by Stan
When he saw this, Mr. Grizzmeyer blew his whistle again and roared, “I said take charge of your campers!”
Counselor Mike stopped talking to Margie and came over to the cubs. He looked down at his clipboard and read, “Brother Bear, Cousin Fred, Barry Bruin, Ferdy Factual, Gil Grizzwold. You’re all in my cabin. Follow me.”
“Counselor?” asked Brother.
“Call me Mike, son,” said the counselor.
“I’m worried about my little sister,” said Brother. “I sort of look out for her. We didn’t know we’d be at separate camps.”
Counselor Mike checked his clipboard. “She’s in Counselor Margie’s cabin. Margie’s great with little cubs. Your sister will be fine. Besides, you’ll see her at meals every day. Both camps share the mess hall. And there are the Saturday night dances.”
Counselor Mike seemed like a pretty good guy. Maybe he was right about Sister. She was a tough little cub. Maybe it would do her good to be on her own. But Brother couldn’t see what good it would do him to be separated from Bonnie all summer. They’d made plans. Bonnie was going to help him with his tennis game, and he was going to teach Bonnie how to swim. Because of her busy schedule—Bonnie was a model and also did some acting on TV—she had never learned to swim. Brother wanted to ask the counselor why the boys were separated from the girls. But he was too embarrassed.
Chapter 6
Call This Place a Camp?
Counselor Mike led his group along a muddy road to the boys’ camp. As they walked, the cubs got more and more discouraged. Up ahead were some very rundown buildings. Workers were fixing them up.
“This is the main camp,” said Mike. “That long building is the mess hall.”
“It sure is a mess,” said Ferdy.
“That big building is the rec hall,” said the counselor.
“It certainly is a wreck,” said Ferdy.
“And that small building is the infirmary,” said Mike.
“It certainly does look infirm,” said Ferdy.
As they moved on, some of the other cubs began to grumble.
“Filthy rotten cheat,” said Barry.
“Call this place a camp?” said Cousin Fred.
“Calling this place a camp,” said Ferdy, “is like calling a baloney sandwich a full-course turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Calling this place a camp is like calling . . . like calling . . .” Words didn’t fail super-smart Ferdy very often. But Camp Grizzmeyer was proving too much even for Ferdy’s fertile brain.
“Like calling this muddy road a four-lane superhighway?” said Counselor Mike with a smile.
It seemed to Brother that the big counselor really was a good guy. He could have come down hard on Ferdy and the other complainers. Instead, he let them have their say.
“Okay, fellows,” said Mike. “This is the boys’ camp, and there’s your cabin.”
The boys’ camp was really just a place where the muddy road dribbled out. And the cabin was not much more than an open-air platform with a roof over it and a sign that said CABIN 1.
“Calling this a cabin,” said Ferdy, “is like . . .”
“That’ll be enough,” said the counselor. “It’s time to stop complaining and get to work. This is going to be our home for the summer. Let’s make the best of it.”
Chapter 7
Giving Camp a Chance
Brother agreed with Mike. It wasn’t going to do any good to keep complaining. Besides, the cabin seemed different inside—that is, if an open-air cabin has an inside. It wasn’t exactly cozy. But it had a terrific view of the lake on one side and the forest on the other.
“Are you with us, Brother?” said Mike. He handed Brother a broom.
“Huh?” said Brother. All the others had brooms and were hard at work sweeping out last year’s leaves. Except for Barry.
“You’re not sweeping, Barry,” said Mike.
“I’m writing a letter,” said Barry. “You can read it if you want.” He handed it to Mike.
This is what the letter said:
“You’ve got too many s’s in ‘disaster,’” said Mike.
“Thanks,” said Barry. “I’ll fix it.”
Mike called the other cubs over. “I know you’re all pretty disappointed in the camp so far,” he said. “It’s not the most modern camp around. And it doesn’t have lots of equipment. But the Grizzmeyers have sunk their life savings into it. They’ve got crews working around the clock to fix it up.”
A cloud of gnats couldn’t have picked a worse time to swarm into the cabin. “GNATS!” screamed the cubs, swatting wildly. Mike pulled a can of bug spray from his backpack and got rid of the gnats with a few poofs.
“Anybody got a stamp?” yelled Barry.
“Barry’s got a point, Mike,” said Brother. “The bugs’ll eat us alive in this place.”
“No, they won’t,” said Mike. “The mosquito nets will protect you tonight. And by tomorrow the cabins will be screened in. The girls’ cabins are already screened in.”
Brother was glad to hear that. Sister was bad about mosquito bites. She just wouldn’t stop scratching. Thinking about Sister got him thinking about Bonnie again.
“So we’re making progress,” said Mike. “Try to give camp a few more days.”
Barry agreed not to send his letter. At least, not yet. Brother was trying to get up the courage to ask Mike why the boys and girls were separated. But Ferdy beat him to it.
“Do you want the short answer or the long answer?” said Mike.
“Both,” said Ferdy.
“The short answer is that this place was originally a Bear Scout camp. It was divided into a boys’ camp and a girls’ camp when Mr. G. bought it. So he decided to keep it that way.”
“What’s the long answer?” asked Brother.
“The long answer,” said Mike, beginning to get a little hot under the collar as he spoke, “is that Mr. G. is a mean, stubborn, narrow-minded old coot who thinks boys and girls can’t be trusted. He thinks that if you don’t keep them separated, they’ll all get crazy crushes on each other and give the camp a bad name!”
“Gee, I don’t buy that,” said Brother. “If that were true, how could we all go to school together and learn anything. I was looking forward to swimming and canoeing and playing tennis with Bonnie Brown this summer.”
Ferdy said, “And I was looking forward to further scientific discussions with my new friend, Trudy Brunowitz.”
“You don’t buy it? You don’t buy it?” Big Mike was really hot under the collar now. “Counselor Margie and I are engaged! And the old coot knows it! We hardly get to see each other! You saw how he gave me the whistle when I tried to talk to her.” Mike sighed. “But, hey, I shouldn’t be dumping my troubles on you guys.”
Maybe not, thought Brother. But he felt a little better knowing that he and his counselor were in the same boat.
“Camp Grizzmeyer,” sneered Ferdy. “They ought to call it Camp Quagmire.”
“Quagmire?” said Barry.
“Quagmire,” said Cousin Fred. “An area of sloppy, boggy ground where it is easy to get stuck.”
“And, boy, are we stuck!” said Brother.
Chapter 8
Baloney Sandwiches and Hot Cocoa
Once the cabin was cleaned up, the cubs stretched out on their cots. They were angry, tired, disgusted . . . and HUNGRY.
“Hey, Counselor,” said Ferdy. “Don’t we get to eat at Camp Quagmire?”
“Sure,” said Mike. “Here comes the supper cart now.”
“Huh?” said Brother. “Aren’t we going down to the mess hall?” He was eager to touch base with Sister . . . and Bonnie.
“Mess hall won’t be ready until tomorrow’s breakfast,” said Mike.
The supper cart was a big tricycle with a box in front. Counselor Max, who was pedaling, handed Mike a big brown bag and pedaled on. Mike pulled all the cots into a circle and reached into the bag.
“Mmm!” said Barry. “I’m hungry enough to eat a . . .”
“Baloney sandwich?” said Mike, holding one up high. There were lots and lots of baloney sandwiches. For drinks there were two big thermoses of hot cocoa. The cubs started eating. The stack of baloney sandwiches got smaller and smaller.
“You know something, Ferdy?” said Brother. “If you’re hungry enough, baloney sandwiches are better than a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.”
Chapter 9
The Schedule of the Day
“Hey, Sis,” said Brother. “How’d you make out down at the girls’ camp?” The cubs from both camps stood in front of the mess hall. They were ready to go in for breakfast.
“Okay, I guess,” said Sister. “Counselor Margie is real nice, and I only got one mosquito bite.”
“Have you seen Bonnie?”
“Right behind you,” said Bonnie. “Don’t worry about Sister. She’s doing fine.”
“Not as fine as Queenie,” said Cousin Fred.
Queenie was cozying up to a big cub from Big Bear City. Hmm, thought Brother. Maybe Mr. Grizzmeyer had a point. Maybe some cubs did go crush-crazy at summer camp. There was a blast on a whistle, and Bullhorn himself bulled his way into the crowd.
“Two lines! Two lines!” he roared. “Boys’ line here! Girls’ line there!”
The boys and girls stayed separated in the mess hall—boys on one side, girls on the other. Breakfast was simple but good. There was hot and cold cereal, wild raspberries, milk, and sweet rolls. At exactly 8:30, Mr. Grizzmeyer blew another blast on his whistle and announced the day’s schedule.
“8:45: boys’ Cabin One: Basketball; girls’ Cabin One: Tennis; boys’ Cabin Two: Water Safety; girls’ Cabin Two . . .”
Brother and Bonnie looked at each other across the mess hall and shrugged.
Chapter 10
Pitching In
“Look at those weeds!” said Barry. Mike’s group was looking at an old blacktop basketball court with hundreds of tall weeds growing up through hundreds of cracks.
“Daucus carota,” said Ferdy Factual. “Popularly known as Queen Anne’s lace. A very tough and persistent weed.”
Counselor Mike looked very disappointed. “The work crews were supposed to have cleared it by now,” he said. “Gang, we’ve got two choices. We can sit around feeling sorry for ourselves, or WE CAN START PULLING WEEDS!”
“You heard him, guys,” said Brother. “Start pulling!”
Not far away, at the tennis court, Margie’s group was looking at a different sort of problem. There was such a big hump in the middle of the court that the net couldn’t be strung properly.
“Maybe we could play without a net,” said Babs.
“Playing tennis without a net,” said Trudy Brunowitz, “is like writing poetry without rhymes.”
“Hey, look,” said Sister. “Here are some hoes and shovels the work crew must have left.”
“We have two choices,” said Margie. “We can sit around feeling sorry for ourselves, or WE CAN START SCRAPING!”
“You heard the counselor,” said Sister. “Start scraping!”
The same kind of thing was happening all over camp. As a result, Camp Grizzmeyer began to look the way a camp is supposed to. Counselor Max’s group fixed up the softball field. Counselor Linda’s group cleaned up the beaches. Counselor Herb’s group pulled the rocks out of the volleyball area. And all the cabins helped out in the mess hall.
True, it wasn’t Camp Sunshine and never would be. But things were improving. All the cabins were screened in. The meals were tasty and on time—there was local mountain honey every day and lake trout every other day. But though things were working out in a lot of ways, the cubs still had one really big, really humongous complaint: Mr. Grizzmeyer’s strict rule separating the boys and the girls.
Maybe that was why campers and counselors alike were looking forward to the first Saturday night dance with such excitement.
Chapter 11
Mr. Saturday Night
“Hey, cool,” said Barry as he walked into the rec hall.
“Hey, way cool,” said Queenie.
Mrs. Grizzmeyer and some counselors were putting the finishing touches on the dance decorations. There were cutout musical notes, crepe-paper ribbons, and lots of balloons. Hanging from the ceiling was a big sign that said “LET’S DANCE!”
“Well, let’s!” said Queenie, going into a little dance. “Where’s the tape deck? I brought a few of my tapes.”
“Mr. G. is bringing the tape deck,” said Mrs. Grizzmeyer. “Here he comes now.” Mr. Grizzmeyer came in loaded down with the tape deck, speakers, and a tape case.
“Here, I’ll give you a hand, Mr. G.,” said Queenie. She took the tape case.
“Help you with those speakers, Mr. G.?” said Barry.
“No thanks, Barry,” said Mr. Grizzmeyer. “I’m fine.”
They followed him to the stage at the front of the rec hall.
“Hey, Mr. G.,” said Queenie. “Your brochure said Saturday night dances with a disc jockey. Who’s gonna be the disc jockey?”
“You’re looking at him,” said Mr. Grizzmeyer.
“You?” said Queenie.
“That’s right. Just call me Mr. Saturday Night.”
Queenie and Barry were speechless.
“And I’ve got some really great tapes,” added Mr. Grizzmeyer.
When the word spread through the crowd, there was a big groan.
“Gee,” said Babs. “The Saturday night dances are the only time the boys and girls get together. And he’s going to pick the music?”
Brother and Bonnie looked at each other and shrugged.
Back on the stage, Queenie was making Mr. Saturday Night an offer. “Mr. G., here are some of my tapes,” she said. “Maybe you can mix them in with your stuff.”
“It’s nice of you to offer, Queenie,” said Mr. G. as he looked through Queenie’s tapes. “But these are all rock-’n’-roll, and I don’t think . . .”
“But it’s just soft rock,” said Queenie. “There’s no punk or heavy metal.”
“I don’t care if it’s hard rock, soft rock, punk rock, hunk rock, junk rock, or heavy metal,” said Mr. Grizzmeyer. “I’m just not going to permit any rock-’n’-roll at these dances.”
There was another groan from the crowd. Barry had checked through Mr. Grizzmeyer’s tapes. “What’s he got?” asked Queenie as she and Barry left the stage.
“All kinds of weird stuff,” said Barry. “Big band, country, show tunes, folk—and even some waltzes!”
“Looks like we’re going on a long trip down memory lane,” said Queenie.
“OKAY!” Mr. Grizzmeyer shouted out. “MR. SATURDAY NIGHT SAYS, ‘LET’S DANCE!’”
The first tape was a very old-fashioned big band tune with lots of saxophones. It wasn’t exactly the end of the world, but it was disappointing. The cubs and counselors had been looking forward to the dance as a chance to really cut loose. And that just wasn’t going to happen.
Chapter 12
Talent Is Where You Find It
Though the Saturday night dances were a musical bust, they gave the boys and girls a chance to see one another. Brother and Bonnie sat out most of the dances and compared notes. They figured they would both make the All-Camp Games. Bonnie was a sure thing for the tennis team, and Brother was a “can’t miss” on the basketball squad.
But it was becoming clear that Mr. Grizzmeyer’s rule of keeping boys and girls apart could really hurt the camp’s chances in the Games. The other camps were much bigger than Camp Grizzmeyer. They had many more cubs to choose their teams from. So it was important that Camp Grizzmeyer’s teams be based on talent, not on whether a cub was a boy or a girl.
One day, Brother raised the talent question with Counselor Mike.
“Sure it’s a problem,” said Mike. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.”
“All I want you to do is talk to Mr. Grizzmeyer,” said Brother.
“No way,” said Mike. “We don’t get along. Besides, h
e’ll never put a girl on a boy’s team.”
“He put one on the school football team, and it was the same girl I’ve got in mind for our softball team. Did you ever see Bertha Broom’s windmill pitch? She’s the greatest softball pitcher in Bear Country. And another thing. If he doesn’t change his rule about boys and girls, the whole tennis team will be disqualified.”
“How so?” asked Mike.
“Because mixed doubles is required, and you can’t have mixed doubles without boys and girls on the same team.”
“Hmm,” said Mike. “I won’t talk to old Mr. Stiffneck. But I will talk to my m—to Mrs. Grizzmeyer.”
Chapter 13
Visitors from Another Planet
The next morning, Brother, Fred, and Barry were in Mr. Grizzmeyer’s office.
“Boys,” said the camp director, “I don’t have much time. A group from Camp Sunshine will be here soon to inspect the camp and sign us up for the All-Camp Games. So state your case.”
Brother took a deep breath and said pretty much the same thing he had said to Counselor Mike.
“Boys,” said Mr. Grizzmeyer, “I want to win the All-Camp Games as much as you do. But rules are rules. And they need to be respected.”
“Sir,” said Brother. “Does that mean your answer is ‘no’?”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Mr. Grizzmeyer, looking out the window. “The group from Camp Sunshine is here.” He rushed out of the office.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” said Brother.
As they left the office, they spotted the group from Camp Sunshine. The visitors had just completed the awful hike from the road.