“O.K. girls, let’s circle up.” I have heralded this call every day of the camp season for the last ten years. It is part of my job here at Valley Mill Day Camp for Girls to assemble 200 girls from the ages of 4 to 12 and a staff of about 50 college age kids around the flag pole in front of the covered bridge for our daily singing and flag ceremony before we begin our daily activities of swimming, canoeing, archery, drama, gymnastics, and horse back riding. We sing a few of those silly camp songs, post and salute the flag as we repeat the pledge of allegiance and then the final call of “First Period” and the camp day begins, again, everyday from June through August, every year from 1965 through this year of 1975. This is my life and I love it. I go into the office for my morning meeting with Skipper. She is the owner and director of the camp and I have worked my way up through the ranks to be her assistant director. We go over our agenda for the staff meeting at lunch. She reminds me to order the popsicles for afternoon assembly and then I am off on my rounds to make sure all is well in our little corner of the world.
I started working at camp the summer I graduated from high school in 1965. Our next door neighbor was friends with a woman who owned a private day camp for girls, so he set me up with an interview. That was the first time I saw Valley Mill Camp. I turned into the driveway and parked the car. There in the middle of a small suburban area in Colesville, Maryland, was a small Mecca of woods and open fields. I walked across a red covered bridge and knocked on the door of an early American house, built in the 1800’s. I felt as though I had stepped back in time. A tall, thin very athletic woman in her 40’s opened the door and invited me in.
“You must be Pat. I’m May McEwan but everyone calls me Skipper. Come on in.” We walked up into a small living room and I sat down. She went over to a stairway and yelled, “Bob, Pat’s here.” I heard someone coming down the stairs and then saw a dapper looking gentleman with a wide smile on his face. “Bob McEwan,” he said as he extended his hand to shake mine, “but everyone calls me Mr. Mac.” We all took a seat and began the interview. Apparently they thought I would be an asset at camp, because I left with a contract and was told to report back to the house on Saturday for an opening staff meeting. I left there an employed adult setting out on a new journey and was delighted it would be working at a camp. Many of my childhood summers were spent going to camp and the memories of those times were rich in my mind.
I was excited about working with Skipper and Mr. Mac. Little did I know then that she would become the most influential person in my life. In the ten years that I worked for the camp I found Skipper to be an amazing woman. She could do anything and everything. When she walked into a room, you knew she was there whether or not she said a word. She commanded your respect just by being in your presence. She loved nature and wanted to create a space where others could develop that same appreciation. She instilled in me the belief that whatever was worth doing was worth doing well and simply being adequate at things was not acceptable. She held herself, her family and her staff to a very high standard. She was loved and respected by everyone who came to know her and her belief in people changed many lives for the better, including mine. During my first thirteen years at camp she went from boss to mentor to friend. I became her assistant director and her intention was that I would become director when she was ready to retire. My whole life came to revolve around camp and my future was determined and set. A moment in time on Saturday 13 July 1975, changed the course of my life forever.
After my meeting with Skipper I started my rounds. I saved the pool for last because they were in full swing preparing for our yearly Water Ballet Show and I knew there would be a lot of things they would need. When I went up there before lunch I found Skipper in the water.
“Keep those toes pointed and no splashing.” She was helping one of the older girls with her ballet leg.
“Knee straight and keep those toes pointed. Here, let me show you.” Skipper was part of a professional Water Ballet Team and it was one of the activities that set us apart from the other camps in the area. Every year we would write numbers and teach the kids the different skills and then we would invite the parents so the kids could show off. Skipper oversaw each group as they prepared for the day. She worked with the group of girls and then would work with individuals who were having difficulty. She wanted the show to be perfect and it usually was, thanks to her patience and expertise.
Our staff meeting went as usual. Skipper and I met afterwards to go over any last details for the over night the older girls would be having. She really was a hands on director, allowing me to do my thing but always available if I needed anything.
“Yep,” I said,” it’s all good. Do you think you can come up for the campfire and singing? The girl’s would like it if you came.”
She smiled and said, “I have some things to do but I might come up for a song or two.”
“Great”, I said and went off to do the shopping for food.
The overnight went well. There is nothing like a clear night, hot dogs and s’mores over an open fire and of course the singing around the campfire.
The next morning we got up and cooked breakfast and then got everything packed up and waited for the parents to come and pick up their kids. Skipper came out and met me as we were walking down the hill.
“We missed you last night, Skipper”, a few of the girls yelled as they ran over to her.
“Yes, I was going to come up for a song or two but got busy. How did it go?”
“It was awesome…Oh there’s my mom. Bye Skipper, see you Monday.” The kids loved Skipper and she loved them back.
“So Pat, I’m going kayaking out on the river this afternoon. Want to join me?”
“I would but I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep and I have a friend coming in for the weekend.”
“Next time.” We chatted for a few minutes more and then I started for home.
“See you Monday. Have a good run on the river,” I said as I got in my car and left.
That evening as I was getting ready to go out to dinner with my friend, the phone rang and I answered it.
“Hello, may I speak to Pat?”
“This is Pat.” I couldn’t quite tell who it was; the voice was so soft and low.
“Pat, it’s Mr. Mac.”
“Oh, hi Mr. Mac. I’m just on my way out. What can I do for you?”
“Pat. I am here at the hospital. There has been an accident. Skipper is dead.” I was speechless for a moment. “What? How?”
There was silence and then he spoke. “Skipper is dead. She went out into the woods and didn’t come back. So I went out looking for her. She shot herself in the head.” There was total silence for what seemed like eternity. Finally the silence was broken.
“Pat, I need you to go out to camp and do some calling. The staff needs to be told. I have decided to cancel camp on Monday so the family can get things together. Can you do that for us?”
“Of course, I’ll get right out there. Mr. Mac…”
“I need to go now Pat, thank you.” He hung up. I stood there with the phone in my hand in disbelief.
I called a couple of my good friends who worked there as well, told them what had happened and asked if they could come out to camp and help me. The rest of the evening and the next few days were a haze. No one could believe it. We did what we needed to do. The family left to gather themselves and I took care of the details at camp. We called and cancelled camp and alerted the staff. Most of them came out to camp on Sunday just to be together. Surely this was a horrible nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.
On Tuesday the busses full of campers arrived. The family and I gathered them all together for our usual assembly. Mr. Mac told them that Skipper had died and encouraged them that camp would go on as usual. Skipper would want it that way. He turned to me.
“ Pat, lead a song and then proceed with a normal camp day.” I led Barges with a cracking voice and then called out,”First Period”. The staff and kids went on to their activities; Mr. Mac and the family went into the house. I stood for awhile at the flag pole, not sure what to do. For me there would never again be a normal camp day.
From my first day of camp in 1965 until my last day of camp in 1978, I never saw my time at camp as a job. It was a relationship with a place and the people. A relationship that was made up of many meaningful experiences, many happy and sad times, and many lifetime memories. But as I look back, the place truly was the person who created and developed it, and that person was Skipper. She was Valley Mill Camp. After her death her daughter Evelyn moved from Iowa and took over Skipper’s job as director. I continued working there out of loyalty to Skipper, but my heart was never quite in it. In 1978 the family sold the property and moved the camp to another location about forty minutes away. I was expected to continue on but I decided it was time to leave and get on with my life. The life that I thought was all planned out disintegrated and it was time to find a new plan. On the last day of camp in 1978 I did my last flag ceremony, worked my last work day and said good- by to a family I had felt a part of for 13 years. Or so I thought.
Twenty years later, on a November morning, I walked into Woodside Deli, a favorite breakfast spot in D.C. I had come in with my friend Kathy. Suddenly I heard my name being called. I turned around and there sat Evelyn, Skipper’s daughter. I was totally surprised. We gave each other a big hug and I sat down.
“I can’t believe it. How are you? What are you doing these days?” Evelyn seemed as surprised as I was.
“ I just moved back from Massachusetts and I’m looking for work. How are you?”
“I am just fine. Still keeping Valley Mill going.” My heart leaped a bit.
“Say, if you’re free this week why don’t you come out and visit. Tom and Mary are out there and Dad is living out on the property. You’ve never even seen the new place, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. That would be great. How about Tuesday?”
“Sounds good to me. Everyone will be so excited to see you.” She gave me a big hug and then just looked straight into my eyes. “It is so good to see you, Pat.”
I drove out to camp on Tuesday. I walked into the office and there was Tom and Mary, Skipper’s other two kids, now adults. They both gave me hugs and then we just sat in the office and chatted like old friends. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Mary. She looked just like Skipper, as I remembered her. We went for a walk around the property. It looked like the same camp only in a different place. Somehow it felt like home, even though I had never set foot on the property before today. We went back into the office, poured some coffee and sat and talked. Suddenly Evelyn looked at me.
“You know, Pat, if you are looking for work, I could sure use your help here. You know what it takes to get a camp up and going and it would be good to be working with you again.”
I took a deep breath and smiled. Then I looked up on the wall and saw a picture of Skipper, running white water in her kayak. It was taken at a Championship race in 1974.
“I was there the day she won that race.” I hesitated and then said, “O.K. I’ll do it. What do you want me to do?”
By the time camp opened that year I was working full time, year round. In three years I became the director of the Girl’s camp, fulfilling my destiny that had been shattered two decades ago. The most important part of my job, besides taking care of 200 little girls from the age of 4 to 12 and supervising a staff of 50, mostly high school/college age kids, was to keep Skipper’s memory alive. She had a vision long ago for a place where kids could be kids, learning about nature and learning to love being in the out of doors. It was my mission to keep that vision alive. She taught by example and as a director I followed in her footprints. When I interact with the staff I remember how she interacted with me and the others who were on staff. When I interact with the children I remember how she interacted with the children, many of whom are present staff and have their kids attending as campers the camp they attended.
I will probably never know the truth of what happened that July night to Skipper. She was such an amazing woman, a confident woman and a woman who loved life. On July 13, 1975, my world and the worlds of many others who knew and loved her were thrown into a tail spin. This was not a woman who would so violently take her own life. It just wasn’t possible. She was too strong to take such a weak way out of this life. Later I learned that Skipper was a much stronger and confident woman than May was, even though they were one and the same person. May was unsure of herself, suffered from very low self esteem and felt alone and lost in her marriage with an unfaithful husband. These truths were well hidden from almost everyone who knew her, even knew her well. As close as we had become, I did not know them, until one night when Evelyn and I were enjoying a bottle of wine after a very hectic week.
I may not ever know the truth of that night. But I do know I miss the presence of one of the most influential people in my life. I do know that many lives were affected by her life and that many lives were drastically changed by her death. I do know that her memory lives on in her children, her children’s children, all that were fortunate to be a part of her staff, and all the kids who have gone through Valley Mill Camp in the 53 years of its existence. I do know that she is present with me each day as I circle up the girls of Valley Mill Camp, as we sing our silly camp songs and as I smile and loudly yell out ”First Period.”
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