Month: November 2023

Lenette found and arranged the purchase of our first home. It was a two-bedroom, half-bathroom G.I. home, about 900 sq. ft., with a fireplace. We loved it.

We were continuously investing in Purple Sage, so we carried three mortgages on our $12,000 home. We paid our bills, but it was always a struggle as we still attended school full-time and worked part-time. That was no problem because we loved our home and what we were doing.

From day one, Lenette had a picture of what she wanted our tiny home to look like. It had a wonderful backyard. It was where Brutus, our smallish hound dog, Heidi, a hundred-ten pound, Lion’s Head German Shepherd, and Cleo, our cat, lived and played, pleasing us at every turn.

Lenette wanted the perfect backyard, so she added waterfalls, a huge shade tree that we loved, runs for the dogs and cats, a barbeque, and a beautiful sitting area. It was, indeed, perfect. 

Our staff loved being with us at home; some used our garage as their temporary living quarters. And, of course, we always fed whomever. All this on less than a quarter acre!

In the late 50s, we lost our baby.  I have blanked this period out of my mind as it was filled with such pain for both of us. Having the baby would have changed our lives and the many we touched. 

If we were able to have that baby boy and the two more we hoped for in our family planning, I would have finished my doctorate in psychology and also returned to the Los Angeles Board of Education. This was because we only counted on making a little money at Shasta, and the family we hoped to have needed a much more secure source of income. At the time, I had many opportunities in such a big system.

We continued to try to make a family and failed numerous times.  Our doctor told us he would help us adopt twins, and we gave serious thought to this. At the same time, I was working with a troubled boy who would be coming to camp in a few weeks. His father was leaving on a business trip, so he asked if his son could live with us until camp. We agreed, and Jeff moved in with us and stayed until he graduated high school.

He became our son, and our camp kids became our extended family. In essence, we did more than come to terms with our inability to make our own children. We created a huge and beautiful family who remain so to this day. Our loss and sadness became a story of long-term regard, respect, and love.

After living with us for about a year, Jeff told Lenette, “You are my real mother, aren’t you?”

Lenette was shocked and said, “I would have been 12 years old. No way!” 

Yet, in every way possible, Jeff made Lenette his mother. Lenette was far more than a “Mom” to Jeff. She made it possible for him to attend Junior and Senior High School. She oversaw his education and worked with him on all his classroom teachers required until he became his own self-motivated student.

When Jeff turned 16, his father wanted to buy Jeff a new car. Lenette told Jeff, “You accept the car, and you will have to leave our home.”

As I remember, Jeff turned the car down with no remorse. His home and family were with us. Mom had spoken, and for him, that was enough.

Lenette loved and cared for Jeff as the best mothers do their children—to have them grow up to be members and contributors to society.  It is who Jeff became and still is.

Seventy years later, Jeff recently said this of our home in Northridge. “I grew up on an estate in Beverly Hills, but the only real home I lived in was that small house in Northridge.”

We lived there from our first year of marriage until 1965. That year, we moved to Las Vegas to fulfill Lenette’s dream.

In 1951, I was looking for employees for my summer camp at the UCLA Job Fair. Out of the crowds seeking summer employment, she walked over to my table. When I first saw her, I thought an angel was approaching me. Her beauty and presence transfixed me. Before she said a word, I thought, “I am looking at the girl I am going to marry.” 

Considering I intended to be an adventurer traveling the world, this inner dialogue was unusual, to say the least. Before this, I had no thoughts of marriage, ever. Yet, at that moment, an unbelievable happening was erupting inside me. 

She sat down, and her first words were, “Tell me about your philosophy.”

Her voice thrilled me, and I found that being rational was impossible. I took a deep breath and began to tell her my small group philosophy about how each counselor and their group of kids would build their own day’s schedule. I explained that the camp would provide specialists and learning tools across a wide range of activities so that counselors and their small groups could benefit from lessons in swimming, horses, nature, and sports.

What I was proposing was a very unusual program for young children where the best counselors would thrive together with their kids. Most importantly, children would be learning to communicate their wants and needs. Camp would be a community where all our kids would find their own voice. 

Lenette said she had a job at the YMCA teaching swimming, but after our discussion, she decided to work for me instead. She accepted the job, and as I watched her disappear into the crowd, I knew I had just met my future wife and love for life.

I did not know then that Lenette felt the same about me. Later, I learned she had shared her excitement about the camp and the program with several close friends. She also told them about me, saying, “He’s the guy I’m going to marry!”

The pragmatic philosophy of Purple Sage was Lenette in action. Her group of girls made a home for themselves in the woods. Each morning, they would hold meetings and plan their day’s activities. Here, within the group, Lenette helped each of the girls to find their voice. And they did so while filling their days with activities galore and learning how to live in harmony. Her greatest gift to each of them was a sense of self and membership.

I so loved watching Lenette work that I would ride my horse into the woods to seek them out. She and they would then do their best to get me out of their hair so they could enjoy a bit of privacy.  

Simply watching her do her thing with the girls was special. I knew then that they would carry these experiences with them forever. This is the gift each good counselor gives their group: self and voice, relationships, dialogue, and the sense and reality of a level playing field. 

I learned to let them be. It was that or catch “hell” from Lenette! 

So, I decided to try another approach: inviting her to enjoy a Sunday horseback ride with me. The horse she liked was Sunny, a show horse that belonged to George Tobias, an actor who lived at the ranch. When I asked him, he replied, “Sure, enjoy the ride.”

That Sunday, we rode across the road to where many Westerns were filmed on land owned by 20th-century studios.  

I wanted to grab and hold her as close to me as possible, but she was all work and no play. I hoped our ride into the setting sun and the Pacific Ocean might help this take place, but how? 

Gates had to be opened and closed as we rode along the dusty road. I would dismount and handle the gates. Eventually, we began to head back to our camp, the sun low behind us. And then, the miracle of the gates happened. I opened one particular gate as I had the many others. But, this time, Lenette’s horse did something entirely unexpected. Despite being well trained, Sunny reared up, and Lenette was thrown off her saddle and into my waiting arms.

We kissed for 10 minutes. I held her so close that we were almost one. I could not let her go. Afterward, I grabbed her hand, and we walked the rest of the way back to camp, leading our horses along the dusty road with the sun setting behind us.

My love for her was beyond any feelings I have ever felt. I would happily die for her at that moment and every other moment we’ve been together. It was like nothing I had ever experienced.

Kim Wilson was a boy who, when we first met, was unlike any I had ever known and became a man unlike any I have ever known. 

Kim was bright and creative—almost beyond compare. He was a student when he had to be and not when he made up his mind. He was, without doubt, his worst enemy and best ally when he set forth to accomplish what he wanted to do. 

His confidence to create was unlimited, and he did so to the point of failure several times. But he also succeeded many times.

His mother knew she had a unique human on her hands and sought out help. I was the person she came to, and I found Kim remarkable from our first meeting. We had much in common, such as classical music and opera.

Soon after that, I purchased the land for Camp Shasta. On most Friday nights, I would head off on a 600-mile journey to camp from LA. Only by walking the land could I get the feel of where things ought to be. 

I needed someone to help me stay alert throughout the long drive. With his mother’s approval, Kim proved to be the perfect driving companion. We got to know each other as profoundly as father and son, which he became to me during our trips.

We grew to know each other well, and I knew him as few others could do. I love him and will miss him as my son.

Sy