Charles Nathan Thompson ("Nath," with a long "a"), pictured here with son Alfred to his right and wife Mary to his left, was the director of Camp Carolina for Boys in Brevard, North Carolina, from 1959 until his retirement in the mid 1990s. I attended Carolina from 1978 until 1992, and Nath deserves about as much credit (blame?) as anybody for me being the person that I have become. (Photo lifted from the Camp Carolina website.)
School was not a happy place for me when I was a kid. I attended boys' schools with roughly the same group of other kids from kindergarten through twelfth grade, and the entire experience felt like this game that I was losing before I ever even knew the rules. In the elementary grades, one's place in the pecking order was determined by his athletic gifts--throwing a football, shooting a basketball, and so on. I was weak in those departments. By high school I had found a sport (running) that I was good at, but by that time the "cool club" had moved on to the prerequisites for frat-boydom and a head start up the corporate ladder.
It was from that world that I first went to camp in the summer of '78, between the fourth and fifth grades. Under Nath, the philosophy of Camp Carolina centered around simplicity of life, self reliance, and human relations, and I had finally found a place where I felt at home.
Simplicity of life: a camper's existence was stripped down to the things that mattered: friendships; fun, healthy, outdoor activities; a few basic responsibilities (making the bed, helping clean up the cabin); three meals a day; a bit of downtime ("Rest Hour," each day after lunch); and a good night's sleep.
Self reliance: activities that encouraged participation rather than spectating; the freedom to choose one's activities for each week rather than follow a schedule handed down from above; doing for yourself those things that your parents or a housekeeper might do for you at home.
Human relations: Nath's signature advice was always to greet another with a firm handshake and a look in the eye, and as trite as that might sound, I believe it has gone a long way toward offsetting the weaker parts of my social skill set.
Among my favorite activities at camp were riflery, horseback riding, backpacking, and, of course, canoeing. But it was clear that these activities were primarily about challenging oneself rather than competing with others. For Nath, a most important aspect of the summer camp experience was to give boys a break from a world that all too often pressured them to make the best grades, be the most accomplished athletes, get into the best schools, and land the best jobs. At Carolina, there were no medals, ribbons, trophies, or any other awards given out, with one exception: the Old Man of the Mountains award for good citizenship. Campers were rewarded for being good guys who put the wishes of others ahead of their own and pulled their weight within the camp community. The award was, fittingly enough, a canoe paddle ("a useful instrument in a boy's hand," Nath said). A boy who earned his paddle in his first summer would then have brands burned onto the paddle as he demonstrated good citizenship in subsequent summers.
My Old Man of the Mountains award for good citizenship. I got the paddle in my first summer in 1978, and then earned brands over the next few summers.
As the 80s wore on I aged out of camperhood and began to take on more responsibility as an assistant counselor and then a counselor. And so Nath became the first boss I ever had. Sadly, it wouldn't be until much later that I realized just how special a boss he was. These days I am self-employed, and suffice it to say that my difficulties cooperating with a boss have a lot to do with that.
As a seasonal employee of Camp Carolina from age seventeen until age twenty-four, I was a much less mature version of my present-day self, and I had my share of disagreements with Nath during those summers.
Sometimes it was a philosophical difference of opinion, a common occurrence in my last several summers when I headed the canoeing program. Though the Carolina program had a tradition of teaching good solid river-running skills, I was envious of the more racing-oriented programs at nearby camps like Mondamin and Merrie-Woode, camps whose alumni went on to make Olympic teams or achieve other high-profile feats in the paddling world. I often found myself exasperated with Nath's unwavering commitment to his noncompetitive camp model in which paddling a canoe was merely one of many facets of a camper's overall experience, and I not so tactfully let him know it on more than one occasion.
Other times I was simply a snarky little snot. Complaining about the meager salaries or grousing about having to pull an extra duty rather than enjoy some time off was a favorite pastime among the counselors, most of whom came from comfortable backgrounds and were working at camp more for fun than for money. It was not beneath me to join in, even when Nath was within earshot.
I probably would have fired myself for a few of the things I said, but Nath always handled it with a gentle touch. He never lost faith in me as an asset to the camp community, and more importantly, he understood that most of my life would be spent outside the camp community. Maybe he hoped to help me learn from the stupid things I said or did at camp, that I might be better equipped to survive in the real world; or maybe he just figured I would get my comeuppance eventually, but was humble enough to realize it was not his to mete out.
Mind you, Nath was nobody's fool: there were certain lines you did not cross with him, and I saw him dismiss several counselors with long, otherwise spotless relationships with Carolina because they had transgressed in a way that Nath considered inexcusable. But even then, he made it clear that he cared about them and would continue to be there for them if needed.
Since my last summer at Carolina I have continued to pursue my lifelong love affair with paddling, and, yes, that has included quite a bit of training and competing. But just like at camp, the real joy comes from things that have nothing to do with the post-race results sheet. I have made many fine friends in the sport, and I greet them with a firm handshake and a look in the eye. My time out on the water is an important break from the attendant concerns of making a living and owning a home.
Nath passed away this past month. As of this writing I do not know many of the details, but I believe that the end came a couple of weeks after he was hospitalized with an illness. Since his retirement from running Carolina, Nath had continued a rich life with his wife Mary and his friends and plenty of activity. His legendary sense of humor never dimmed, I understand.
There will be a memorial service on the camp property on November 30 that I plan to attend. Perhaps we'll sing a few of the spirituals we used to sing at vespers every Sunday evening: "Hey Sinner Man," "Wade In The Water," "Swing Low Sweet Chariot." Maybe we'll even work in some of the not-so-reverent ones like "Mountain Dew" and "Greenback Dollar." Whatever happens, I expect there will be many others like me, returning to this special place to remember the kind man who made some of their most cherished childhood moments possible.
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