THE POCONO ADVENTURE - PART 1 0f 4

Watching a TV commercial about a Pocono Getaway for Lovers got me dredging up memories of my high school trek to the foothills of PA.

And then I was sitting around the table with the Collegiate's – my Hi-Y club of college prep hopefuls juniors and pretending to pray as our advisor, the new Methodist Assistant Pastor, Reverend. S (who we all mockingly called Rev Snidwigger {far from his real name}to his constant chagrin) intoned the obligatory official “Christian Association” prayer which began every meeting.  (Like many things that have faded with time, the Y's mission seems to have been lost somewhere along the way?)

We were not zealots in the marketplace for sure and I know we didn't deserved a minister as our advisor – but Rob got him to agree to be our advisor (which we all believed we didn't need due to our advanced age) and we all persevered every Wednesday at 7 PM.

As an officer of the club –  the trusted and most esteemed treasurer; the collector of our weekly 50 cent dues. I usually had to do some twisting of arms. Rob our duly elected President for life, as usual had forgotten his dues – he owed the club about $20 bucks, one broken gavel and had forgotten almost everything else since his reign began by acclamation three year ago.

After the formalities were over, Bub the quarterback and brains of the group started an important discussion – “When and where are we going this year for our annual weekend trip?”  (The previous year we ventured to NYC long before it was the big apple  - but it was a big for us; but now how could we top it was the question?

We all scratched our crew cuts – Danny opened with “The Poconos could be cool …swimming, horses and hikes…you know that mountain stuff.”   Immediately we all visualized a bevy of wanton mountain girls eagerly waiting in a wood for us to introduce them to the ways of the world…all of our trips had this underlying fantasy and the hope that this year we would actually get meet a girl, smoke a cigar and drink an adult beverage.

"Yeah" - we sighed in unison.

Rob: “All in favor?”  All: “AYE”

Rob: “Passed and meeting adjourned.” 

Rev Snidewigger, always the voice of reason objected – “Whoa guys, we need to plan this; what weekend?  What hotel?  Do we have enough in the treasury to even afford a trip?; our car wash in November didn't wash, it rained most of the day.”

(Collective groans)

“Ah, don’t worry Rev will work it out,” said Rob as the whole gang rush to the game room down the stairs for a couple of rounds of table sports that didn’t depend on a computer before we headed for home and homework.  What's a computer????

I particularly liked Table Hockey with those little wooden men on rods that spun and you tried to kick, but mainly missed, your opponent's "puck" away before it landed in your goal - no iPads for me - imagination was the key ingredient of this high speed game.

And so the meetings passed from winter into spring, but after a month of planning our only  “result” was me getting a brochure from the local travel agency - " A Pocono Family Vacation"  – unlike today there were no websites to browse or the Ex-Captain Kirk to help us decide.  

On our first meeting in May it all came together when Dan, who had actually been to the Poconos,  reported that his church retreat was at a real classy place with great food - which at our stage of life was the major offering we looked for over other other amenities.

The Rev called the next day and reported at our next meeting - to our surprise and budgetary relief - he had negotiated a discount that the church group got in the fall - $ 15 bucks a night "on the American Plan" which included 3 meals a day.  We were on our way!

After I strong-armed all the guys to catch up their back dues and with some heavy calculation by Gus, the math maven of the group, it was determined that each guy would have to come up with $10 bucks for the trip - very do-able; the club would pick up the Rev's lodging and gas - he graciously responded that he would donate the conveyance for the trek.     

Several weeks later on the last Friday of Spring we met at the Y parking lot at 5PM.  All of the guys had their stuff packed in gym bags - except me.  I, of course, noted for my very large wardrobe - came with a bulging duffel bag packed with 34 changes - including foul weather gear; sweaters; extra sneakers in case.  

And as always, I packed after my mother’s warnings.

“Remember you can always take off something if you get hot…but you can’t put it on if you don’t bring it and get cold…you know it gets cold at night in the mountains.  (My mother seemed to have an internal barometer that could predict my attire long before the Weather Channel was invented.)  And as I walked out the door after my obligatory good bye peck on the cheek she left me go with her usual alerts:

“Watch out for poison ivy, the mountains are filled with it…and rattlesnakes…watch where you step and what you eat…you know how your stomach gets...make sure your meat is well done…and I hope you have extra socks in case you get wet feet...don't forget to use suntan lotion...and oh yes -  HAVE A GOOD TIME!!!

For years afterward I would continue to list all the things that could go wrong on a trip to anywhere - rather than looking forward to it. I would pack three suits and extra socks for an overnight business trip.   Finally by late middle age I finally tired of spending most of my time packing like Jackie Kennedy and changing clothes for or five times a day.  

Now I travel "light".

We began to stuff into the Rev’s used Pontiac.  We almost all fit by electing that Rudy, who was the thinnest guy would have to sit on the floor in the front.  He protested that he wouldn't see a thing but then decided arguing was in vain and became a human pretzel for the trip. 

Each of us sat on their sparse luggage except me - I sat under mine!

The trip up Route #69 (which was later changed to Rt. #31 by the DOT because so many road signs were stolen!) was long and winding as we left the flatlands of South Jersey and motored the ever climbing highway north.  The populated areas thinned out as we progressed and became open spaces that whizzed by.   The Rev had a heavy foot.  I guess he actually believe GOD was his co-pilot and would protect us - or he just wanted to get the ride over as soon as possible because...

Because the teenage boy banter had begun along with the sweat from the lack of AC:

“Remember the time…”  was the mantra.  Like a patchwork quilt each of us added an incident from our personal files of fun that was guaranteed to get a laugh as we wiled away the miles.  

The Rev just drove and pretended not to listen - but occasionally I noticed a slight smile. 

In the early 60's there were few “Interstates” – every road was  “local” and meandered through the flora and fauna.  Finally after about 100 hot and cramped miles we approached the great natural wonder that we had heard about and now would get to see in person – The Delaware Water Gap

Much touted in the travel brochure as one of the natural wonders of the new age  – we were sailed through it at 65+ MPH.  We were actually much too close to really appreciate the large gash in the ridge that had been forged by the mighty Delaware over thousands of years by its never ending trek to the sea.

"That's it?" barked Frank.  "Oh shut up! we all yelled.

At this very point in our history a new laugh generatg incident would occur that we would repeat when we would get together far beyond high school.


Charlie (who whose nickname was Magoo because his glasses were very thick) was the originator of what would become legend. 

 Never noted for his speed.  He walked and talked at a snail’s pace even when he was in a hurry.  As we crossed our coast's answer to the great divide and entered Pennsylvania a gust of wind blowing off the river took my new straw hat with the paisley band off my head and flew it toward the window…Magoo saw this and shouted…

“Watch…out!

hey…everybody... 

I think ...Cal’s…brand new……

straw hat……….is going…………

to……………blow…………out…………….

the open rear...................

window!!!!”  

By the time he finished my hat was at least a half a mile away being pulverized by an 18 wheeler rumbling on it merry way to the great midwest.

I lost my new Frank's Men's and Boy's hat!  

But it was worth it as I had another with me and this loss caused us to absolutely loose it – we laughed hysterically for at least five minutes.  Frank was crying.  Tears were also running down Bub’s cheeks.  Paul was in the throes of an asthma attack. Rob almost peed himself but held on.  

I  smiled a knowing smile.  

I knew right then that this was an historic moment.  History was being made because each time the laughter died down…someone would snort and the guffaws would start full tilt all over again.  

Even the Rev was laughing.

And from that time on anywhere - in a quiet study hall or during a serious class discussion, if one of us happen to say "Watch Out…” we would start up minutes of contagious laughter that was usually shushed by a teacher who was thinking, “was it something I said?”

And then we were finally there gliding in front of a stately white edifice – we pulled under a portico of the grand old Swanee on the Delaware Hotel - this was not a motel but a real hotel.  

I would learn much later,  Fred Waring, maestro and the inventor of the blender owned this place and he would fill many evenings with his dance music and old fashioned gentility as the quiet river flowed by - this was indeed the perfect place for the Collegiate's - and our fun was about to  begin…

(TO BE CONTINUED)