Bramson’s Beach & Ballsy Banter: A Camp Unlike Any Other…Part II

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By Bennett Bramson, MPA

In this second part of the columns on Honor Camp, let me start with a disclaimer and a disclosure.

Disclaimer: The many things we did at Honor Camp were legal, acceptable, and in the realm of sanity…at the time (from the early 70’s to the mid 80’s)! The world had begun to see enormous changes and the time had rightfully come to conclude the 16-year run of this incredible camping experience.

Disclosure: I freely divulge this little-known information with the knowledge and understanding that the statute of limitations has long expired on these transactions (none were illegal, immoral, or unethical and certainly none were felonious conduct).

What made HONOR CAMP so memorable and FUN and drew such a loyal and devoted legion of campers (and supportive parents for the entire span of its existence) was the level of outright craziness, some today might say outright insanity, which engulfed the participants (Campers, leadership and staff).

NO ONE was immune from the engagement and involvement and that was one of the hallmarks of the program – having campers, counselors, leaders and directors all doing activities and programs together. There was never an Us vs. Them mentally. We were in this together.

Legends still abound of Coach Bramson’s (Mr. B’s) famous paddle, affectionately known as “The Butt Buster.” During the mid and late 70’s, it hung on the walls of my classrooms at Nautilus Junior High and Lehrman Day School, with the name of the paddle posted above it.

Yes, dear readers, participants were subjected to paddling…most playfully, in fun, but on rare occasions for serious camp transgressions, a good, healthy whack on the behind of the offender. All of whom happily accepted the paddle as opposed to the alternative…being sent home from camp, with no return of fees, and having their violation reported to their parents. Discipline was handled internally.

It’s also worth noting here, that during its lengthy run, NO female ever received a paddling for a formal rule violation…only in jest, and some got to wield the paddle, as well..

Now, that we have the most serious camp issue out of the table, we can progress to other acts of fun (some would call them terrorism), others which have become the stuff of legends, and some that just emanated from strange minds.

The Sunday prior to camp week, a select group of teenagers (approximately 15, 7th – 9th graders, who had been outstanding campers during the summer) were selected to come down to camp one day early. We would meet at Biscayne Elementary Community School on 77th Street on Miami Beach, where the week’s participants would arrive at 9 am with their luggage and fans.

Camp, which I had booked more than a year in advance, always took place around the second – third week of summer, so the heat and humidity were unbearable.

The “honored” teenagers then assisted our leadership staff in loading the 24-27 foot U-Haul with the campers belongings AND all of the camp accoutrements (including large fans, play equipment, slip ‘n’ slide, casino/movie night/race night/cabin competition equipment, orange cones, and more) for the more than one hour drive to Camp Owaissa Bauer in Homestead. Teens were transported on Sunday in directors and leaders’ vehicles, usually 2 – 3 to a car.

After a long Sunday of set-up, preparation, cleaning of the Mess Hall, counting all silverware, scrubbing all bathrooms, organizing all equipment, preparing all cabins, dropping off campers’ luggage in the assigned cabin breezeways, prepping various program sites, such as the obstacle course, message relay and Magic Campfire, installing doors on the toilet stalls (thanks to Gerry Goldstein and later the purchase and his installation of air conditioners for the Director’s cabin rooms), teens and staff were ready for some dinner.

Food deliveries were not scheduled until early Monday morning, so teens were transported and treated to dinner at the Burger King on 260th Street and U.S. 1, about 2.5 miles from camp. And, then one by one, counselors and directors would sneak out and drive back to camp, sans the teens, who were left to trek the distance to camp, on foot…something we would NEVER do today.

In fact, after several years, the teens caught on to the plan and would eat quickly then wait by the cars. In one case, a 16-year-old CIT (to remain nameless) asked Goldstein if she could use his keys to get something she had left in the car and instead, swiped the car and drove back to camp, leaving some counselors back at BK. On that day, turnaround was fair play.

Early on the Monday morning, a few of the staff and I departed Owaissa Bauer to return to Biscayne, where we met the campers, parents, and our bus (or in some cases busses) to transport the crew to camp.

Upon arrival back at camp, everyone gathered in the Mess Hall for my orientation, which included copies of the rules (also posted in the building and each cabin, bathrooms, and museum/arts crafts room), then after a bag lunch, campers scampered to their assigned cabins to unpack and make their beds, before camp began with a choice of outdoor athletic endeavors, including volleyball, football, basketball, or relaxation on the field (a way for campers to begin the bonding process).

Rather than provide a daily accounting of the program, suffice it to say that each day was organized, supervised, and structured. Free time consisted of working on cabin skits in the cabins with their counselors.

What made HONOR CAMP unique was not only the extent of the activities and sometimes their extremes, but the interaction between campers and staff.

For example, each year, Goldstein would let his full head of hair grow out into an Angela Davis (if you don’t know who she is…look her up) style afro.

In the beginning, on the first night of camp, we (Marty Levin, Marty Drucker and I) would shave his head into a Mohawk, 8-ball, or other crazy design.

Over the years, the teen girls were assigned this joyous task and it was an honor to be asked to shave Gerry’s head.

Picture the face of the younger campers when some man showed up in their cabin early on the first morning looking like Charles Manson. The lunacy had begun.

Camp swim competition wouldn’t be the same without a fish catching competition. So, several of us staff would go to the lake on the site in the morning of that day’s activity (later the lake was filled, and it is now an archery range) and catch about 50 small fish.

The winning team was the one who caught the most fish. But over the years, returning campers became more adept at hand catching the fish. So, the competition was changed and toughened in later years and the fish had to be caught by mouth.

Almost all camps have an Obstacle Course. What made our Obstacle Course different was the 10-yard mud pit in the center. Campers had to navigate the pit on their stomachs, army style, while fresh mud and ice water were dumped on their heads. After exiting the mud pit, all you could see was a black individual and white, laughing teeth.

This was long before people were getting called out for dressing in black face for Halloween. There was no racism or intent to be discriminatory…the bottom line is the mud was BLACK! And, this was long before the Tough Mudder competitions were ever conceived. We were truly innovators and originators.

Our legendary Magic Campfire, which kicked off camp on the first night each year, is still deeply in-grained in participants’ memories. After a rousing speech, exciting campers to the point of frenzy, and explaining how our collective energy could start the fire, on the specific word or signal from me, Goldstein would ignite the fire, from nowhere near the fire itself (sitting next to campers on the fire circle).

So, how’d we do it? For the first time ever, I am revealing the secret. On the Sunday prior to camp, Gerry and I (away from the teens) would prepare the campfire site by digging a very thin trench from the location where he would be seated.

We then took a piece of plywood and placed about 50 light-anywhere stick matches, back-to-back and head-to-head and tape them down on the wood.

We would then run lamp cord wire from a car battery (hidden behind Gerry in the wooded area), to a toggle switch (taped underneath the log where Gerry would sit), and the lamp cord would be run in the trench to the board, placed in the center of the pyre of logs we had built around it.

The trench was refilled to hide the wire. The ends of the wire were stripped and crossed at the tips just by the first and second matches. The pyre and board were soaked in a flammable liquid shortly before the campfire activity, usually gasoline or lighter fluid, to ignite and spread the fire quickly.

Without fail, upon my signal, Gerry would flip the toggle switch, causing the sparking in the interior of the fire, which would then ignite the matches and set the roaring fire to start our week of camp. VOILA – Magic! An exciting and memorable opening to another week of Honor Camp.

Each year brought some different form of craziness, so previous campers never knew what to expect.

One year we spent the entire final night painting the exhausted campers as they slept. Imagine their surprise when they awoke on the last morning, prepared to go home to Mom and Dad, covered in stories, sayings, pictures and imaginative drawings on their faces, arms, and legs.

In next week’s part three of the series, I’ll relate more of the fanatical and fantastic adventures that made BRAM’s Honor Camp so amazing to generations of campers.

So stay tuned dear reader as we venture further into the delightful and sometimes depraved and demented world of HONOR CAMP. Until then…keep bantering!

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