (let alone a whole host of college fight songs), where Eagle River is and even why to this day I always order A&W root beer over every other brand (thank you food run king Mark Barenbaum). Bill; you should proudly carry that legacy, although you and I both know you still can only hit to center or right center field, making you a sure out for me!
Speaking of 16′ softball games, my wife even knows about those leagues and how I was one of the worst softball players ever. More importantly she knows that I actually won Watermelon League in my last year at camp as a player/coach.
Having been one of the worst softball players ever and learning how to deal with that and play with many other better and competitive kids, that is one of the many lessons I learned from Camp and from Al.
So like many of you I have a million little memories beyond my pure sports (in)ability, such as; chocolate chip cookies on Trip Days, camping trips to mosquito invested Porcupine Mounts, the intensity of “the little kids” playing crucial late in The Week box hockey matches, my first inkling of my sexual preference based on watching Dave Sher’s unique opening ceremony for the Ojibwa Games, learning how to right a sail boat in Cat-Scum Lake with a storm rolling in, skiing off the boom, lighting a fire for Thursday night cook-outs, sitting in the “stacking position” at your cabin table, Paul ‘White-Thang’ James playing those impossible blending melodies to announce the winner of Collegiate Week, cabin 10 All in, All in Mickey!!!, as a JC ‘marrying’ the Cleary’s milk cartons after meals, flag raising, dip or shower, all those “famous” visitors that Al would introduce in the mess hall and then actually having Olympic great Erik Heiden show up and a tip to the more modern day campers knowing OJ alum and current Cleveland Indian’s second basemen Jason Kipnis , poking finger holes in the yellow jelly filled benny’s, steak night, OJ meat with mystery noodles and brown sauce, sliding in Schwartz Park, the cabins 1-3 monster known as Thump-Drag, chocolate chip sweet rolls, morning cabin clean up, playing pinners on the old shower house steps, the good shower head in the new shower house, The Eye is Open!, 200 hundred boys/men standing around at 7 am in powder blue bath robes, and being shamed into determining who ‘some boy, some STUPID boy, was who threw soap all around the shower house, getting after dinner canteen (Must have a Kit Kat said Al Futranski), going to Eagle River for the Braves Night Out in the Red Truck, Nach’s ever popular Rockin’ Robin, the Red Light, Perle on the buzzer, and other incidents some that should not be elaborated upon here such as from Katz up the tower in the rain to Dutch thrown into townie jail.
Think how much we all got from camp and how many times you come across a former cabin mate or counselor that you talk about all of these things and more, you laugh, you smile yet still you some many more things to talk about???
Yes, my wife saw camp as being one of the most important things in my life and she often calls it more than just a summer camp experience, she calls it even more than being part of a fraternity, Camp Ojibwa and how we all talk about it, quote it and laugh about it, she says is something she says she has never seen before. And she is so right.
So thank you Ellen for memorializing Al and the importance that place holds to so many men in Chicago and beyond. And to underscore what I have said I am writing this at my desk, in my office looking at the very same 16′ softball we played with during our winning Watermelon game back in 1981, I have all of the names of the “players” on that team, one of whom is a major banker in Chicago and another is now a federal judge, and while I have not spoken to single one of them in over 25 years, I have their names on it (and their nicknames) on it and notes they wrote then at 14-15-16 y.o.’s to me thanking me for being their player-coach and if I saw any other them on the street they would all remember it too.
Me, maybe the worst player on the team, and I keep that ball on my desk underneath my favorite personal quote, “Never be afraid to try something new. Remember, amateurs built the Ark and professionals built the Titanic” If not for Al and the environment he established at Camp, me, the worst softball player ever, would never have stuck it out at competitive (my wife still can not believe we got competitive grades on daily cabin cleaning)! athletic place where my mommy and daddy could not helicopter in to take me away from bad circumstances and a little boy’s hurt feelings from being teased that I could never catch a ball. I learned how to deal with that, how to work for success and even thrive in that atmosphere – even if I was not the best. That was learning how to become a man.
So, as Perle would say every Friday night, ‘May Our Camp be blessed by thy Light and by thy Love” .
Babe – nice posting. Thanks for the mention – even if it was to expose my hitting tendencies which was dead on. I still cannot figure out why left field eluded me. I appreciate your thoughts about my grandparents as well as the nostalgic trip down your “million litttle memories”. Those were all winners. Although one of my favorite Babe memories was you shoving 4 quarters up your nose (2 in each nostril) in the Counselor’s Lodge on a bet for a bottle of grape soda.
OMG BABE!!! Where were you when I was writing this and the post called “Prize Day”?
I was racking my brain to come up with just a soupçon of true camp flavor, and now this drops into the blog! And that quote about the Ark and the Titanic! I am plotzing here.
And to add insult to injury, you had to one up me by quoting Perle and and a prayer.
I give up. I officially hand over Letter from Elba to you.
Bill Schwartz, one more thing about how your family and camp lives with me every day of my life, whenever I bend down and pick up a piece of paper or other trash off my lawn at home or at a property of mine or anywhere, I always think of Al doing the same thing on the campus near the yellow bench. Even before the crying Indian was an advertising icon, your grandfather showed us how to have pride in where you live, work and play and to respect the awesome nature around us, even when our feet touched those underwater weeds in Catfish Lake.
Did not mean out you as a bad player, you were mighty consistent and also with you own challenges at camp being the owner’s son, so for any grief you may have felt while at camp, all of the accolades you get when you are in court or somewhere else, you should always feel proud of, and hello to Barry, Karen and your parents!
My grandfather’s biggest nightmare was when we started giving out Starburst for canteen. Ten individually wrapped small pieces of candy in each package were ten opportunities for each of 48 kids (24 packages in a box and a box on each side of the doors) to drop a wrapper on the ground. Of the 480 possible wrappers, we estimate that at least 25% ended up on the ground. He would pick up every one of them. It annoyed him to no end, but he still would not stop ordering Starburst because he knew the kids loved them. I think he also liked the exercise.
Thanks for the nice words.
Hey Babe, If you’re going use my blog as your own personal “Medicine Man” please show some class and subscribe. Yeah do it. Hit the button. It’s called quid pro quo, buddy. I am not in this for my health here!
And if you don’t, you will be hearing from my lawyer, James Rubens. He is already on retainer.
Just saw this wonderful tribute to Al Schwartz….once again I’m the last to know.
I started at Ojibwa so young that I was in cabin 1 for two years. My home in Highland Park was me and three girls after the early passing of my father. My mother felt I needed male role models and sent me off to boys camp.
There was no doubt it would be Ojibwa (it was “family”) as Pearl and my Gandmother were sisters.
Family or not, I can confidently say that being exposed to Al Schwartz and the “Ojibwa way” was a substantial part of my personal development. Al was the role model for everyone at camp…..and not just because he could hit a road ball.
He held himself to a very high standard and was the type of person you wanted to be around as you would come away motivated and inspired.
Once again, a great tribute…thanks for bring back such warm memories.
In conclusion: YEAH RAH RAH – AL!
Better late than never! This is a great tribute to Al. Honorable mention is hereby awarded. Thanks, Jerry. This was special.
I thought I had already subscribed! Great comments from some great campers on the Al Schartz piece. Keep up your mah-velous writing! Best, Pads
I just saw this Rite of Passage and like many of you who already posted, Camp Ojibwa provided a big stepping stone in my personal growth. I was one of those campers who was not really good at sports and was socially awkward. A real late bloomer. I went at the same time as Billy and we were cabin mates during my six years. I measured my small achievements in the opportunities provided by the competitive atmosphere that is Ojibwa. Finding out I wasn’t completely without talent because I could deliver sky pitches in baseball. Usually winning the gold medal in checkers which, when you consider it, is the exception that proves the rule. But then in my final year, winning a ribbon in the backstroke after years of fearing swimming. That was probably it as far as my greatest achievements. Oh, and archery, I was decent at that. Never won Collegiate week in six summers. (the Pollacks have logged 22 boy/summers without a win). But as I see some of you posting your own fears and how they gave way to growth at the hands of Ojibwa, Al, Mickey, and Denny, I realize that my own story is not totally my own.
We have two boys that just went through cabins 1 to 14 as Ojibwa campers. During these years as father to Ojibwa campers, I see the context much better. Fortunately Josh and Zack are better athletes and had what I think of as Ojibwa legends experience. I tended to think of the great athletes in the older cabins as warriors with mythical talents. Some of you who posted here are among that group. But in the end we all went to camp and got out of it personal achievement, growth, and shared experiences.
There is a movie about Ojibwa that centers on Collegiate Week called Win or Lose. http://www.winorlosemovie.com I highly recommend it. There are so many personalities, from the great athlete to the socially awkward to the highly competitive to the anti-competitive, the movie explores camp from the perspective of those of us with “hidden talents.” I suspect there are more of us than might be assumed.
The great thing about Ojibwa is that it provides growth opportunities to all types who choose to participate. It is not the over-competitive sports camp that it is sometimes labeled. It is an environment that provides growth opportunities through healthy competition.
Another wonderful heartfelt testimonial to Camp Ojibwa. Thanks, Steve. Wow! These comments are so terrific that I think I should run them BEFORE the post!
My name is Bill Walsh. My grandparents bought our family home on Catfish Lake 60 years ago – it is now in the hands of the 3rd generation (myself). I’ve been going to ER since I was 9 months old.
Out of all these years, the summer of 1987 was my absolute favorite in ER, maybe ever. That was the year I was a counselor at Ojibwa. I met so many good people and we had a blast every single day (and night). My hockey team won but my collegiate team (Indiana) didn’t fare so well. Being around boats my entire life I was assigned beachfront – driving the Ski Nautique all summer long. I must have taught at least 50 kids how to ski that summer. Best job I’ve ever had.
Billy Schwartz was the head counselor then – terrific guy and very patient with us. Denny Rosen is also a giant, in the tradition of Al Schwartz.
Just thought I’d share…
Best,
Bill
Thanks for this wonderful comment, Bill. Eagle River is a meaningful part of all our lives. You’re lucky to shepherd a little piece of it for posterity.
Bill – thanks for the very nice words. I remember you and your close friends who were counselors with you that summer. Mostly I remember doing half hour ab workouts with you and Paul. I was never in better shape after that summer. It was also one of the best summers of my life too. I knew I probably had only one or two summers left up there before I had to get a “real” job so I made the most of it. My goals those summers were to enjoy every minute of every day, try to make as many friends and help as many people as possible (my grandfather always said, if you make just one friend at camp, you will have had a successful summer) and to try to pass along the values my father and grandfather taught me so one day people would remember me the way they remember my father and grandfather. Today almost all of my closest friends are from Camp.
We were incredibly lucky to have been there that summer. And so were the 50 kids you taught how to ski. I remember you as being reassuring to them but pushing them because you knew they could do it.
I am very jealous of you having a home on Catfish Lake. Best place in the world as far as I am concerned. I am up every June (usually sometime between June 6-12) at Ojibwa for a long weekend. Maybe our paths will cross up there.
Your wonderful story has stood the test of time. Life at Ojibwa continues in our family. My brother Jay was camp doctor one summer and my brother Neal’s son & Grandson’s went there as campers and became counselors as everyone in my family did. Those were the days. Kenny and my brothers paved the way for many wonderful memories and for the next generation to look up to. Thanks Ellen for sharing these wonderful memories.