E-Mail from Dennis Karoleski to Judith Florian, Jan 2, 2009 10:17 PM, describing being a counselor at Camp Buffalo:
1/02/2009
Part 2
One summer a camper spotted a very large black snake sunning itself in the field below the camp. We tried
most of the summer to catch it but it always beat us into the woods by racing downhill. They are not
called "black racers" for nothing! We even tried heading it off with a horse to no avail. One evening it
must have been lethargic after a good meal and we finally succeeded in capturing it. Unlike the corn
snake it didn't calm down at all and bit me every chance it got. We didn't have a cage strong enough
for such a wild and powerful constrictor so we temporarily put it into a US Army surplus ammo box. If
you have ever seen one of these crates you would know it's made out of thick, strong wood and designed
to handle the weight of heavy ammunition during shipping around the world. We had the snake in captivity
for one evening before it wedged its nose, like the corn snake but much stronger, between the box and the
lid and escaped. We saw it a few more time that summer but never did succeed in capturing it again.
By the second year most of us who were Camp Buffalo veterans were smoking rum crooks cigars and drinking the
occasional beer on the back porch after the kids were in bed for the night. The beers were smuggled in by
cagy kids hoping to win favors from the counselors, I think. Of course we confiscated them and being idiots
we put the bottles behind the pop cooler to heat it up in the mistaken belief it would increase its potency. We
than drank the warm beer through straws in the hopes of a cheap drunk. We had heard the local urban legends
about how hot beer sucked through a straw supposedly would get you drunk quicker. We needed all the effect
we could get because one quart of beer doesn't go very far when shared between five and six thirsty counselors
after a big meal of SOS washed down with liberal quantities of bug juice. Ah, those there the days.
I had a car the second year and while driving back from a night away from camp a family of raccoons ran across
the road in front of the car, probably after ripping apart the camp dump again. A few of us had been given a
night off and had been in West Virginia drinking so we thought it would be a great idea to catch a few of the
cute little buggers for the kids to play with at the zoo. That quickly became a very bad idea because as each
of us scooped up a little one the mother went into her enraged bear act and chased us into the woods. An enraged
mother raccoon makes a blood curdling sound when crashing you through the bramble bushes in the dark of night
with revenge on her mind. You have to understand that when you grab a pissed off baby raccoon by the scruff of
the neck it can reach your hand with all four paws, each of which is tipped with needle sharp claws. So now you
and it are locked together tighter than brambles on wool socks and you are now bleeding with the promise of
much worse right behind you in the pitch dark woods. As we ran through=2 0the bramble bushes and woods we
kept circling back to the car headlights visible between the trees. The suddenly not so cute "babies" were
not happy and were bawling and hissing and snapping for all they were worth. So there we were, trapped by
our own stupidly, each with a buzz saw in one hand, running for our lives through the dark woods at night,
with an enraged 20+ pound raccoon hot on our tails. The sound of us screaming combined with the raccoons
roaring and wailing woke up the grounds keeper who shot the mother in one of her trips across the road. Net
result was one dead garbage robber, four baby coons too old to realistically tame and four remorseful idiots
who, hopefully, had a new respect for the protective maternal instincts of raccoons.
We kept the baby coons for less than a month. They seemed tame enough when purring on your lap while being
petted or fed but like a pet ground hog I once had would take off like a shot at the first opportunity.
Instantly wild again and spoiling for a fight. The first couple of times that happened I found myself twenty
feet or so up a tree behind the chow hall with a baby coon in each hand. I still have the scars. One good
thing that may have resulted from those episodes might have been a new found respect for the way some kids
handled animals after20seeing and hearing them being recaptured. A few no longer handled them as roughly as
they had before; probably a good thing. Since I am evidently a very slow learner as it wasn't until the second
escape that it became obvious we had captured them a little too old to be safe around children, or us for that
matter. I shudder to think how many rabies shots would have been administered had such a thing happened in
today's world. I have been around a few pet raccoons and they seem to be a lot like squirrels: cute when
young but mean, nasty and intolerant when older. A lot like some people, I suppose. We released them and
they resumed tearing up the dump at night, probably as their mother had taught them.
So many things happened during those two years that are still ingrained into my memory. One day we were having
supper when my cabin was struck by lightning. The interior walls had been painted with aluminum paint sometime
in the past and the bolt left a perfect lightning pattern down the wall between my bunk and the wall with
aluminum paint chips covering the bunk. Another time I was laying there reading when a wolf spider the size
if a Buck decided to sink its fangs into my left forearm. I felt something on my arm and when I turned it to
see I almost had a heart attack. Spiders, of all creatures, bother me most and the sight of this monster
grinding its fangs on my skin was the last straw. A second of shock and I flew off the bunk and out the door. I
returned and tore the place apart but it had made a clean escape. The thought of it sucking my bodily juices
haunting my sleep for the rest of the summer. Generally speaking, the counselors bunk was the middle one.
I slept on top and used the bottom for a trunk that held my stuff. We had to keep them locked because the
little kids would play cute little tricks on us. Filling the trunk with shaving crème was one of the favorites
and we were not above responding in kind. Of course hiding beside the dark path to the facilities was also a
favorite form of torture or revenge for the counselors. Especially if you had a little monster who was
singularly uncooperative during the day. We would have the usual stories around the fire in the evening with
the obligatory ghost, axe murder, monster versions that have been told at camps forever and then terrify the
little darling on the way to pee. That probably accounted for more than a few wet sheets over the summer. Before
you ask I can only remember one or two kids who went home early in the two years I worked there. Both of which
were due to terminal homesickness. Kids tended to be tougher and with more social skills then, I think. We
didn't hid all day in front of the TV but were outside playing with other children.
I read in a few comments from former campers how councilors would scare the kids with animal sounds from the
woods. We used to tell them about the herd of wild hogs that roamed about at night. It might have been unkind
but it was for their own good as it had the effect of keeping them in their beds at night when roaming about
would have gotten them lost or seen them causing mischief. Remember, there were no lights out there back then.
I used to show the kids the different plants in the area, especially the ones to stay away from like poison ivy,
oak and sumac. There happened to be a particularly large patch of nettles near the dam that I liked to use to
illustrate why they were called "stinging nettles". I used to rub the underside of the leaves on my forearm
to get the immediate welts and redness as it was very impressive for the kids. It itched like crazy but only
for a few minutes but really mad the point. By the end of summer I had, however, become immune to its effect
and could no longer get welts, redness or feel the itch.
Camp Buffalo had the "Fire Fall" play/story as a last evening at camp for the kids. We counselors would
prepare a rocky outcropping on the opposite ridge above the creek for the big spectacle. We cut and stacked
logs for a big bonfire on the bank near the water and another on the edge of a sheer cliff on the opposite
hill high above the stream. A wire was strung between them that would guide a kerosene soaked roll of toilet
paper down to the lower prepared woodpile to simulate a blazing fire arrow. As evening fell the kids would be
led down to the stream and gathered around the pile. Songs would be sung and stories told as the long summer
evening turned to dusk and finally to night. As soon as it was good and dark the story of fire fall was begun.
At the appropriate time we would light the bonfire high on the ledge and the counselors dressed as Indians
would appear performing the war dance around it. They would be visible as silhouettes to those below near
the water. The story line would unfold with suspense building to the point where the flaming "arrow" was sent
down the wire to erupt with a great "whoosh" of igniting Kerosene. It would go up almost at once and add quite
a lot of dramatic impact while eerily illuminating the stream, the far bank and the faces of the kid s. As
the flames cast their glow across the scene the sound of somebody or something big slowly sloshing down the
stream toward the fire would become noticeable. On Cue Smitty would slowly and dramatically emerge out of
the night into the flickering fire light. The bonfire would have been blazing by now and counselors dressed
like Indians would still be whooping and yelling around the upper fire. Smitty would be in his breechcloth
with face painted and wearing a tall Buffalo headdress with horns sticking out the sides. He would take over
and finish the story of the two ill-fated Indian lovers from warring tribes, complete with death in battle
and the inevitable tragic suicide ending. As the story ended and the fire high on the outcropping burned
down we raked the burning embers off the cliff for dramatic effect, hence the name "fire fall".
Quite a sight! Sounds corny but it was probably one of the more memorable events at the camp.
Sorry for all the rambling
Dennis Karoleski
Part 2
Sure Judy, go ahead. You have my permission. Eventually I may include this as
a chapter but that’s sometime in the future. Send the map when you
can. maybe it will jog out more recollections.
I left out a little because I couldn't remember if it was from the first or
second year at camp. I suspect it might have been the second year though
because I had a car by then. The camp threw a dance for the staff after the
end of the season and I brought a girl I was sweet on. Strange how the only
things I can remember about it was that it was a warm clear night and was held
in the chow hall and we danced the twist a lot.
The second year a good friend of mine from Washington, Frank Gross came to the
camp and put on a show of model flying for the kids. Frank owned and ran a
barber shop located on a side street right next to the Washington County court
house in downtown Washington, Pa. He and I used to build and fly models
together. Frank was a remarkable guy; barber, father, pilot, model
builder/flyer, philosopher, machinist, chemist, steel worker, motorcycle
mechanic, plastic molder, prospector and former dive bomber
rear gunner.
In those days we both built and flew fuel
powered control line models. The fuel, which Frank mixed himself, was
basically menthol alcohol enriched with nitro methane and lubricated with
Castrol oil. The model Frank flew that day was a much modified Nobler stunter
powered by a Johnson .35 cubic inch engine that put out nearly one horse
power. Frank had quite a sense of humor and used to joke that his engines were
stock except for being ported, polished, relieved and were running on
pressure. They were controlled by two 70 foot steel cables and flew in a
circle around the pilot. I protested that I hadn’t flown a model in a few
years due to working in the electronics industry in Ohio but he dragged me
into the circle anyway. I was pretty nervous and afraid of embarrassing
myself, wrecking Frank’s model and that resulting in
discouraging the kids from pursuing an aviation career or at least an interest
in model building. Frank would not be put off and handed me the U-Control
handle anyway. (like riding a bicycle, well, almost). The flight wasn’t very
smooth but I managed not to wreck his plane in front of the kids at least.
Frank
went on to get his degree in mechanical engineering from State Teacher’s
Collage. I enlisted in the Air Force and while on leave from Asia had a talk
with his eldest son who then enlisted. He eventually was assigned to Alaska
and Frank drove his family up to visit him. I warned him that many people
before him have discovered the magic but he went anyway. Liking what he saw he
managed to get in to see the University of Alaska dean who offered him a job
on the spot. Poor Frank, I warned him that they were planning to send him to
an Eskimo village in the dark, cold arctic without even boardwalks but he
refused to believe me. I still remember him telling me that a university
implies a population center. He, in fact, did survive the first year in the
far north at the village and attributed retaining his sanity to building model
airplanes.
He went on to receive tenure as a full professor and head up an
engineering department. Years later I was assigned to an air base near
Fairbanks while he was teaching at Anchorage and we were able to visit for a
few days. We visited a gain when I was evacuated to the AF hospital in
Anchorage and again when my wife and I drove through on our way to the lower
48. The years went by and I never was able to find the time to take him up on
his offers to visit. We used to joke on line about his reluctance to [be
tested] for prostate cancer. After polyps were
diagnosed and removed from me he finally relented and scheduled one.
Unfortunately, his diagnosis was much worse as he had prostate cancer and it had
[metastasized] to his liver. He was given only a few months to live. His wife and
daughter found him face down on the living room floor a few months later from
a heart attack. They spread his ashes from a plane over the Kenai Peninsula so
he’s part of Alaska now. I miss both him and Alaska to this day.
The second year as staff I was trusted to drive the old green camp pick-up to
Washington to pick up supplies. I can’t remember whether the brand but the
truck was in pretty bad shape; leaking and burning oil by the quart and with
failing brakes. I arrived in town, fueled up and added two quarts of oil and
then went to the market. If I had been smart I would have checked the brake
fluid but I forgot and would regret it later. I loaded up the soda, meat,
milk, bread, pancake batter, butter, etc and started back. That’s when
things got a bit sporty. Washington has a few hills as you know and it’s no
place to be driving a vehicle without brakes. Sure enough the brake pedal went
down to the floor and no amount of pumping on it would bring it back up.
Fortunately, I was able to drive a stick shift and knew how to double clutch.
Because of that I was able to use the gear box to control the speed well
enough to get to a gas station. The brake fluid had leaked out so I was able
to tighten a fitting, add more fluid and be on my way. The trip back went OK
and this sort of thing was just part of operating a camp on a limited budget
in those days.
Sources:
Letter from D. Carey "Murf" Polan to Judith Florian, December 21,
2008, one page
The Observer-Reporter newspaper, Washington PA, "Sixty years later, survivors have vivid memories of killer storm." by Sarah E. Core, Staff Writer. 169th Observer-Reporter Edition, page A-1 and A-2.
The Observer-Reporter newspaper, Washington PA, "Ill wind
changed local man's life: Tornado 54 years ago started Youth For Christ leader
on religious course." Campbell, Christie. Washington, PA: The
Observer-Reporter, June 23, 2004.
The Charleroi Mail newspaper, Charleroi Pa., numerous articles.
Information from ex-Campers.
