As Shewahmegonites, our camping friendships—strong and deep—wouldn’t exist without Bill Will. This post will have many authors, to reflect the many lives Bill helped transform. This post is here to help us remember and honor a truly incredible man. If you’d like to share, please send your photos and memories to jimgibbons1[at]gmail[dot]com. Thank you!

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Bruce Ballantine, who was at Shewahmegon from 1966 to 1984 as camper, JC, counselor and tripper, sent along a few photos of Bill through the years. Thanks very much for your contribution, Bruce!

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More to come…

As many of you who follow this blog already know, Bill Will—the co-founder of Camp Shewahmegon and one of the main reasons so many of us have such fond summer camp memories—died recently. To say he’ll be missed is an understatement. He was tremendous and I know I personally owe him a tremendous amount.

There aren’t enough words to describe Bill Will and what he did for me, let alone every camper who spent a summer a Shewahmegon, and yet, at the same time, there are no words to describe what he meant to so many of us. He was larger than life, yet had an effect on so many lives. He was a living legend and a tall tale, but extraordinarily human. He was a superlative man, but not a single superlative thing I can think to write seems to do him justice.

I think that’s part of the reason that posting something here about Bill’s death has been a challenge. There was so much to say that it was too much to say and I couldn’t figure out what to say at all.

Thankfully, David Will—my friend and Bill’s grandson—nudged me about doing a post. Just the suggestion made me realize my inability to write something was neglecting one of the things I’ve always intended this site to be about: Community. Put simply, I can’t do the memory of Bill Will justice on my own. I need your help. All of your help, and I’m humbly asking for that help so we can celebrate a truly remarkable individual.

So, here’s how you can help…
Please send any pictures you have of Bill Will at Camp Shewahmegon to me at jimgibbons1[at]gmail[dot]com (Please substitute “@” for “[at]” and “.” for “[dot]“, of course), along with any info you’d like to run alongside the photo: the year it was taken, what’s going on, any memories you associate with it, etc. I’m happy to post text-based memories as well, but I’d really love to show Bill in his element at camp—and a whole lot of it—for us all to remember.

Send along as many photos as you like as often as you like and I’ll post them all up as soon as I can. The man deserves statues and epic poems, but I think if we all band together, we can get close to doing him justice. Thanks in advance for your help!

In the midst of our running email chain of camp reminiscence, Dan decided to loop in David (for a reason he’ll explain below) not knowing I’d already been interviewing his former cabinmate. It seemed only logical to do a post where the interviews overlapped a bit. There’s not a whole lot of back-and-forth, but man, both Dan and David go on nostalgia tears here that are downright epic!

[Part 1 of my interview with Dan can be found here. And Part 1 of my interview with David is located here.]

Let’s talk camp games (Capture The Flag, Capture The Indian Clubs). What camp game was your favorite? Why?
 
DAN GIBBONS: As I started to write this super long email, the fact that I just read World War z after borrowing The Zombie Survival Guide from David Will [came to mind and] I realized I had to get him in on this email. (Foreshadowing with the zombie reference)
 
I loved camp games!

I must say, I really enjoyed when the schedule on Saturday [lined up so] that you would get a day game and sometimes even a game at night, too. Like capture the flag in the day and then Capture The Indian Clubs at night.

I loved Capture The Three Flags. I still remember one year (maybe Bunkhouse or Cabin 15), I got two near flags that summer. I still consider that a successful camp year almost solely because of that. Getting a flag was something reserved for the Paul Hillman’s and Mac Harris’ of the world. To get a flag (even just the Near Flag) was truly awesome. You were a celebrity for the rest of the game and the following soda and swim afterwards.

Capture The Indian Clubs… what a hilarious name. Capture The Indian Clubs. It’s really funny when you think about. What is an indian club? If I didn’t know the game, I would think of like a super old ’30s cartoon with these pilgrims sneaking into an indian camp and stealing these big war clubs.
 
I remember being in the younger cabins, when you finally got those pins… it was so awesome. You would strut across the lawn with that prize for everyone to see—great in those stalemate games. I remember [at that age] that pin was fairly heavy and powerful when you had to carry it back!

However, while that reward was sweet, I think most everyone loved the total rampage games!And especially when it was Super C The ICs! Jails in the middle! Chain from jail to freedom! How awesome was that?!

My worst, but to this day, funniest memory of C The ICs was in a rampage game. I had just captured a pin and after I brought it back I went on guarding duty. My head’s on a swivel, looking for anyone to come my way. Then right in front of me, running full steam, I see Rich Siegler barreling down on me. I am sure “barreling” is the right term (In retrospect, I am sure Rich Siegler is not that big compared to any of us nowadays, but a slightly overweight freshmen in high school running at a fourth grader! Well, that’s scary!) I recall him running very upright with his belly out front. I recall basically bouncing off his stomach like something out of weird Japanimation cartoon. Especially with Rich Siegler’s crazy long, curly hair and me crying like a child afterward. (Maybe [his hair] was short at that time, but that’s how I remember it.) I got knocked out of the way and someone else took the pin. I was defeated and hated Rich Siegler… for the next ten minutes. Rough tactics but smart strategy by Siegler. 

One thing about camp games that I think helped make me a good person is they were so reliant on honesty. Especially in a game like Capture The Flag where you play over so much land. No one would be able to verify if you were truly tagged. However, if  an overwhelming amount of people didn’t play fair and honest, those games would have never worked and would have been horrible. A huge part of my camp memory would have been gone if people didn’t just understand that you had to play honest. I think part of it is the age you’re at as a kid. Games are everything and being declared a cheater is a reputation that’s bad to have. 
 
That being said, playing pick up basketball [nowadays], it amazes how some people play. They will foul hard and then yell and complain when you call one. It’s like “Buddy, you know you hit me. How are you trying to deny it?” Maybe they are trying to play mental games, but really, I bet most of them normally just play games where there are officials and never really understood how important it is for players to be honest and aware for games to be… well, fun!
 
This may be a bit of an outlandish connection at this point, [but] it makes since in my mind. Sorry if it doesn’t make since in my email!
 
(Foreshadowing about to come into play…)

Alright. So, I just finished World War z. Awesome book. I am just so amazed by how throughly thought out it is. It’s really unbelievable for anyone to think through something so thoroughly with a “What if…” situation.
 
Anywho… One game I always loved was The Blob! What a great game! Even once you got tagged it was so fun!

So, you’re asking yourself, “What’s the connection?” If there was ever one game that has to be the closest (of games) to a Walking Dead outbreak, it has got to be The Blob. Hear me out…
 
-Once you are tagged you become one of the infected.
-Your sole purpose is to “eat brains” or infect others.
-You might not always plan it, but once [you're] “it” your greatest asset is using your number advantage.
-As an individual you are often cornered and overwhelmed.
-As soon as you let down your guard…”brains!”
 
And imagine this scenario… I always thought I was pretty good at The Blob and one of the better athletes at camp in those type of games (Clearly not at things like riflery, canoeing, archery…) and that is kinda how you view yourself in a zombie apocalypse scenario. You think, “Hey, I’m going to be one of those people who survive.” 
 
But the reality of it is, you don’t know. It’s a gamble! Maybe once you get rooted in your fortress and once you truly understand what’s taking place you can figure out a strategy and survive, but in the beginning there is a luck factor and the same is true for The Blob.
 
You would be dodging one blob that has been targeting you and not really paying to attention to anything else (You can’t. You gotta think about the immediate threat first.), but then all of sudden you realize there are three… no four… no five blobs closing in on you when before there were only two!  As they close in you look farther out and realize over half the field is covered in BLOB. Then… from behind… bam, you’re infected! 
 
And of course when you are first infected, you’re disappointed and don’t want to give in and attack others. But then… you turn!
 
Alright. Like I said, I just finished World War Z. So, in reality I look at every neighborhood, alley way and building [now] and think, “What would happen here in an all out zombie attack?”

I think it’s still a pretty good comparison.

Dan, your point on honesty learned in camp games… wow! Spot on! In basketball practices all through high school I always called myself for fouls. When I fouled a guy who was my teammate/friend, it seemed only natural I should call it. It doesn’t do me any favors by being an asshole and not calling it. That was my thought process, at least. Looking back, I think that must be due to camp. The friendship and community really made you look at the big picture and, in that picture, being an asshole and arguing “fouls” didn’t make sense. Unfortunately, this attitude was extremely rare in competitive high school sports. It still amazes me that people would argue fouls or call fouls on their friends and teammates in practice to make excuses or look good. Camp, man, it does a body good…

When I worked at a Banner Day Camp for three years after my time at Shewahmegon, I was a counselor for a group of 6-year-olds. During that time, Blob was one of my “Go To” games. It’s such a perfect variation of tag. We had about 15 kids in our group, so I just shrunk the area we used to play in with 50 people at camp. Man, good times! Those kids loved that game! It really holds up!

That said, I think it would be way more popular if it was called Zombie Tag. I totally hear where you are coming from on that one, Dan!

David, earlier you said, “I believe that Shewahmegon is largely responsible for the person I am today.” That’s a sentiment I’ve always echoed and I’ve found most Shewahmegonites feel the same. And yes, I think the close quarters of camp cabins and communal latrines prepared me very well for the dorms in college.

It’s funny that you bring up turtle hunts. Dan also brought them up. You guys shared a cabin for seven years of camp and, apparently, shared a love of turtle hunts as well!

Your guys’ cabin was always kooky (Which one wasn’t though?) and you guys had some goofy inside jokes—Yacancha the six-foot-tall rat was one of them, I believe. Tell me a little bit about that goofiness.

DAVID WILL: I think the goofiness found at camp is ultimately due to three or four major contributing factors. First and foremost, camp brings together people from all over the country and the world, with different cultures, sources of entertainment and humor. As such, there is a strange fusion of cultures that happens in the north woods, where—for example—the Tupac of one camper is mixed with the Star Wars cards of another camper and mashed together with shopping cart fetish of a third. Surprisingly, these combinations work well, as camp’s culture tended to be a pretty accepting. If you were a dweeb, or a jock, or anything in between, you could find ways to contribute to the culture. Obviously there would be those who would clash with the culture of camp, and by in large, it seems to me that those campers tended to be the ones who couldn’t embrace the accepting inclusive nature of camp. Typically, the campers would pick fights, make fun of cabin mates, etc, [they] tended to be those who only stayed on year.

On top of cultural differences, another huge contributing factor was the almost total lack of female presence at camp. Without girls around, no one was trying to impress each other or put the competition down. We could worry about important things like being a team member, working on ability, playing hard. We could build a mono-gender community in strange ways that would be impossible with both sexes. Major locations for camaraderie included group showers, the stalls of the latrines, heck, even morning dipping helped give camp a unique flavor. In fact, in the male only culture, the unexpected presence of girls throws things off. Once, I had to drop trow and adjust my boxers in public, a perfectly reasonable thing to do at camp. Unexpectedly, I came across Rick Levi’s wife and had to do immediate evasive action to preserve some semblance of modesty. 

Camp’s quirkiness is also due to what is commonly known as “cabin fever.” When you are stuck in a fairly reclusive area with a small set of people for weeks at a time, you become a bit crazy.  A good way to think of it is unbridled creativity meeting unopposed insanity. That craziness manifests in all sorts of ways, like developing odd imaginary creatures (like the six foot rat Yacancha), tickling people on the abdomen then smacking them on the head (“Pillsbeery… DoughBOY!”), joining imaginary and irrelevant clans like “NATO” or “OTAN,” or inventing new games such as “Pelt Axel with the Potatoes.”

Together all of this leads to the perfect storm of goofiness, and frankly, that goofiness allowed camp to be such a good place to grow. There are many examples of our combined goofiness that I could share, but we certainly don’t have the time for all of them. One such story is that of ”Pubobaby” or PB. PB was a brain child of Danny Gibbons and myself after long hours paddling on the Namekagon River.  As the camper canoe, we had fallen significantly behind the other canoes and were struggling to catch up. Out of the exhaustion came the idea that our canoe was being followed by a small mustached baby in the water named PB. We inserted him into the camp songs as we sang them and told odd tales of his existence. Our midweight, Steve Lehmann, for some reason became somewhat paranoid by all this talk of PB, which further contributed to it’s hilarity. All in all, we were never attacked by PB, but his presence certainly kept our exhaustion at bay.  

Another great goofy canoeing story revolves around Danny Aronson on the St. Croix River.  Danny was a pretty levelheaded kid, but was prone to hilarious fits of passion. As we were canoeing down the river, he dipped his favorite baseball cap into the water to cool his head off.  Either he didn’t hold on hard enough or it slipped, but either way, the cap was off and into the water, sinking under the surface. Without a moments hesitation, he was off into the flowing river, swimming up stream to collect his precious hat. Danny Gibbons and I were astounded, and being pulled down stream. We lost much distance before we were able to turn the canoe around and go back up to get the waterlogged Danny Aronson. Needless to say, we found him alright, if not soggy.  

One of the quirkiest campers in our cabin of all time was Nick Walasek. I have never met someone with such a passion for flowers, PetSmarts or shopping carts.  And yet, we were privileged to have Nick in our cabin. In typical Nick form, when not telling us about the types of shopping cart each large chain store had, he was designing and crafting objects for his own basement pet store. Nick made these gooey window clinging neon letters that spelled out “PetSmart.” Such devotion did he have, that he nearly had a fit when he woke one morning to find we had rearranged the letters to spell “Wet Rats.”

Of course, I cannot forget my own goofiness that I brought to the cabin. My drastic fear of spiders once led me to leap out of a canoe during a cookout, because David Owen deliberately steered the canoe into overhanging bushes. Clearly it was not [either of] our best moments by any means, but since he did so, I literally held onto the stern of the canoe for another 30 to 40 minutes as they paddled all the way from Picnic Point to the Picnic Grounds. David Owen was mad because he had to drag me behind the canoe, and I was terrified of the possible spider or two. I also happened to bring the Star Wars card mini-craze to the cabin that year. It is not an exaggeration to say that many hours were spent yelling things like “No, Luke has a power 4 and an attrition rate of 3. He wins against your three stormtroopers! And with his lightsaber, I get to draw an extra card to deal specific damage!” I  have no idea how Brent Parker put up with the insanity of hearing 6 or 7 boys arguing over Star Wars characters and how to play a largely impossible game. 

I think you made an amazing point when you mentioned the single-sex dynamic of camp being crucial to all of the incredible, intense and—often times—uber-weird bonding that took place at camp. I mean, in what other environment could we have convinced Pressy to run around in only his smiley face boxers, performing impromptu dance sessions in the Green Cabins?!

Well, that does it for David. Thanks for your time, Mr. Will, as well as your answers and stories—just fantastic!

My interview with Dan has one more installment. Stay tuned for that.

Around the same time I began interviewing my brother Dan, I sent along some questions to our buddy—the real, live grandson of William T. Will himself—David Will. Having spent time up at Shewahmegon for many—if not every—summer of his life, David has many more years of sharing camp stories under his belt than most can boast. Plus, he has a fairly unique view of camp as a member of the Shewahmegon-founding Will family. So, obviously, it was a pleasure to pick his brain on all things Shewahmegon!

David was in Dan’s cabin—a year younger than mine—for the entirety of D. Gibb’s run at camp, and we were all Junior Counselors together during the final year of camp in 2001.

As was the case before, I’ve edited for grammar and added some brief explanatory bits.

Now, without further ado, here’s the first installment of my interview with David Will!

Being a member of the Will family, you—essentially and possibly literally—started attending camp as soon as you popped out of the womb. Let’s skip the pre-camper years. What were your first summers as a camper like? What sticks out i your memory from those early years?

DAVID WILL: My first few summers as a camper were a transition period for me, where being a Will family member came second to my role as a camper.  As a “day camper,” the structure of my day was significantly different from that of a normal camper, where I had different freedoms and constraints. My schedule was also more subject to my whims (as a day camper). I would attend instructional swim or lodge when I felt like it. If I didn’t want to go to activities that day, I could play in the trailer with my toys or watch television. I interacted with campers at that time, and though the older cabins would play around with me, it was more difficult to interact with the younger campers. Since I wasn’t one of their cabin mates, the time I spent bonding was limited.  

So, when I became a camper, there was a sharp learning curve that I had to quickly adjust to. I quickly realized that my preferences came secondary to the schedule and to the cabin. If it was instructional swim, I had to swim. If it was time for rest, I needed to lay on my bunk. I had to attend activities, I had to stay with the cabin. The primary boss was the counselor, not my mom or dad. This shift, which was initially difficult to adjust to, became very liberating and rewarding.  By having to go to activities or swim, I learned to make choices and learned to grow under the constraints. I learned to swim, to play team games, to canoe, to camp, to work hard. None of these skills would have been accessible (to me) as a day camper. The constraint of camp’s structure also allowed me to develop life long friendships. I was no longer peripheral, rather (I was) a deeply involved member of the cabin unit. I learned to play and work, eat and sleep, win and lose as a group.  

In terms of specific memories that stick out from these years, the ones I remember most are the random and silly moments with the cabin: telling scary stories of “Green Feather” on Red Rock and hardly being able to sleep at night, playing countless hours of the finger game (“enter the store”) at the dining hall table, paddling our hardest and still falling behind in the camper canoe, playing complicated versions of tag on the cabin porch, listening to the music the counselor would have on his CD player, etc.  

Tag on the porch? Damn… sounds like a game for solely intended for daredevils based on the height of some of those porches.

You mentioned the skills you learned at camp. I always think its crazy how often these weird facts about me come up in random conversation. “Oh yeah, I took Red Cross sailing for three years and instructed it for a while.” “Oddly enough, I was actually an accomplished target shooting archer.” I don’t use either of those skills anymore (Which is a shame), but I think camp taught me a lot of skills, be it the more official skills from boating courses or just how to make a campfire. As far as the education of camp goes, what do you remember? With your time at camp, I imagine you had a chance to take rowing on through power boating before you became a staffer.
 
DAVID WILL: Yeah, tag on the porch required some creative thinking and clever restrictions on the tagger, i.e. the tagger had to close his eyes and couldn’t move from one spot. But that was the fun of rest period. You had only so many objects and so much square footage of cabin space. You had to rely on creativity or sleeping to get through it.
 
It’s funny that you mention the subtle ways the learning done at camp gets incorporated into your life. I know that I am constantly reminded in odd cases of my formal and not so formal teachings in the northern woods. As you guessed it, I believe I have done every single instructional course at Shewahmegon from power boating and rowing to conditioning and basketball. I also had the privilege of helping with sailing (alongside the mighty Jim Gibbons) and taught rowing as well.  The time in these courses was well spent, not only for the learning experience, but also the explicit pleasure of doing the activity. As you well know, there are few thrills in life like sailing in the Cub on windy day, trying to tip her over or practicing real man over board drills when a shipmate (Danny Aronson) slipped off the deck. SCUBA diving was another of my favorites. It was a very surreal experience—somewhat intimidating and always exciting. My dad (Tim Will)always put the fear of “air embolisms” into us on the first day. And even though we were not in any real danger, the perceived risk added to thrill. And of course, the canoeing course has been invaluable to me over the years, helping me tackle the Border Trip or helping me feel comfortable mucking about on Lake Owen in the evenings. 
 
Like you mentioned with your example of building a fire, a lot of the learning done at camp was informal. Without being forced to learn, a lot of what I picked up became fun. Unfortunately, there is simply no way I could recall all the skills I have learned at camp. I believe that Shewahmegon is largely responsible for the person I am today, and as such, I couldn’t do justice attempting to list all the skills I developed there. However, some of the practical and unpractical skills have served me well over the years, and I can share a few quick stories.
 
There is an art to blowing on a fire. It requires timing, endurance and patience. I would like to think that I am master fireblower and as such am willing to loan my services to those in need.  While in Bunkhouse, on a trip down the Brule River, we came across a gaggle of teenage girls who were camping adjacent to us. Being 14-year-old boys, we wanted their company, but were hard pressed to find a way to approach them. That’s when I noticed their fire was a bit low and offered to blow on it for them. Was it awkward? Sure. Did they think I was a dork? Absolutely! Did we spend the entire night hanging out with them in front of a roaring fire? You better believe it!
 
I think a more practical skill I learned at camp was being able to get along with different sorts of people in close proximity. I can’t say that I always got along with every guy in my cabin, but I like to believe that I learned to handle tough situations in a reasonable way. For instance, if your suitemate in college had been rat-tailing you the night before, a very mature approach is to pour freezing water on him while he showers. Or if your roommate is harassing you, you can always find something valuable of theirs to throw in the laundry (Sorry, Axel.). While I am kidding (although I did do these things), the truth is I really learned how to get along with folks.
 
I think it is funny that skills you learn surrounded only by boys can help you get a girlfriend. Surprisingly, some women find it very sexy (or hilarious) that I am an amateur turtle hunter. With over 30 feet of snapping turtles caught at Camp Shewahmegon, I am a master of leaping out of a canoe and grabbing turtles. I use these excellent truths as an ice breaker in new crowds with much success as most people are willing to chat with a turtle hunter. One such person who was interested in these stories became my girlfriend, and inevitably became my wife. She is now on her way to becoming an expert turtle hunter.

(Photos in this post are from the Dan Gibbons Collection.)

A long time ago, I promised that this blog would feature interviews. Today, I post my first.

I recently started an email dialogue with my brother Dan about camp. We hit on a number of topics. Dan’s 20 months younger than I am and we both went to camp at Shewahmegon for seven years. Dan was always in the cabin just below mine, age-wise.

Some quick explanation of the interview that follows: My bits of the conversation are in bold. The rest is all Dan. I’ve cleaned up the grammar throughout for readability. I’ve also added some explanatory notes in parentheses where Dan and I had just been using nickname’s or short hand. Dan’s parenthetical asides should be obvious in comparison.

Now, enough introduction—here’s Part 1 of our discussion.

What’s your earliest memory of wanting to go to camp and what did you think the experience would be like before spending a summer at Shewahmegon?

DAN GIBBONS: I can’t particularly recall a single moment where I wanted to be at camp. As I first thought about, I thought I recalled a moment at some family reunion… However, after thinking about it, I remembered we visited camp while on vacation at Eagle Nob. I remember thinking the place seemed so cool—very happening! So much happening in the eyes of a young kid… I have slight memories of walking around on the dirt path from the waterfront to the a-field.  

One major thing that led me (and I am sure you) to want to go there is I recall knowing my two older cousins went (to Shewahmegon). The way they kind of talked about it, or just their attitude about it, made it seem like it was really awesome. Knowing that our cousins liked it so much and that our uncles went—it seemed kinda like family tradition. So, I knew I wanted to go, because if they liked it, well, I would probably like it.

Of course, I was much more nervous when it came time to (actually) go. But then I decided I was just excited. Almost like a kid before college… just so ready to go and experience a new adventure.

If memory serves, I fell and skinned my knee around Cabin 15 (Our cousin Ryan’s cabin the year we visited… I think.) and had to go to the nurse during that visit.

When you got to camp that first year, what are your best memories? I know you have a great story about peeing in a tent at Two Lakes Campground…

DAN GIBBONS: Man, first memories of camp… I feel like I have a lot of distinct memories from the first year of camp. Probably because it was the first year, I can clearly identify those memories as (being from the) first year. Other memories can kind of blend in to just camp and then you have to think about what year that really was.
 
I can remember being on the bus riding up (to Shewahmegon). It seemed like such a long ride that first time with a combination of uncertainty, not knowing many people and scary older kids on the back of the bus.
 
Weird note: I remember waking up in the early morning It was light out and we were still on the bus. I had this weird boogery shit all over me. It was a super weird consistency. I still, to this day, don’t know if some prank was played on me in my sleep or if I just sneezed all over myself.
 
I remember getting to camp and having the staff there. Everything seemed very new. I remember thinking it was kind of a big moment when they were assigning us counselors—knowing you were going to be given to that person who would look out for your group for the whole summer.
 
The things I remember the most from the first year were the camping trips, goofing in the cabin and the fireworks at the Johnson residence. I still remember those as being one of the coolest shows because it was so dark out on the lake. Oh, I also remember the first counsel fires and trying to learn songs! David (Will) was in my cabin, so he basically came out of the womb signing Johnny Verbeck (Weird visual there!) and I felt left out not knowing them.
 
Within the first years we were at camp, I really remember the evening and weekend games! I think the camp’s population (attendance) was higher in our younger years, so the games were fun. As the years went on, I felt we played the games less and less. Especially in my last year as JC (Junior Counselor).

 
Okay. Twin Lakes camping trip… I have tons of memories from my first campout. We cooked puffers for the first time—an epic moment in my life. 
 
So as the story goes, we had a long night of playing capture the life jacket, cooking, goofing and exploring at the majestic Two Lakes campground.  As it was time to go to sleep, the counselors asked us to go to the restroom because the tents only zipped from the outside or something… really weird. I was fine at the moment and did not need to go. About two hours later I wake up and now I have to pee. The fire is still going and I can hear Ben (McIntyre) and Thor (Berg) still talking. It’s probably like 10:30pm…

Also, thinking back, what do a 20-year-old college kid and 35ish Swedish giant talk about? 

…Oh boy, do I have to pee. But as Thor is a monster of a man and I think he will crush me if I bother him, I am scared to ask. I don’t know why I was so scared to ask, maybe it was that whole mentality of “do you have to go now” and then feeling guilty when you gotta go two exits later on a road trip. Or the whole I was “supposed to be in bed” thing.
 
Anyway, I managed to fall back a sleep. While sleeping, I peed all over myself—my sleeping bag and my mattress pad. I also managed to do the same to David’s gear. When we first woke up, there was your normal morning confusion. That morning also had the confusion of trying to figure out what that smell was and where it came from (Pee and me). There is a quick moment of denial and disbelief and then you just accept it.
 
One of my vivid memories was the last morning when we were getting picked up by (Camp co-owner and co-founder) Bill (Will) to because it was raining really bad. We ate cereal in the rain and then the counselors, along with a couple JCs, had to paddle the canoes back by themselves. I remember Thor getting in the back of a canoe (with nothing else in it) and seeing how monstrous he truly was—the whole front of the canoe was out of the water!
 
I also remember riding back to camp in the old (Old!) maroon and white van from Twin Lakes to camp.  Being in that van was a good summary of camp in general, because camp was basically like going back in time. Whether it was going back in time because of the lack of technology or just the fact that the style and feeling of camp was stuck in the ’60s and ’70s, it was like a little time capsule up in Drummond, Wisconsin!

It’s funny to look back on those summers when we were younger. I can never tell if everything was bigger (The games, the camp population, etc.) or if we were just smaller. Back then camp was such an unknown that, even after the first year, there was still such an exciting air of mystery and discovery about it as you learned more about the Shewahmegon Way (a.k.a. the Law of the Jungle) each year.

Speaking of The Law of The Jungle—which became a term synonymous for the weird but fun rules of camp after hearing that phrase uttered numerous times during BIll Will’s Rudyard Kipling readings—camp was full of inside jokes, running jokes, camp-wide slang and gags. Out of the many camp conversational aspects and turns of phrase, which ones do you reminisce about most?

DAN GIBBONS: I honestly do not remember the “law of the jungle” phrase being mentioned all that much at camp, but it sounds vaguely familiar. I think you’re being a year older and having a cooler cabin helped you to be more “in the know” at camp than I.

Running jokes… I mean I can remember a lot of phrases that I still go through from time to time…

-”NOW BOYS!”
-”Cool beans”: While used all the time, I still am holding onto the dream that Lee Graves came up with this phrase!
-”Hey buddy!”
-”You kill it you fill it.”
-”Spring Chicken” (As in “Bobby is no spring chicken…”)

More than just phrases, things that really define camp language and always make me think of camp are certain words that we used there. When I hear them I almost always have a different definition in my mind from other people since I first heard these words at camp. Now, both their meaning and visual representation mean something very distinct in my mind.

-Latrine
-Waterfront
-Woodshop
-Cookout
-Council fire
-GORP
-Supper
-Bunkhouse

While I rarely hear some of these words, they make me think of camp. They are a representation of camp, these words that are so distinct to camp.

You know what just came to mind? Bucket golf. What a ridiculous activity! I loved it, though!  There were a lot of really silly activities at camp. You needed a lot of activities because you could easily get tired of even the best activities. You know what came up the other day in conversation with someone? I don’t even remember how… the activity Turtle Hunt.

That sounds like the silliest activity. It was so distinct to camp… going out just looking for turtles! The only thing I didn’t enjoy was putting them in the reptile pit. So sad!

Speaking of the reptile pit, wasn’t that a big area of Bill Will’s “erosion?” I felt like there was always a joke about erosion due to campers running down the hills.

How a bout “raking the beach?” That was a duty that was pretty distinct to camp in my mind.  
Ha! Oh man, you are dredging up some great memories!

I had kinda forgotten about turtle hunts. I never went on one until I was in Bunkhouse or when I was a JC, but I remember thinking it was kinda fun. Some younger camper was in the front of my canoe scooping up turtles with gusto, so perhaps his enthusiasm was just infectious.

For the record, Law of the Jungle was a Bill Will-ism taken from some Rudyard Kipling story. One of the Mowgli tales, I believe. I remember Adam Kwasman using it often to describe general life rules and camp rules… possibly been something his whole cabin did, I don’t know. But when I think of rules or things in life that just should be common knowledge/sense (Not pulling on Superman’s cape. Not spitting into the wind.), I still think of them as the Law of the Jungle.

I remember the erosion thing too, but can’t remember why. Maybe it was like Bill’s croquet etiquette demonstration. I have a photo of him shooting hook shots on the basketball court. I should dig that up!

Part 2 coming soon! Stay tuned!

A year ago, I participated in a month-long fundraiser called Movember where men grow mustaches to increase awareness about men’s health and raise funds to fight men’s cancer. This year, I’m doing it again (as is Shewahmegonite Dan Gibbons). It’s a great charity, a grand time and a great way to raise some money to prevent horrible illnesses that affect men like cancer, which 50 percent of us men will be diagnosed with in our lifetimes.

First things first, I have a team going and if you’re willing to grow a mustache for a great cause, you should join! Now, please enjoy way too much information about Movember…

Now, I fully understand if some—or most—of you can’t grow a mustache, but please donate if that’s the case! You can donate to my efforts here. Every little bit helps and all of us Shewahmegonites have prostates and testicles that one day may directly benefit from the funds raised during this campaign… so… you’re only helping yourself by being generous. Also, all donations are tax deductible. It’s win, win, win. Please donate.

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Also, you can follow the my Movember efforts over at my other blog if you’re interested.

Flat out one of my favorite people ever, I have about nine million amazing and embarrassing stories about Pressy (Adam’s nickname, cleverly derived from his last name… which is Presbroten). That’s how it goes when you live in a tiny cabin with a guy for five years. I’ll get to all those glorious tales later for reasons I’ll explain in my next post…

For now…

This photo was taken when Pressy and I were JCs (Junior Counselors, remember?) living in Cabin 4. Pressy is sitting on the gas station sign of the Drummond Conoco, known familiarly as Bear Country. Drummond, the nearest town to camp and Bear Country was a frequent, almost necessary, stop for anyone leaving Shewahmegon. Whether you were grabbing a soda pop, a novelty t-shirt or swiping a porn magazine (Mr. Trieshmann…), Bear Country was the closest bit of civilization to our remote boys camp.

This photo is also a great indication of the truly gorgeous summer days you get in the Northwoods.

Pressy is the man. ‘Nuff said.

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A historical note…
Please enjoy the gas prices listed at Bear Country. Those prices were not an uncommon site in rural America back in the year 2000 (or was it 2001?). How far we’ve come…

Photographed in the year 2000, may I present Owen Aronson: my friend and one of the brightest individuals I’ve ever known. I shared a cabin at camp with Owen for six summers, so I’ll likely have more stories featuring his involvement than you’ll be able to stand, so I’ll keep this post fairly brief for fear of Owen overdose.

This photo was taken when Owen and I were first year JCs. (Junior Counselors, both 15 years old at the time, I believe.) We were both on a day off, but being 15, neither of us could drive. So we ended up being dropped off in the closest town to camp: the tiny town of Drummond, Wis. During this afternoon visit with no ride to go anywhere more interesting, I remember that Owen and I (plus another party… I forget now who that was. Fernando Gasca?) went to the Drummond Public Library (Two elementary school-style trailers pushed together during, my time on staff at least. Like this, but more rustic looking.) to check our email and watch VHS tapes. During this occasion, Owen popped in “The Shining” and we watched about two thirds of it—the most I’ve ever seen of the film. Anywho, that’s what us young staffers did on days off without a car to hop in.

Also… a bit of description I omitted, Owen Avenue was in Drummond, and so I had to coax Owen into a quick photo.

Now for some additional info…
Owen is wearing a campaign hat featuring an advertisement for the aforementioned Gary Sherman. Also, Owen’s jean shorts with a racing stripe are yet another example of the ridiculous clothes often worn at camp—whether thrift or older garments relegated to the backwoods, we were an oddly garbed group.

That’s all for now, folks! Thanks for checking in! Also, please forgive the overly wordy nature of this post. HBO’s “John Adams” was on in the background, so the eloquent acting of Paul Giamatti may have informed the writing featured here.

I’ve blogged a bunch about archery in the past, but here’s the first photo I’ve posted of the rustic shack where we kept the arrow-slinging equipment all summer. As I’ve stated before, Kodak one-time-use cameras are unfortunately not the best way to take excellent photos and this one is a bit wonky for that reason. Either way, this would have been exactly what a camper in 2001 saw if they came down to the range for an afternoon of archery—though, if it was a nice day, I might not have been smiling.

So, where to begin…

The Archery Box was fairly ancient. Constructed out of wood at some point in camp’s history, it kept rain and woodland creatures away from the equipment but was chock-full of tiny holes, plenty of chipped paint and even had bits of moss growing on the roof. Despite its age, the A Box (The archery portion was only half of the box. The other half had equipment for A-Field games. The entire structure was known as the A Box.) got the job done. The Box was down on the A-Field and, to the right of the picture, you can see the plastic trash bin full of lime for marking the field for games like Capture the Indian Clubs or Dodgeball.

Full of camp’s collection of recurve bows and wooden arrows, as well as campers who had brought their archery equipment (usually compound bows and graphite arrows), this was the place where each archery lesson would begin. In order of seniority based on how accomplished an archer they were, campers would get to select the bow and set of arrows they’d use for the afternoon. (To my left, in the photo, are camp’s arrow sets.) Instead of wearable Robin Hood-esque quivers, we mostly used metal holders that could be stuck into the ground. A bit like a long nail, twisted at the top to form a ring that would hold the arrows, the in-ground quivers could be flung down into the soft sand around the Archery Box, driven directly into the ground, in an impressively cool way. Probably the biggest perk of teaching archery? Only instructors were allowed to toss the quivers, thus experiencing the satisfying sensation of flinging sharp, dangerous objects into dirt with great speed in front of bewildered youths.

Other than that, this photo is another prime example of the impeccable style demonstrated at camp. Sneakers with yellows laces, tube socks, jean shorts and neon green tees! Flawless! That shirt came from a restaurant called The Satisfied Frog in Carefree, Ariz., where my grandparents (who sent both their sons to Shewahmegon) lived. At the end of the summer, I traded it to Chris Arnold for an orange shirt that said “Camp does kids a world of good.” (T-shirt trading was kinda big at camp. I’ll probably get into that in a later post.)

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Note: Sorry it’s been so long since my last post. After Comic-Con, things kind of got away from me. Life, it’s busy—what can I say? I’ll be getting back into the swing of things now, but big thanks goes out to my cousin Ryan Bergstrom, Brent Parker, Adam Kwasman and Chris Arnold for their kind words about my blogging and their “encouragement” to get my ass in gear and start writing more about camp. Thanks, gents!

This week, the absolutely massive San Diego Comic-Con International calls all nerds and fiction enthusiasts to Southern California with its siren song. As a bit of a nerd myself, as well as a Dark Horse Comics employee, I’ll be heading down to Comic-Con for the rest of the week. I was hoping to get in a few posts beforehand, but alas, preparing for the comics community’s prom is a lot of work. In flipping through my camp photos however, I found a shot that seems particularly perfect for this “my comics job calls, so my camp blog suffers no new posts” update.

This photo features so many aspects of camp I plan to talk about later on this blog including the A-Field, the goofy items we used to purchase at thrift stores or the uniquely bizarre grocery stores of Northern Wisconsin, living without electricity and how schedules are determined by the 8 p.m. dusk of summer, my somewhat embarrassing and lamentable love of visors during my teenage years… there’s a lot I could touch on here, but I must pack my bag for San Diego, so I’ll keep it brief.

The summer of 2000 was my first year on staff. That meant, it was my first year with days and nights off to visit the small towns surrounding the remote Camp Shewahmegon. This was also the same summer that “X-Men” came out.

One night off while the rest of the staff out on the town went to carouse at the Hayward Musky Festival, Adam Kwasman, Bill Trieshmann and I went to see “X-Men” at the glamorous Hayward Cinema 4. (Actually, despite it’s small theater number size, the Hayward Cinema 4 was newly remodeled and quite nice.) Aside from loving the movie and having it inform this photo that proves I’ve at least been a huge nerd since age 15, I remember Adam Kwasman going on and on about how much he loved the opening sequence featuring a boyhood Magneto living through the terror of the Holocaust and how that lead to Professor Xavier’s arch nemesis suffering the stress that manifested his mutant abilities. It’s a badass movie sequence, make no mistake, but I remember Adam praising it almost to the point of hyperbole.

Recounting this viewing of “X-Men” actually reminds me that it was over a similarly nerdy moment that I think Adam and I actually became friends.

Camp’s fiftieth anniversary fell during the summer of 1997. One weekend, all of camp’s alumni were invited up to Drummond (At five miles away down a winding country road, the nearest town to camp.) for a big celebration. While camp was filled to the brim with SROs (Suddenly Returning Old-Timers: a phrase coined by Mac Harris.), our cabin groups were sent off on a hike to make room for the visitors. My counselor Ben McIntyre was the cousin of Bunkhouse’s counselor, my counselor a year prior in Cabin 12, John Kroupa. The duo decided to take both Cabin 14 (My cabin, the third oldest.) and Cabin Bunkhouse (The oldest cabin.) out on the same hike. You know what they say, “Less boredeom in numbers.” While Bunkhouse was full of some rad dudes, I wouldn’t have said my cabin group was particularly close to those cool, older campers. After that hike, I think our groups kind of formed a bond.

Anywho, thrown together by the aforementioned and unfavorable hiking situation, our cabin groups took to chatting and bullshitting in the hopes we could make the whole affair more enjoyable. Somewhere along the way, Kwasman and I started talking about superheroes. In hindsight, as I mentioned, I think this was when the two of us became buddies. Sadly, I don’t remember much of the actual conversation, but the one tidbit that does stick out is when Kwasman started talking about how much he liked Green Arrow. I was pretty much a strict Marvel reader at the time and had no idea who the Emerald Archer was, but years later when I became familiar with the superheroics of Ollie Queen, I remember thinking it was fitting that Kwasman was a Green Arrow fan and seemed destined for a life of politics. (Green Arrow’s known for a being a staunch liberal and was even the mayor of DC’s fictional Star City for a while.)

That’s all for now, folks! I’ll see you back here next week for more tall tales of summer camp life!