Camp Letters

My son recently sent me the obituary of Jim Templin, the 98 year old former owner of Camp Pet-O-Se-Ga in Petoskey, Michigan where my Dad spent many summers.  This fall, my son retraced his Grandfather's footsteps and visited the camp, which is now a county park, and met with park staff and Jim "Chief" Templin. 

Along with almost 800 of Dad's WWII letters, we have several dozen letters written to his Kentucky family in the summers of the late 1930's and early 1940's from Camp Pet-o-Se-Ga where he was a camper, then counselor and "right hand man" to "Chief" Templin.  He also wrote from the road en route to camp, some 500 miles from his home in Flemingsburg, KY.  His adventures included the story of losing a boat's motor in the middle of the lake, getting caught in a storm, and catching a big fish.  

The camp, located on the shores of Lake Michigan, was built by Mr. Templin in the 1930's.  Dad was one of the earliest campers.  It was unique in that it offered flying lessons (Templin owned airplanes), archery, riflery, orienteering, camping, boating and athletics.  It was known as the "Log Cabin Camp for Boys".  Some of the cabins are still standing.  The property was purchased by Emmet County in 1992 for a public park.  Modern amenities were added while preserving the history of the camp.  

Today there are 90 campsites with running water, showers, restrooms, rental cabins, trout fishing, hiking trails and playgrounds.  There is also a small museum with mementos of the camp, including a few photographs that my son, Matt, delivered.

Matt and Mr. Templin exchanged some letters before meeting and they shared a meal and spent about three hours together.  Matt had planned to send him another letter and probably a photograph or two, until the obituary arrived in his inbox.

I am so glad that Matt was able to meet this amazing man who remembered my Father and was such an influence on his young life.  In one of Dad's diaries, he talks about how important camp was to him, and the growing up he did in those summers of increased responsibility.  It's especially touching that my own son then met Mr. Templin, who told him that he was the first grandson of a camper who had come back to visit.  

Photos here show Mr. Templin and my Dad, Harry Dudley, on a trip to Washington, DC  (Mr. Templin is in the uniform).  Another shows my Dad,  far left, and Mr. Templin, third from left, with the catch from a successful fishing trip.  One of the log cabins is in the background.  There is also a page from an old photo album.  Dad is the dapper one in the white linen slacks.

I am so glad that Dad wrote about his camping experiences.   Both my sons have enjoyed reading the letters and comparing their own camping experiences to Dad's.  Imagine a camp today with resources  to afford the liability insurance for aviation lessons!

I am proud of my son for delving into his Grandfather's past and visiting the amazing man who, he says, was a very spry 98 year old with a great memory for the camp and his Grandfather.  My other son, a college student, has enjoyed reading the letters from camp and WWII and helping set up the database to record and summarize the letters.  It is a fun way to keep history alive, and teach us about our family.  And for the three of us, it is something we can all work on together.  Sharing a project is a great way to get to know one another in different ways, too.

The next generation will have fewer opportunities to read handwritten letters, as so few are written now. There is something special about words formed by hand.  Touching the paper imprinted by those long-gone, feeling its texture and weigh,  noting the color of the ink, wondering what the pen looked like ,and being awed by the perfect, error-free penmanship, are all sensations absent in the cryptic electronic text and email messages.

Thanks, Dad, for giving us this treat.   Surely you had no idea when you were writing letters from camp some 70 years ago that your grandchildren and children would be enjoying them - or that your grandson would meet  "The Chief."

Jim “Chief” Templin died on November 22, 2009, at the age of 98, in Northern Michigan Regional Hospital.  Accounts in the local newspapers indicate that he was a wonderful person who was always doing things for others.

Originally from Kentucky, "Chief" bought the camp in 1934.  During the depression, he put people to work in its construction.  He is survived by his wife, Eleanor, and many campers and their children and grandchildren and probably some great grandchildren.  What a legacy!

For more information on Camp Pet-O-Se-Ga and Chief Templin, see these websites:

http://www.emmet.mi.us/parkrec/petosega.htm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHfyTN2fUHU

Thanks, Dad

My Dad introduced me to the art of letter writing.  Mother never liked writing.  Dad, however, was a prolific writer.

When he went away to summer camp in the 1930's and 1940's, Dad wrote home almost every day.   His Auntie, who ran his Father's home after his Mother died, carefully saved all of his letters.  Today they make such interesting reading.  The boy with the fish is Dad, in 1938, at Camp Pet-O-Se-Ga in Petoski, Michigan.

When Dad was in England and France during World War II, he wrote home almost every day.  Auntie saved those letters.  There are almost 800 of them.  I have several more that he wrote to one of his old girlfriends; several years ago I met her and she told me that Dad was the most gallant man she ever dated and she loved his letters.  They are full of stories about the adventures of that small town Kentucky boy.

I was taught that writing a thank you note was an essential response to every gift I received.  If you accepted the gift, you were obliged to repay the gift with a note of thanks.  I once received a particularly ugly gift of clothing and suggested to my Dad that I just return it, not accept it, and then I would not have to write a note when I was not thankful.  That was the wrong thing to say.  My punishment was to write an extra paragraph of thanks.

Dad made writing fun.  I loved his handwriting.  He almost always wrote with a fountain pen, which I thought was very cool.  He bought me a fountain pen when I was in the sixth grade and that gave my letters a special touch.   It was years before I could use that pen without getting ink on my fingers.  Many years later I learned calligraphy because I loved the pens and ink; I got my fingers inky then too.

I had pen pals and wrote and received many letters.  Dad wrote letters to his friends, too; it was something we had in common.  He bought me my first stationery.  It was beautiful white cotton paper with my name and address printed in blue ink on the top and on the envelopes.

When it was time to address Christmas cards, I got to help because I was the eldest and I had good handwriting.  Dad and I would address the cards and he even let me write some of the messages inside.  It felt so grown up and important to be able to represent the family with my writing.  He showed me his system for keeping track of addresses and what had been sent.  When I was grown, I duplicated Dad's system and used it for years until technology took over and streamlined it.

Through the years, after I moved far from home, Dad wrote letters to me regularly.  The best part of the letter was always the end, where he would close with "Mother sends her love.  We are so proud of you, sweetheart." or similar endearing and encouraging words.  I miss those letters a lot.

Email has replaced a lot of my letter writing, but I still enjoy it.  I love pretty stationery and my Monte Blanc pen with blue ink.  I still get excited going into stationery stores and the smell of the paper intrigues me.

I have my Dad to thank for my enthusiasm for written communication.  He had such a knack for saying the right thing in his letters.  He wrote me a note and mailed it with a small gift the day before he had a fatal stroke.  When I returned home after seeing him in his last days, I received the package and his note which included a short message; "and perhaps this will cheer you up a little bit", he wrote, not knowing just how much cheering I would need.

I promised Dad I would write something with his WWII letters.  Little by little I am reading them and scanning them to preserve them.  I am doing a little writing and researching some of the facts, and writing some more.  It makes me feel close to Dad.   I am very thankful to my Dad for sharing his love for written communication in such a way that I learned to love it too.