Ted - And Response (4)

I got a text from my brother last weekend. He wanted to know if I wanted to go on a boat ride in his Grady White.  It’s in nearly perfect condition with a brand new Yamaha 250 four stroke that sings like a sewing machine. It’s 26 feet of loveliness.  I yanked my youngest boy by the collar and we jumped at the chance.

He keeps it at Pine Harbor which is east northeast of Soddy and on the west side of Chickamauga Lake. I was at the helm when we pulled out and the captain instructed me to amp it on up to full throttle, which I did.

I could barely hear the motor and everything on the boat is tight as a tick and sturdy and strong, like somebody spent years of thought as to how that weld should look or how that mahogany trim joint should fit. It swims over the chop at a 45 mph clip with no effort whatsoever. Let me tell you, being at the controls of a beautiful open air machine like that on a magnificent day is insanely pleasureous to me.

We hooked up with another brother and his wife in their boat and motored up stream. We wound up eating lunch in a very private and beautiful inlet on the east side of the river. Then the sun came fully out and all really was heavenly. After a while, my other brother suggested we motor over to another cool inlet he knew of across the lake.

I used to have a boat and I spent a lot of time on the water but not so much on Chickamauga. I have to take note and study things or I can get lost. My reference point is the Sequoyah cooling towers and we were upstream of them, probably north of Lakesite. As we followed my brother to “his” special inlet, I was busy cifering our location but when I looked ahead, there was no mistaking where we were. This was not his inlet at all. It was mine.

The foot bridge that crosses the water separating the girls’ cabins from the boys and the cafeteria on the hill and the big grassy field in front of it all screamed Double G Ranch and the memories flooded. I was an Orange Grove summer camp counselor there some 40 years ago and I explained to my boy how we used to sneak across that field at night and hang out with the girlies. The guy in charge, a huge, hairy Paul Bunyan type who looked menacing but was actually quite the teddy bear, tried to foil those shenanigans by placing a flashlight pointed at his front porch on a bench near the water. If the light blinked, he knew some knucklehead with amorous intent was on the prowl. 

That kind of stuff went on at night when you were off duty. During the day, you shared the responsibility of eight campers with two other guys. No problem, we were all 16 or so and we knew what we were doing. The big guy in charge? He was 22 and was responsible for about 300 people, most of whom required heavy meds or they’d go berserk. All of this went down on the shores of Chickamauga Lake where people drown and I shiver when I think of that. Sometimes lawyers are good because I think you now have to have a piece of paper showing that you actually do know what you are doing to be a camp counselor.   

Anyway, you woke up in the morning and got all of the campers up and going. They were Johnny, Edmund, Jeff, Travis, Hubey, Joe and many others. Steven’s name was pronounced “Eeeebun.”  I told my boy about all of the activities we did and the fact that I was in charge of the row boats one year. Sometimes, the whole camp would go down to the gym after supper, a big pavilion on a concrete pad with bleachers on one side, for square dancing or outside entertainment. And at this point, you need to know that Mick Jagger meant less than nothing to the typical female camper at Double G. Bob Brandy? He was the second coming and, when he and Charlie Chambers showed up to play, the place went absolute bananas. Even the guys loved him and raged and howled and twisted and shouted at the idea that he was coming. We had to be like the security guys at a Beatle concert where the women fling themselves at John or Paul or whoever.

Poor Bob. He was a great guy, God rest his soul, but he was to-the-bone terrified of the campers.

And that’s when I remembered Ted and, well, I stopped talking. Ted was in my cabin and he was tall, skinny and white as a ghost. He was a quiet guy who had a permanent smile on his face. Really. He did. He smiled when he woke up, he smiled when it was sunny, he smiled when it rained and he smiled when it was time to go to bed. Then he smiled all night in his sleep. He had friends in his head who he talked to and laughed with. Sometimes his eyes would roll back into his head as he guffawed at something hilarious one of them said. I think his arms must have atrophied a little because he went everywhere with his fists balled up at his chest. He dribbled a little bit too. He was the happiest guy I’ve ever known.

Ted got into the Bob Brandy craze, too, and he was all beside himself on the walk from supper to the gym. On these occasions, parents came and they either sat in the stands or got down into the mix of it with us and the campers. On the way up, I met Ted’s Dad and I knew then why Ted was so tall and skinny - his Dad was an Amazon rail. He was sturdy and rugged looking but very kind. We chatted for a minute but Ted clearly wanted to get on up to the Bob Brandy show and his Dad understood. He elected to sit in the stands.

And then Bob Brandy entered stage left. He walked over to his Epiphone electric guitar with his cowboy hat and boots and rhinestone outfit and the place mortally erupted. Charlie Chambers played a red Gibson hollow body (very well I might add) and he had slicked back black hair and eyebrows. Everybody screamed and gyrated and did Rockette kicks and danced like they were on a thousand million milligrams of amphetamine. I don’t dance, ever, but I couldn’t help myself. It was infectious and I twisted and shouted and was having one heck of a great time.

So was Ted. I saw him and bunny hopped over and grabbed his hands (he normally wouldn’t let you do that but it was BOB BRANDY for cryin’ out loud!) and we swung around a couple times and screamed and the sweat and slobber flew. That minute is among my very most treasured memories.

I let him go but we both stayed there bouncing up and down and then I reminded myself that I don’t dance and I regained my sanity. It was then that I spun around toward the stands, not on purpose or anything, and locked onto Ted’s Dad. I froze.

His hands were cupped around his eyes in a failed attempt to hide the fact that he was sobbing. I looked back at Ted who continued to convulse and laugh and slobber and I didn’t understand the tears because I was 16. I thought “Dang, that’s kinda sad.” and cluelessly went on my way.

But now, on that beautiful boat in that beautiful Double G slough on that gorgeous day, I could no longer talk for I choked and I needed to be quiet for composure’s sake.

I have a concept of parenthood now. All of the hopes and dreams and pride and love, and I can at least try to understand Ted’s Dad. I have no idea what it was like to be in his shoes but I have some notion as to how I would feel if any one of my perfectly normal kids had a minor special need. It would be argued that Ted’s need, he was also 16, was severe. Watching him fit and jerk, albeit in joyful ecstasy, while I and millions of others like me drive cars and chase girls must have been torture. His unconditional love for the boy was as obvious as was his burden.

I will never forget that evening. What would I give to go back in time and hug the man and keep dancing with his boy? An awful lot. It’s likely Ted and his Dad are in heaven now and Ted doesn’t slobber or contort and his Dad doesn’t cry and they both smile when they look over to the other cloud and see Gordon Street.

We changed the subject and motored on downstream back toward Pine Harbor but I thought about Ted and how blessed I am to have known him and the hundreds of other campers at Double G. I also thought about the special kind of heart it takes to devote your normal, healthy life to special needs people and how gifted we all are to have a place like Orange Grove. I haven’t even driven by the place in decades but I remember. Some of the people who were higher ups at the camp still work there. They are heroes.

So in spite of all of the sensual overload that a crystal clear day on a fabulous boat brings, all I could think about was how beautiful Ted was. And how much I still love him.

Savage Glascock, Sr. 

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Mr. Glascock, 

I wanted to thank you for posting such an excellent memory.  I have a few special moments along the path of my life and when they bubble up to the surface, it is often as overpowering as you described.  

I also would like to thank you for sharing an encouraging and uplifting opinion piece.  I have read the Chattanoogan for several years now and feel as if the opinion section is often filled with sarcasm and negativity.  Your piece put a tear in my eye, followed by a smile on my face and some spring in my step.  

In my future readings, I hope to see more pieces like this.  Thank you again, Mr. Glascock. 

Robert Parks 

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What a human you are, Mr. Glascock.

Dottie Brewer 

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Very good, Mr. Glascock.  Well said, well-written and worthwhile reading.  Thank you.  

And, yes, at Orange Grove they're all heroes. 

David Saluk

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