To the Editor:
Your delightful article, “Send In Snail Mail” (May 6), jogged some wonderful memories as a camper, counselor, head counselor and finally as the “matriarch” of a reunited camp group.
I remember mail call, the glee in receiving mail from home, from my mom, my aunts, my cousins and friends. I also remember one letter from my dad (normally a non-writer) generating hysteria, thinking for sure he was alerting me to some family catastrophe. Why else would he be writing?
Fast-forward to the camp dining room door where I stood collecting postcards—admission for dinner (where bug juice and frisbees, a.k.a., chicken cutlets, were served). What chuckles the boys’ head counselor and I would get reading some of the campers’ entries.
We are about to gather for our third reunion since Camp Chicopee’s closure at the end of the 1969 summer. On Friday evening, I will stand at the dining hall door and hand out postcards, which I will collect before dinner on Saturday evening. How extraordinary will it be to read these again after 41 years.
Thank you again for my happy memories.
East 72nd Street