St Louis and Camp RiverCliff

My father’s best friend was my godfather "Uncle Red", who had attended Meharry and Homer G. Phillips with him. He was one of the first Black psychiatrist in the country and remained in St. Louis to practice. He married Aunt Dot and they were unable to have children. So, I became their special child. They would have me come to St. Louis in the summer where he would take me to major league baseball games and she would take me to the zoo at Forrest Park or to some function to refine me. Uncle Red was from Gastonia, NC and his dad was a doctor and had owned a Black baseball team in the 30’s and 40’s. Uncle Red was a rabid fan and when Jackie Robinson played for the Brooklyn Dodgers he attended practically every game taking me to quite a few. At the time, St. Louis had the Browns in the American league and the Cardinals in the National league. They both played at Sportsman’s Park, on a schedule that allowed each league to have long game stands, at least a week at a time, based on their travel rotation. They had “knot hole” days, where kids got in free with a red pass for the Cardinals and a brown pass for the Browns. Though the park was segregated , we went to see the likes of Ted William and Joe DiMaggio when they were in town. When the Dodger’s came to town it was a big event, buses from Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and Louisiana, bringing Blacks from all over the south c to see Jackie Robinson play. My uncle would drop me off so I could stand in line for tickets and come back later when I neared the front to pay for the ttickets.. The city just throbbed with crowds of Blacks filling the city with palpable energy. At the park, Blacks were confined to an area in right field behind a screened bleacher called “the pavilion”, which one famous radio announcer, Harry Carey, frequently referred to as the “sable sea”
I saw many a game and met most of the ball players when Newcomb and Campanella joined the Dodgers, since they ate at the Deluxe Restaurant where we usually ate.
Since I ran out of things to do after several weeks , Uncle Red, decided to send me to River Cliff a YMCA summer camp. The camp season was divided into 8 periods that were ten days each. The first year I stayed two periods and took to camp like a duck to water. I loved it
My introduction to the Pine Street YMCA and Camp River Cliff was Uncle Red dropping me off at the Y at 6 AM to join a group of scruffy boys, ages 10 to 16 standing next to a pile of duffle bags. Parked at the curb, engine idleling, was a tarp covered truck with slated sides, the kind you haul cattle in;. this was our transportation. Mr Cook, the Y’s director, a short pudgy man directed the loading. Once we were all loaded and seated aboard about 30 of us, the tail gate was secured, and off we went like cattle. The camp was near a town called Bourbon, MO about 80 miles SW of St. Louis in the foothills of the Ozark mountains.
To this day, I can remember the smallest details of the lay out of River Cliff. It was bordered by a creek that partially circled it on the West and South; a sloping tree filled hill on the North with the Merramac River intersecting the creek to the East. Twelve cabins lined a path at the foot of the wooded hill. Each cabin held 10 boys and a cabin leader and asst cabin leader.
On a knoll near the entrance was a dining hall and cabins for the staff and an outdoor chapel.( where we use to sing “ the Old Rugged Cross”). Out in the middle of the camp was an outhouse building, knick named the KYBO (keep your bowels open) which each cabin rotated cleaning. Yuck!
Of all the creatures on earth kids can be the cruelest especially when naming someone with a physical disability. There was a boy “nub” had one hand, “double nub” both hands missing, both could bat and field a baseball. Also there was “one hung low” missing one leg who could swim like a dolphin.
Everyone had nicknames, Blubber, Hardhead, Rabbit, Chipmonk, Jimmy J, Big Dog, Poot Eye, Sissy Joe and I was Lil’ Abner ( because I always wore combat boots )
In the years, I went to camp there were a slew of street gangs in St. Louis ( Counts, Rats, Termites, Hawks, etc) but there was an unwritten pact that all beefs were on hold at camp. And over time friendships developed that helped defuse some of the long time gang wars.
I learned to swim really well and went from novice to master camper over a couple of years, staying the whole season, eventually becoming a lifeguard and cabin leader at age 15. Years later when I moved to St Louis to do my medical training some of my old camp mates kept me safe in some touchy situations I encountered.
We had a camp song that went:
“Campmates stand together, be a friend to all. Thru fair or stormy weather we’re there to help you if you fall. If you have to take a lickin carry on and quit your bitchin campmates at your call”
River Cliff was very primitive, we washed in the cold creek and rinsed off in the warmer river. I learned the species of birds, plants and trees, also how to row a boat and paddle a canoe, swim a mile and gig frogs as well as cook them. I guess a lot of independence I developed came from my days at camp.
One of the best experiences was at the end of camp when the counselors, cabin leaders and Directors, would take the canoes back to St. Louis. This was a four day river trip down the Merramac river to the Mississippi where the canoes were loaded up for storage. We camped at night on sand bars, shot rapids and had our share of spills. These are cherished memories that writing this have helped me recall.
Going to the Y and being at camp did not make life always safe in the streets of St. Louis.
One summer night I was with Blubber and Jimmy J in a variety store, both of them were "Hawk" gang members. In walked five "Counts". Blubber said “grab a bottle swing on somebody and run”. We broke out the screen door they in hot pursuit, we split. I took off down an alley and had a good lead when I heard shots and felt a searing pain in my left calf. I lived on the other side of town and had to catch a trolley home. This was during WW II and the trolley only stopped every other block. So I was running beside one beating on the side still being chased until it finally stopped and I jumped on, the motorman started off quickly leaving the gang behind. I looked down and blood was streaming thru a hole in my pant leg. I pulled up my jeans and saw I had a tear thru my calf. I pulled the jeans back over the wound and held it. The bleeding finally stopped. Back at my Uncles Red’s I slipped in the bath room and having seen far too many western’s where they poured liquor in gun shots. I figured I needed to put alcohol on it, it damn near killed me but I poured some shaving lotion in the wound. and wrapped it with a handkerchief. It healed fine and I never told anyone until later in life about this incident. The jeans I hid in the trash can and tried to sleep away my close call.