A piece of my childhood is gone

 

It started with  a news story. And then   another.  A college bought a 14-acre property from a Jewish Community Center.  The JCC had operated a day camp at the site, but was unable to continue running the camp because of zoning laws.  

The details were familiar, the location of the camp, the zoning issues, but the name of the camp sounded “wrong”.

And then, there it was:

For some background, the former property owner operated a school and summer camp called Robin Hood on the property from 1959 to 2008 before JCC began operating a Jewish preschool and summer day camp program on the property since.

Previous owner … Robin Hood …

Robin Hood Country Day School.

My summer home from age 3 through age 12.

My father was a teacher (later an administrator) in the NYC public school system.  My mother was a stay-at-home mother.  Pretty typical for the 1960’s. Every year from the time I was 6 months old my father took a summer job at a day camp: Robin Hood.  

So of course my sisters and I were campers. 

But we didn’t call it “camp”, we called it “school”.  At least when the local government officials were around.  It was a nursery school during the year.  And during the summer … Each group of children was led by a teacher.  All our “specials “ — music, art, dance, nature — were taught by licensed teachers.  And elementary school-aged children had to do reading and math worksheets after lunch.

 But yes, it was camp.  

We played kickball.  We played softball.  We played  Newcomb (it’s a variation on volleyball).  We shot archery, rode horses. When I first started camp there was a pond with rowboats.  Later there were go carts. We went on nature walks and picked blackberries.  I remember making clay ashtrays, beaded necklaces and lanyards.  And macaroni art, of course. 

And swimming!  We went to the pool twice a day, once for lessons and once for free swim.  I was so proud when I passed the deep water test.  Our achievements were memorialized in little badges we could attach to our bathing suits.

We took music and dance, put on plays and performed in a “circus”.  One year we did the story from Peter and the Wolf and I was the Cat (a portend of my future?) Another year we did  Oliver! And I was the maid — I had four lines.  

On rainy days we’d play board games, go roller skating in the barn, or maybe go off campus to the bowling alley or the movie theater. 

There was ice cream every afternoon.  Dixie cups, ice cream sandwiches, popsicles …

There was a cook-out every other Friday, where the counselors grilled burgers and hot dogs, and we all got a slice of pound cake for dessert.

And twice a year we had a carnival, with games and prizes.

The camp seemed very isolated then.  You’d drive down a long private road through the woods to get to the campgrounds.  (There are houses now where the woods once stood.) I always  felt far away from the suburban world.   

Part of my father’s job was to transport campers to and from the camp.  He drove them in our station wagon (something you’d never see now).  One summer we had a “famous” passenger in our car.  Eartha Kitt was performing at Westbury Music Fair, and she enrolled her daughter at Robin Hood for the run of the show — about two weeks.  My father drove Eartha Kitt’s daughter to and from camp every day for two weeks.  I think he actually met Ms. Kitt.

 My father worked at the camp from 1960 through 1972.

But now … the camp is closed.   Sigh.

Part of my childhood is gone.