Page 185 - WhyAsInY

a Bit of DasH BetWeen tHe Kee anD tHe WaH
Brooklyn, became an awful symbol to me, an extension of the Kee-Wah parent culture. Imagine my pleasure when I came home from camp and found a new 1961 white tail-finned Cadillac Coupe de Ville sitting in our driveway, complete with M.D. plates.
Of course, not all of the parents, mine included, fit into the Kase- netz mold. In fact, I remember the parents of my campers over the next two summers in Kee-Wah (I had become a counselor during the sum- mer prior to my first year at Amherst) to be invariably interested in their offspring in a positive way, and to be very polite, generous, and gracious to me when I would meet with them individually to discuss their child’s progress.
And many of my campers’ parents held interesting positions. One owned Waldbaum’s, then a big grocery chain in Brooklyn. One was an original partner in E. J. Korvette, for a time a very successful wholesale department store chain. Better, one was the son of Nathan Handwerker, who was the founder of the most famous hot dog restaurant in the uni- verse. Best, however, was Mort Wien. I love to recall the day upon which his son came into the bunk after mail call and exulted, “My daddy and my uncle just bought the Empire State Building.” I believe that the response was essentially “Sure, sure,” but not exactly in those words. The son was correct, however. Actually, all four of those parents seemed like very nice, classy people and were nothing but cordial. And they tipped nicely.
I loved being a camp counselor, and I especially liked the eleven- year-old age group. Eleven-year-old boys were still reasonably obedient, but spirited. They got the jokes, made the jokes, had reasonably devel- oped athletic skills, and were willing, even eager, to learn new things. This complemented my personality perfectly because I loved to joke, and I especially loved to teach, softball in particular. About eighteen years later, I was interviewing a law student who reminded me that I had taught him how to make cutoff plays. Thirty-five years later, I was first opposed to, and in later years retained, an attorney who had been the “Honor Camper” in my group. He too invoked memories of hitting, throwing, sliding, and tactical plays that I had taught. (One of the
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