I could see [the bell] swing as boys were premised to push it by a JC who had the look of a man filled with the lore of the bell itself. It always took several boys to swing it, and there was a strange dance that was like waking a giant, riding a bull, and jumping off a swing at the apex of horror and pleasure! Somewhere in the blueprint of my mind I began to anticipate the squeak of the arm as it swung. It was like hearing a voice of a dear friend or a mother figure that you haven’t heard in years, but every change in tone and cadence made you feel like you were being hugged.
I was in Cabin 2 my first year, 12 my second, and the “new” lodge my last. Can’t remember what we were called that last year (other than peons). We weren’t JCs, but we weren’t campers. JCs were like demigods to me. Sure wish I could have been one. I did get “PC Man of the Year” once, though. Truly it was a highlight of my childhood. That along with reaching the second rope on the rope swing in the “ice hole” and holding it for a true Tarzan pose before swinging out and dismounting with a flip. Can such glory ever be recaptured? I think not.