On the unique
summer camp without which there’d be no AmericanStudier.
The van was, to the best of my
recollection, entirely ordinary. Just a van. The movies that we watched while
driving in that van were, although I can only remember one specific title (the
forgotten ‘80s classic Space Camp [1986]),
nothing earth-shattering either. Just mediocre kids’ entertainment. The lunches
that we ate at our various destinations, likewise. The counselor to camper
ratio was, while probably well within state requirements, nothing special; I
think there were around 12 of us at a time, and just the one counselor. As
summer camps go, these basic details might make this one sound pretty average
at best. But Camp Virginia most definitely changed my life.
Recently a colleague asked me what
had inspired my dual passions for American literature and American history, and
in my answer I focused on a couple core elements of my childhood: being raised
by two
parents who cared deeply about reading and writing; and growing up in Virginia,
surrounded by all that history (especially of the Revolutionary and Civil
War eras). But when it comes to the latter, of course many tens of thousands of
kids grew up in Virginia during the same period as I, and I doubt that many of
them were similarly inspired by its treasure troves of historical goodness. And
while my parents without question would have introduced me to those troves, the
most foundational introductions were those provided by Mr. Kirby. Ronald Kirby
was my fourth-grade teacher at Charlottesville’s Johnson Elementary School, and
I’m sure he did a great job in that role, but for me he’ll always be the
founder, sole counselor, chauffeur, lunch maker, movie selector and starter,
7-11 bathroom demander (a long and funny story that I can’t possibly replicate
here, but it’s a good one, trust me), and above all guide and teacher and
historian and mentor, of Camp Virginia.
Every summer (well, I did it for
two straight summers, but I think he ran it every summer for many years before
and after that as well), Mr. Kirby would offer week-long Camps, each one
focused on a different historical topic (mainly the Revolution and the Civil
War, but I imagine there were variations and other topics too). Each day we’d
drive to a couple of historical sites, and while I do still (kinda) remember
the van and the movies and the lunches, it’s those visits and sites that really
stand out for me. But not even the sites, many of which I’ve been to numerous
other times as well. It’s the aura that stands out for me, the ambience, the
ways that Mr. Kirby could, with a well-chosen anecdote or detail, with
attention to a particular spot or artifact or story, with his very enthusiasm
and passion and interest, undimmed after however many years and visits and
campers, make the history come alive for me and, in so doing, make me come more
fully alive as a student, a historian, a Virginian, an American. It’s no
exaggeration to say that at the end of those weeks I was hooked, was destined
for a life (in whatever profession or discipline) in which history would always
be a major destination.
I don’t have any
idea how much Camp Virginia cost—and I have to figure that Mr. Kirby barely
broke even, what with the van and gas and admissions fees and the like—but if I
learn of anything even vaguely similar as my boys grow up, there’s nothing I
wouldn’t pay to give them the same kinds of experiences. It’s not about loving
history per se—of course I’d love if they do, but they’ve got to find their own
passions, influenced I’m sure by mine and their Mom’s and New England and many
other factors but ultimately and very rightly their own—but about coming alive,
about being brought to places that change their worlds and broaden their
horizons and help shape them into the men they’ll become. Not bad for an
ordinary van.
Next camp
connection tomorrow,
Ben
PS.
What do you think? Stories and camps you’d share?
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