The Tragedy in Texas Affect Us All
Somewhere in this cluttered office of mine is a copy of a letter from the director of Camp Highlands, a venerable boys camp in Wisconsin, to the parents of the boys that were in camp in the 1925 season. It describes the effects of a violent storm that passed through the camp, destroyed many structures, and sadly, claimed the lives of two campers. It was written in a straightforward style, and while it acknowledged the tragedy of the event, the director went on to assure parents that morale was good, and that all were pitching in to clean up the camp and move forward. It wasn’t dismissive so much as it was an implicit acknowledgement of the risks of camp experiences in the wilds of Wisconsin in the 1920s. I can’t imagine the weight of writing such a letter.
100 years later, the camping industry in general, and summer camps in particular, have done so much to mitigate the risk of a camp experience. Safety protocols that didn’t exist in the 1920s are now baked into any good camp’s practices. Planning, pruning, and preventive maintenance are top priorities for any camp director, and lately any new building we have built has been reinforced with concrete to allow it to double as a storm shelter. All this comes to mind as we watch the tragedy in Texas unfold. I fear that parents of prospective campers will shy away from sending their children to camp for many years to come.
Statistically, kids are safer at summer camp than they are in their own backyards playing on a swingset. Emotionally, though, the images and stories coming out of Texas will leave an indelible impression on the collective perspective of just how safe summer camp is. I know the people that run those camps, and sadly lost a good friend and a great colleague in Jane Ragsdale of Heart of the Hills who was swept away while trying to rescue some of her staff members. These were careful, considerate camp directors, and the safety and well-being of their campers and staff kept them up many a night, I am sure. I am also sure there will be a lot of study on how this tragedy might have been prevented, but it stretches the imagination to think that these people had not done all they could to prepare. The event itself stretches the imagination in its speed and severity.
For as long as I can remember, Mishawaka’s motto has been Safety, Health and Happiness, and I’ve always believed that there was intention on the order of the words. A few years ago at a conference, an attorney that focuses on recreation litigation counseled the assembled group of directors to remove any language that implied safety in their programs. He suggested that the word “safe” not even be in any promotional materials. I didn’t tell him it was the first word in our motto! While I understood the exposure of promoting safety, or implicitly guaranteeing it, to not include it as a priority of our program seemed negligent.
Just as we see a greater desire and expectation for certainty in our staff and campers, we see a corresponding discomfort of uncertainty. There are likely many reasons for this, but there is no doubt that the super computer in our pocket has given us all an expectation of finding certainty whenever we need it. A camp experience is often, by its very nature, unpredictable. We are subject to ever-changing weather conditions, the human dynamics of conflict and disagreement, and challenges that any young adult in the process of developing presents. My colleague in the camping world, Jack Schott, posits that uncertainty is the point. This is where most of the growth takes place. Try as we might (and we do), we are not able to eliminate all the uncertainty.
As much as we all hate to admit it, there is risk in everything all of us do, and those risks are present in everything we do at Camp. We can also acknowledge that camping professionals who have accepted the responsibility of caring for another person’s child work tirelessly to mitigate those risks. As I think about it now, I can imagine the weight of writing that letter. It’s what keeps us up at night, rising early to check docks, stairs, tire pressures, and hanging limbs. I’ve attended conference sessions so laden with bad stories that I once suggested to my peers if an aggressive developer were waiting outside of the room, he’d have directors lining up to sell. But for those of us who have made this our life’s work, and know the reward, all we can do is keep going.
Our hearts go out to all affected by the tragedy in Texas. It will take a long time for all of us, parents, camp directors, and emergency management personnel, to process this. At the end of the day my hope is that camp experiences for all will be improved, and any future catastrophic events will be even more rare than they are today. Simultaneously, my hope is that camp experiences will become more available, deeper and richer, and continue to provide, preserve, and protect a childhood of wonder for as many kids as possible.
