I can hear summertime laughter up in treetops bent by snow toward the icy ground. On a cold gray afternoon in January, I can see children splashing in the sunlit, turquoise-blue water of a swimming pool. Just beyond the pool, in the empty Palladium (Al Bass Hall) , I hear shouts and a basketball bouncing on the hardwood, and then Louie and Dix are arguing: they have the misfortune of being on the same team and there is only one basketball and they both want to shoot it. Saltzman tells them to be quiet and play. All three are middle-aged men now - Louie in Florida, Dix in New York, Saltzman in Ohio. I can hear them anyway. After all, I am a magician. And here is the secret of my magic: over forty years ago I first went to Camp Monroe, and I have my memories still. My memory is my magic.

It is no idle talent, my memory. It enables me, whenever the feeling strikes, to live in the hot light and cool green shade of perpetual summer. Alone in my office on blustery winter morning, I can go sit on the steps of the mess hall after dinner and watch the twilight paint a satiny blue sky with red and gold. I can see Larry (Kay) and Steven (Elman) and Doc (Mark Lando) walking across the main diamond, little boys who are now husbands and fathers, and there is Rickles (Rick Kay), smiling, walking down from the waiter’s bunks, and Sperbs (Howard Sperber) is out on the court, holding the ball above his head.

The list of people I see is long, and sometimes, when I’m lucky, I don’t have to rely on my magic. I can see them in person, talk about our memories and create new ones and maintain friendships that parallel the arc of my life. I saw Baskin a while ago: I hadn’t seen him in over thirty years, and yet we might as well have sitting outside the Sub-CA bunks, for it seemed that no time had passed at all.

The wisdom ascribed to middle age is overrated: life can be just as confusing no matter how old you are, but this I can say with some certainty. Live long enough and you will find your portion of joy and sorrow, and the joy is sweeter if you can share it with long-time friends and the sorrows are less burdensome.

Of course, I never thought about this years ago, when I was creating my memories. I often think about it now.

Best,
Peter

To read more from Peter Golden visit www.petergolden.com