In August of 1983 I attended Camp Hebron for the first time. The camp is nestled in the hill country of New York’s Washington County, close to the border with Vermont. I was nervous about going. I was a painfully shy teenager—pretty much the geeky kid who wore bad looking glasses, got good grades, read comic books and sci-fi, and who was generally uncomfortable in groups of strangers. Hell, I was uncomfortable just being me back then. I only went to camp because there were other kids from my church going there, and they had raved about it from the year before. I confess that at first I couldn’t understand what the big deal was. We stayed in tents, brushed our teeth in these long water troughs, and had to contend with bugs and humidity. But in the course of that week something happened; something profound. I was gently coaxed out of my shell. The director—I want to say her name was Nancy—and especially the Program Director “Gracie”, encouraged me and supported me. I could be me, and it was okay. It was like flying when I could have done it all along; I just needed to get over my fear.
I made friendships that week that meant the world to me through the rest of my teen years, some of which have been renewed thanks to Facebook. One friendship in particular has remained strong for nearly 30 years. I can recall the night we were gathering in one of the tents “hanging out” as teens do, and one of the other campers said something like, “Greetings aliens” and gave Mr. Spock’s Vulcan salute from T.V.’s Star Trek. Back in the day I was a huge fan of the show. I immediately noticed the salute and returned it. I started talking to the kid who had issued the greeting, one John Decker, and the rest, as they say, is history. John has been my true blue Best Pal through thick and thin—one of many gifts I have received because of Camp Hebron. The rest of that first week was magical. There were games, a talent show, hikes, campfires, swimming, fellowship, and most of all acceptance. All that stuff you hear about in church? –Hebron made it accessible. You felt like it was cool to be at “Jesus Camp”. By the end of that first week, I knew that I was coming back. For the next 3 summers I returned there. I couldn’t wait. I would go to church-sponsored youth gatherings because most of them were like mini-Hebron reunions. Hebron was a safe place where it was okay to talk about faith matters. You got to be away from your parents, hang out with your friends, make new ones, and generally just have a blast. Every year the last night of camp was heart-wrenching. You felt so blessed to have had that experience while at the same time knowing that it was over for a whole other year.
In the summer of my senior year (’86), the goodbye to Hebron was especially painful. As a 12th grader on his way to college, there would be no coming back the next summer. I would be losing Hebron to head off to college. I know a lot of people look forward to that experience, but I was not one of them. I dreaded the idea. I had picked SUNY Cortland more because the city had held a special place in my Dad’s memories than for any other reason. But Hebron, as it turned out, wasn’t done with me. The summer of ’86 saw the arrival of a new director—a seminary student by the name of Jerry McKinney. People come and go in your life, but every so often, if you’re lucky, you meet someone who so profoundly and positively impacts your life that you would be far, far poorer for not having that experience. Jerry McKinney is one of those people. –Kind, humble, cool, compassionate, and sharp of both wit and intellect, Jerry is one of those folks who tend to bring out the best in others. It’s like he can see you at your best, even when you can’t, and encourages you to be that person. At the end of that week in August of ’86, the staff gave out these cheesy little awards on the last night of camp. Everybody got one. I will never forget my award: “Most likely to be a counselor.” That simple little mimeographed sheet set me on a whole new course. The thought that I could be a counselor—and that the staff had apparently thought so too—was an honor akin to winning some sort of academy award. And so I applied to be a counselor the next spring. I was interviewed by two ministers. I thought that the interview went well, but I didn’t hear back from them for a while. My spirits started to sink, but my Mom encouraged me to call one of the ministers to see what was up. I reluctantly did so. It turned out that each reverend had assumed that the other one had already called to offer me the job. I felt like I had won the lottery. I was going to be working at my favorite place, and Jerry was coming back as director. For the next 4 summers I worked there as a camp counselor. It’s been 20 years, and I still say that it was the best job I ever had. I got to work with a lot of great kids and adults. We learned from each other, and were better for it. My friend John came back to work there in 1989, and we were like Hawkeye Pierce and B.J. Honeycutt from M*A*S*H. It was the best.
Life goes on, of course, and adults have “responsibilities.” The first year that I couldn’t go back to Hebron was like someone telling me to hack off my own arm. But even then, Hebron wasn’t done with me. Jerry stayed on as director, eventually graduating from seminary, and becoming the minister of two local congregations in addition to his camp responsibilities. –So it was like your favorite uncle lived at Camp Hebron, and you could visit in the off season. I have had the privilege to serve on the Hebron Board of Directors twice—one in the mid-90’s, and again this past year. I even got to come back as Program Director for part of the summer of ’96.
You see, this is how it was with a lot of us: Hebron got in our blood. We spent a week there and then we spent the next 51 weeks waiting to do it again. I have so, so many treasured memories from that place. I can recall a hundred memorable campfires. There was the time when I managed to pull a rare prank on Jerry, scaring him with a set of plastic vampire fangs. There was the time he tricked my friend John and I to come to the pool dressed as superheroes for the campers, only to have those same campers surround and pelt us with water balloons. I can remember lying on a blanket outside Maple Lodge with my fellow counselors, eating raw cookie dough and gazing up at a starry night that seemed to go on forever. I remember so many people; seeing and sharing in the Hebron experience with them. So many memories…but what I remember most of all was the acceptance that you felt at Camp Hebron; the love and the fellowship. We came from different places, from different backgrounds. –Rich or poor, black or white or yellow or brown, urban or rural—those differences that could divide us in the everyday world, really didn’t matter all that much when we were here. You know we often hear in our churches about the “Kingdom of God”, but at Hebron we got a sense of what that really must be like. There was a wonderful ripple effect that came out of this. The lives that were touched there touched others, and those lives in turn touched others. A lot of good has come about because of what happened there.
A few years back a group within the leadership of the Albany Presbytery decided that it cost more to run Camp Hebron than it was worth. Many of those folks rarely if ever had been to camp, and for some individuals in particular the main reason for their attitude was that they had vendettas against the camp and some of the people associated with it. (This in a so-called Christian organization!) They saw the camp strictly in terms of accounting sheets. They gave a lot of lip service to the camp, but little in the way of genuine support. They began a systematic campaign to end the ministry of Camp Hebron. Time and again they road blocked or obstructed the efforts of those who sought to keep the camp going. –This was experienced by many who sought to support the camp. Let me tell you one of the dark little secrets I learned about the Albany Presbytery: The organization prides itself on democracy, but in point of fact it is run largely by a group of upper class, intellectual snobs who think they know better than anyone outside of their inner circle. These people grossly manipulated the already convoluted Presbyterian process to the point that when the larger body voted on whether or not to sell the camp property on June 8th, the outcome was all but preordained. Was it technically a violation of the rules? –No. Was it true to the spirit of those rules? –Absolutely not. The way it was handled was just plain lousy. One thing I’ve discovered in life is that there is a difference between what is legal and what is just. The truth of the matter is that Hebron was allowed to die; I would go so far as to say that it was murdered. As I sat in the meeting at Bay Road Church in Lake George on June 8th as the votes came in as to whether or not to sell the camp I was crushed. I was furious. General Presbyter Cass Shaw and her cronies who engineered this were all smirks and barely contained excitement at their victory. I swear at that moment that I was tempted to grab a hymnal in one hand and a Bible in the other and to go over and repeatedly bash those smug looks off of their faces. -But to do so would have dishonored the lessons I had learned at Hebron. The only satisfaction I can take from this is that the Presbytery leadership’s actions are likely to have all sorts of unintended consequences that will not be to their liking. I predict that in time their own arrogance and ineptitude will do them in, and when that happens I intend to pop a big ol’ bag of popcorn, sit back, and watch. Some have suggested that people like me shouldn’t “demonize” the other side. To that I can only say that that in the case of some---certainly not all, but some of those individuals--if the shoe fits… Sometimes “turning the other cheek” is very, very hard.
I’m not naive. The camp needed a lot of repair work. It did cost more money to run than it took in, but it wasn’t beyond saving. The Hebron Board of Directors spent months developing a sound, 5-year plan that at least deserved a shot before being cut off at the knees. The truth is that I have serious doubts as to whether Presbytery leadership was open to ANY plan to save Hebron, even if the Almighty personally carved it in their meeting table with a lightning bolt. It was like an HMO denying medical care to an ailing (but not terminal) patient because odds were that he or she wasn’t likely to live much longer anyway. Camp Hebron is going before its time, and it deserved much better than what it got in the end.
I find myself mourning over this situation as though I had lost a living, breathing loved one. Unfortunately at these times my emotions become locked up and frozen, thawing only a little at a time. And I have been dealing with all sorts of emotions: Sadness, frustration, regret, guilt (If only I’d known and gotten involved a couple of years earlier), loss, depression, and anger--a whole lot of anger. I have this defiant sense of gratitude for wonderful memories that cannot be taken away. There is this overwhelming sense of injustice, a gut-wrenching feeling that it didn’t need to be this way. Because of this, the one feeling that I can’t seem to get to is acceptance. My nights are restless, and my mornings come too early. I think of the kids who got a taste of life at Hebron, and how that got cut short. I think about the kids like my daughter who will never get that now. The Presbytery has formed this new group YAP (Youth of Albany Presbytery) to continue programming for kids now that Hebron will be no more. I have been invited to take part, but I can’t. I just can’t. While its leaders have good intentions, to me this is a bone thrown to the youth as a token gesture by Presbytery higher ups—“We took your camp away, but here’s a consolation prize!” I find it very interesting that such a group was first brought up only after a large number of young Hebron supporters attended the Presbytery meeting this past February. I have little interest in participating in any member church of the Albany Presbytery. The idea that money that I contribute to the church might in any way, shape, or form go toward supporting the snobs who engineered the camp’s downfall makes me physically ill. There are a lot of really good people in our churches. I cannot say the same about the majority of the regional church leadership.
I hold on to hope that the last chapter of the camp has yet to be written, and that perhaps a new owner will maintain the facility as a camp for kids and/or a place that continues to serve the community. While the camp will no longer be with us, we can take heart in the knowledge that those ripple effects I mentioned earlier will continue for a good many years to come.
To all of the campers, staff, and board members I have had the pleasure of befriending these past 27 years, I want to thank you. I could fill pages just with your names alone. You have touched my life and my heart, and I am a better person for it.
(Legal disclaimer: The author acknowledges that any opinions expressed in the preceding post are to be considered just that: Opinions, regardless of their accuracy. Furthermore, the views expressed here are not necessarily shared by the author’s friends or colleagues.)
