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.

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The summer before my senior year in college I worked as a counselor at a Jewish overnight camp near Ann Arbor, MI called Camp Tamarack. I was assigned to a cabin in the Pioneer Girls, the oldest girls at the camp. The group was situated a little away from the main camp. There was no electricity in the cabin, a covered area with a large trough for a sink on one side, a shower area on the other served for our clean-up. Toilets were private, but this was roughing it. This was also a time when Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo smelled floral and the bees kept trying to pollinate my hair.

My girls were 12 years old. Having been to overnight camp myself for years, I helped them adjust so they wouldn’t be homesick, tried to get them to be a cohesive group…no mean girl antics in any of my groups. Our cabins had our own dining hall and fridge. Though this was a kosher camp, none of our counselors were religious and we sneaked milk with meat (oh heavens!) I sang songs to my girls. “Jeremiah was a Bull Frog” was a favorite, but I also did “Hey Big Spender” from “Sweet Charity”. That got rave reviews.

I was a Theatre major in college, would be student teaching the next semester, so I was assigned to help the Drama counselor. She had the kids acting out stupid things, which drove me crazy. I wanted to challenge them. I had them acting out e. e. cummings poems. The Drama counselor and I did not get along. We did not put on a play during any of the three 20 day sessions. By the third session, I transferred to Arts & Crafts. I was much happier doing clay figures. I like to be appreciated.

Lenny was the head of the camp. He had been there for years and he appreciated me; a bit too much. He and Linda, the head of my division, had been an item the summer before but no longer were. She still wanted to be. I was already very seriously involved with Dan, the man I would marry a year later, but he was back in Boston. We wrote a lot, and called occasionally. I had ZERO interest in Lenny and assured Linda of that. Nevertheless, he persisted and paid me a lot of attention. I was polite, but did not return the interest and reminded everyone of my boyfriend back east.

At the beginning of the summer, I remained back in the division after lights out, writing to Dan. After a while, that grew dull. There wasn’t that much to write about night after night. I developed a friendship with Kitchen Mitch, the head of the kitchen. He, also, had been there forever. The cooks had seen him grow up and he was their special boy. He was now a wild-haired pot-head, utterly charming and lots of fun. He had a girlfriend back at Miami of Ohio and a Carmen Ghia. Because we became friends, the cooks gave me access to the large walk-in refrigerators (though I was trying to diet off 10 extra pounds, which I did).

Kitchen Mitch

I attained a magical status through my association with Mitch. After the kids were in bed and the kitchen was spotless, Mitch and his kitchen team would go driving in his sports car and get stoned. They called it “cruisin’ for burgers and broads”. I soon joined the pack; the only female allowed along. I toked up more that summer than I did the rest of my life, I am quite certain. I promised to duck down if they found any “broads”. That never became an issue. Cruising in Michigan is an art form, not unlike Southern California, and we just enjoyed driving along the open roads, listening to tunes.

I came back to my division one night, stoned out of my mind. I stood at the trough, washing my face. As I turned to look at the mirror on the wall behind me, a rustle caught my attention. I looked down and saw a huge, well-fed raccoon. “What the f**k do you want?” I’m sure the feeling was mutual. He lumbered off. I was too stoned to be rattled by the encounter.

We had a few Israeli boys as counselors too. During the third session, we held a camp carnival. That evening, various counselors performed acts. With one of the Israelis, I performed a dance number which we had choreographed earlier in the day. It was a mixture of Israeli folk dancing and modern dancing, ending with me hugging him tightly around the waist with my legs, while he twirled around, my body swinging loosely, my long hair flailing behind me. I had a tambourine with a scarf attached and wore one of my mother’s old dance costumes. We made quite a duo.

Some nights our pack, plus other counselors wound up in Mitch’s room, which held one of the few TVs at camp, and we whiled away the evening watching old movies. The summer wound down that way, Lenny getting nowhere, me enjoying the company of the kitchen crew, trying to keep my girls happy and counting the days until I could get back to Brandeis and my guy.