Smokey Bear had nothing on us as we learned not only the way to build a proper setting for a campfire but also how to extinguish our campfire. No trees or animals would suffer as a result of a Girl Scout’s carelessness!
Read More

My older brother and I were both artsy kids. We both still sing and I was a Theatre major in college. As children in Detroit, we loved to listen to classical music and I followed him around like his shadow. We both loved the same movies and shows on TV.

We looked forward to the annual live performance of “Peter Pan”, starring Mary Martin on our black and white TV. We marveled as she soared above the children and sang and “crowed” with gusto. Rick got the recording and we learned all the songs.

We had a wonderful swing set in our back yard and soon we recruited the neighbor kids (and there many, all living in a two block radius) to act out the show on the swing set. My brother was always Peter and I was Wendy. We flew from the trapeze; higher and higher, leaping off to a safe landing below, (“I’m flying, flying, flying…look at me, way up high, suddenly here am I, I’m flying”). The recruits were never as into it as Rick and I were. There was no script. Rick was the auteur. He directed as well as acted. Maybe he was a bit bossy, but it was his vision.

There were no real costumes and no record of these early summer activities. No adults came to see our performance. I am not sure we ever got our act together to get through a whole show, as the others would lose interest and stop showing up for rehearsal. But we sure had a lot of fun.

When NBC put on their live production starring Alison Williams, of “Girls” fame, a few years ago, it had been decades since I had heard any of the music, or thought about the show. During an opening scene, Mrs. Darling sings the lullaby “Tender Shepherd” to her children. From the depths of my memory, I knew every word and began to cry as I sang along. The power of that memory was so pungent and sweet for me, it overwhelmed me. For a brief moment, I was that little girl, living in Detroit, watching a wondrous production with her family, when everything was safe and less complicated. And we tried to reproduce that feeling in our own backyard.

14 years old, out of braces, in contact lenses…I had arrived! The ugly duckling had blossomed. 1967, my first summer in High School Division at the National Music Camp (now the Interlochen Arts Camp) and I thought I was BIG STUFF! I got to wear powder blue knee socks, designating HSG, no longer red socks for Intermediate Girls and with that came all sorts of freedom, including hanging out at Main Camp (with everyone) whenever I had free time.  My best friends were still in Intermediate Girls, one by choice (big fish, small pond – she got leads in Operetta that summer), the other was a grade behind, so she had no choice. One new girl came to camp, I heard a lot about her and she would become one of my closest friends. We are all still friends.

     Betsy, Valerie, Emily, Christie
               1995 reunion

That first day, after getting my uniform, I headed down to the Intermediate Division to say hi. I ran into Dude, our beloved Operetta director (for High School and Intermediate). He had known me since I was 9 years old when my older brother played Nanki-Poo in an Intermediate production of “The Mikado” in 1962. We all wanted Dude’s aprobation and admiration. He looked me over and nodded approvingly. I was on Cloud 9. I knew it would be a good summer.

We had classes on Saturdays, concerts on Sundays. Mondays were our days off (some rehearsing on Monday mornings, but cabin activities in the afternoons and fun co-ed stuff in the evenings). At the end of the first week of camp would always be “Maddy-Gras”, camp’s version of a carnival, named for the founder, Joe Maddy. The big pop song at the beginning of the summer was Scott McKenzie’s “If You’re Going to San Francisco” and the lyrics continued…”be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…summertime will be a love-in there”. I had been growing my hair for about a year, so it could honestly be called long by this point and for the carnival, I pinned crepe paper flowers in the side of my hair. We also could wear “civies”, civilian clothing, instead of our camp uniforms.

I wandered around, checking out all the sights. A handsome cello player admired my flowers. He got the allusion to the popular song and for that one night, we were a couple. His name was Bruce. I had never attracted anyone before. I was so excited that he paid attention to me. We went from booth to booth, looking at the amusing things the counselors had dreamed up for us. He took me to the Melody Freeze and bought me an ice cream cone. This was almost a real date.

There were two paths back into High School Girls Division: Shake Gate and Date Gate. Shake Gate was wide open and you passed through it if you were alone or you just wanted to say good night at the end of your date. Date Gate was more secluded. There were bushes around. You could make-out with a little privacy. I barely knew Bruce, so Date Gate wasn’t an option, but the Summer of Love got off to a lovely start for me.

Though not a Drama major, I was a fixture at the theater, doing costumes and props, hanging backstage. I became known to the teachers, so was accepted as a Drama major the following summer. I also had a great time leading the chorus in “The Mikado”. It was an out-of-body experience when, during the last class, Dude Stephenson and “Uncle” Ken Jewell, the music conductor, announced the winners of the Operetta Awards for the best leads and chorus people. I heard the name “Elizabeth Sarason” called out, but that surely wasn’t me. I was “Betsy”. Yet everyone looked at me. It seemed like minutes passed before I realized that my name had been called and I arose to claim my honor and congratulations from my respected teachers and applause from my peers in front of the audience (we had just performed “Trial by Jury”, not in costume). I felt the love.

Why my friends had to drag me to the rifle range, and why I kept coming back.
Read More