In Cincinnati at an early age, I noticed that there were nice neighborhoods and some not so nice areas also, and that there were those who were well thought of and others who were not – well, who were downright bad. Of course at that time, I didn’t realize that this was true of almost every city, regardless of size.
I was about 9 years old and my brother, Charles, was about 11 when my parents signed us for our first YMCA day camp. We were to be picked up for camp the morning of August 9th. I could hardly wait for the day to come. Brother Charles had no interest in camping, especially for two weeks. However, he was told he had to go at least for one week.
Two of the larger boys got off and helped us with our bags. Mother was out there to say good-bye. The ride to camp wasn’t too long and two older boys had us singing and laughing. Charles was not very happy.
When we arrived at the camp, I saw a lot of kids there. The whole group gathered for lunch in the mess hall and soon were assigned to our cottage. We met our group leader, unpacked, and were ready for our afternoon activities. Softball, volleyball, swimming, and anything else we might choose. I don’t know what my brother chose, probably checkers or cards.
Charles was not an outdoor kid. If it was left to him, he would not have been there. Actually, in the middle of the ? he wrote to my mother on two penny post cards, each saying, “We are not having a good time. Please come and get us,” signed Charles. On the other card he wrote, “We are not having a good time, please come get us,” signed Billy.
My card was the opposite and I’m sure mother noticed the different pens. It was sent to Mary 3 Lee, instead of Mary E. Lee. ha. But she came out after the first week and took Charles home.
I had a ball. I took part in about every sport, enjoyed the singing around the campfire at night and enjoyed the food. In the evening around dinner time, we could smell the food cooking in the mess hall long before the bell rang.
We did our swimming in the Little Miami River which flowed right by the camp. I don’t remember any formal lessons, but I do remember how I started actually swimming.
My buddy and I had our own little area where we practiced. It was called “mud-crawling.” This could only be done in a river, in the shallow part. With your head and face up, you lay flat and kicked your feet with toes pointed and most importantly, your arms rotated up, over and down, but your hands, with fingers pointed, went straight down in the mud and you sort of walked on your hands. This way, you didn’t worry about drowning. That’s mud-crawling.
We had about two days of rain one time and of course, no swimming. After a day or two, swimming was resumed. My buddy and I went to our choice spot and went back to mud-crawling. Suddenly, we bother realized that there was no mud down there. Our hands couldn’t reach the mud. From that point on we never touched the mud again. We were happy. There was a good current in the Little Miami River. Some of the better swimmers were allowed to go up stream and swim down to the area where we swam. It was beautiful as the current made them look like Olympic champions. Of course, I later learned the various swimming strokes and became a certified swimming instructor.
You may recall that my father told me that I would meet new kids from other parts of the city. I guess he wanted me to understand that I had not met every type of boy and at camp I would meet many different types of kids.
As I reflect on these YMCA camp years, 4th through 12th grade, today I would say that a summer camp in a large city like Cincinnati, is an essential part of having healthy and happy children ready for their studies in the fall, especially for the middle and low-income families. There was no segregation in Ohio, but the usual separation. There were no serious discipline problems at the camp. An occasional boy would be sent home, usually because he did not like camp or the camp activities.
Interestingly, we had an open court every day after breakfast. It was usually fun. One young adult leader would be the judge and another would be the prosecuting attorney, and a camper would be on the stand. The most serious cases might get the gauntlet. (Two lines of boys facing each other and the guilty person has to run as fast as he can through the two lines as the boy s try to hit him on the rear with their belts.) Addressing prosecutor, some of the younger boys would say, “prostituting attorney.” ha ha
Most of the boys I enjoyed being with in most activities were not from my part of town. They were from what we call today the “inner city.” Sounds much more respectable. Most of these boys were better in sports and better company for me.
Later I found out why I preferred these boys. Their environment was not that good, but there were also a number of professional people, also living in their area because it was difficult for them to buy homes in other areas at that time. There were always a number of black students living at the YMCA, undergrads, graduate students, some in law, some in education, and some in other fields. Usually, there were also one or two University of Cincinnati athletes who lived at the “Y.”
The YMCA and the YWCA , (Young Women’s Christian Association) were good outlets for these young adult people of all ages. Most of these young people who took advantage of programs offered were ambitious and forward-looking youngsters. They were bold and to me they were beautiful.
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