Tribute to Dr. Tay

Dr. Tay, Honoured Guests and fellow camp followers.

Right now, you are probably asking yourself - who is this guy? And, why is he up there? So, who am I?

I was a camper from 55 - 57 and staff 58 - 63. My last job was CIT Section Director. So I had two summers under the Chief's leadership. The rest with Dr. Tay at the helm.

The second question - why am I up here - is tougher. Jim Felstiner asked me to speak on behalf of Ahmek staff and campers and reflect on how we were affected by Dr. Tay. Quite an honour - but a little scary.

Most here tonight have their own unique inventory of Camp memories and experiences involving Dr. Tay. So, I decided to share my experience. In the hope it has some resonance with yours.

Everyone here can name a person who had a lasting impact on their lives. A parent, a teacher, a coach or, heaven help us, a camp director.

These are our leaders. Leaders we will never forget. They provided help at a critical moment. Guided us to a path we might not have taken. Or, set an example that somehow we chose to follow.

I have been acquainted with Dr. Tay for nearly 50 years. Yet, I feel I have really known him for less than that.

You may be asking - isn't it the other way around? Don't you meet someone. And then, because of some kind of connection, feel you have known that person for a very long time. Not necessarily!

Is there anyone in this room who has - like me - been in trouble with Dr. Tay? Please put up your hand. I had a feeling I might have company.

I may not be alone in admitting that my earlier relationship with Dr. Tay - as a camper and as staff - was one of respect - sort of fearful respect. The kind of respect you show a grizzly bear. You are awed by its power and majesty. But, you hope it doesn't decide to have you for lunch.

Yup, I was a little afraid of Dr.Tay. I respected him deeply. I even liked him. But, fear was a component of that relationship.

That was then - the 50's and 60's in my camper/staff days. But, as you get older, your perception of things - and of people - changes - like the way my parents got a lot smarter as I got older. With the benefit of hindsight, I began to appreciate the culture of growth that Dr. Tay was able to create - and how I had jumped into it with both feet. I shouldn't have been surprised. Because, after all, he is a "shrink".

My early perception evolved as I saw Dr. Tay over time. Often, at Ahmek when I returned to September Camp for a transfusion of the Ahmek Spirit. I sometimes get down a quart.

My final awakening was not a person to person event. Or, a revelation. It didn't happen at Camp. And, Dr. Tay was not directly involved.

In 2000, I took a course in creative writing. Creativity, as you know, is the gene they surgically remove from lawyers on the first day of law school - without using anaesthetic.

Our writing instructor gave us weekly writing assignments. One was to write about a place or experience that was very powerful in our lives. A week later, I read the class a note called "End of Camp". I didn't set out to write about Camp. Or about Dr. Tay. It just happened. And what appeared on paper told me a lot about both.

"END OF CAMP" "The spirits brood in solitude", we sang: arms linked. "Along the silent shore." Our final banquet bade formal farewell to our summer mansion. So modest, yet so imposing. White pines had been our yard fence. The starry band our cover. The far hills our boundary. All summer, these elements conspired to nurture laughter and pain, disappointment and triumph. And friendships; fierce ones; life long ones. Too soon, the hardwoods wore the evidence of Fall. Turning, reluctantly, head starting their southern cousins. Toward winter. In a month, another year's raiment would lie on the forest floor dying, feeding. And the west wind would blow harder. Colder. Tinged with north. "Hang on boys", we urged the trees. Ourselves. In two days, the shore would fall silent. In reluctant procession, we would leave this place as nomads once more on the move. Abandoned, the squirrels, the 'coons, the mice and the loons would repossess their dominion. Absolutely. With our quotient of days nearly spent. With the imminence of the final goodbye. Each moment became precious. Not squandered recklessly as when our inventory seemed limitless. If only we had a few more. Our partings would be full of questions. Will I see you in the City? Will you write? Will you be back next summer? We comforted each other with flocks of yeses. On the last day, eyes averted, we stood. Young men; no public tears. South we went. Clothed in the sombre mantle of Fall. A last glimmer of refracted light off the lake and we were gone. Down the dirt track. On to the asphalt. Down the road. Home. Deserted, the silence invaded our camp. Same coat: no life inside. The flags furled. The boats put up for the winter. The big bell tolled no more, the milestones of our days. Summer gone; experience distilled to memory. Friendship stored in that hollowed out place that is refuge for things treasured. Every summer. That hated leave taking. But so rich; so very rich. And so much now the weft in the fabric of my life."

So, my reasons for being here tonight are summed up in what I read. A life altering experience; love of place; friendship. And, the influence of great leaders.

So, Dr. Tay, I join many others in honouring you for what you have given to your community. And, to that particular community of which I am a member. Thank you for your leadership. And, thank you for putting leaders in my path who made a difference in my life - as you most certainly did.