Left to right – Trevor Smith, Roothie Lowe, Mike Bruce, Jan Glozier, Shirley Griffin
by Mike Bruce
I am here to tell the tale of one of the most colourful characters to ever grace the Wilds of Waseosa at good ol’ Camp Huronda – Shirley Griffin! I was eighteen, soon to graduate from high school in Brampton. I was considering the idea of working for a living, when my mother and I drove to Etobicoke to attend a meeting for people with juvenile diabetes. The guest speakers that spring day had worked at Camp Huronda. Uncle Don brought with him three super-keen and inspiring staff: Jill Harrison, Ian Faulds and Shirley Griffin.
I had met camp director Don Anderson three years earlier when I was a chicken-livered fifteen-year-old camper. During the two-week session, I was trying to get my teenage-challenged diabetes under control. To my surprise, that almost happened when Uncle Don offered to extend my stay for the remainder of the summer to work as a counselor-in-training, – ALL COSTS COVERED!!
However, I lied about having other plans, because I was scared silly about the gut-wrenching event that I’d witnessed several times, where C.I.T.’s had to get up in front of everybody for their official initiation, singing and pantomiming a solo rendition of… Brown Squirrel!
Brown Squirrel, Brown Squirrel, shake your bushy tail
Brown Squirrel, Brown Squirrel, shake your bushy tail
Hold a peanut in your toes, wrinkle up your funny nose
Brown Squirrel, Brown Squirrel, shake your bushy tail
I had adolescent nightmares every time I imagined myself up there being laughed off as the worst performer of all time.
Three years later, in Brampton, when the presentation about camp was done, I gathered up my courage and asked Uncle Don, “I don’t suppose you’re still hiring for this summer?”
He recognized me. “As a matter of fact, we still need one more counselor!”
So started my re-introduction to Camp Huronda. Thinking about this story at age 68, that event has to qualify as the most life-changing in all my years.
It was impossible to be shy in the presence of Shirley Griffin. From the peanut butter-on-cold-toast-in-the-face or the first purple nurple at staff snack, I was primed for fun, revenge and a whole lot of laughs. I could write a book about the crazy hijinks, with Shirley Griffin serving as the primary schemer. She was incredibly enthusiastic, full of camp spirit, and completely lacking in fear neurons. But the following memory is my all-time favourite…
Dave Anderson and I were hanging out, planning waterfront activities for the next morning. Shirley had left staff snack, accompanied by her band of delinquents (all female as I recall). Dave and I were tired after a full day at the canoe docks and one of Huronda’s famous high-energy evening programs. After several years of counseling, I had been promoted to share luxury accommodations at the Harbour Castle with Dave – just the two of us, lulled to sleep by the loons, the lapping waters of Lake Waseosa, and a calming chorus of snores.
Picture this: We came down the hill, turned the corner, and walked past the doctors’ cabin and shoreline cedars toward our cabin. However, something was out of the ordinary. There was a ladder leaning against the Harbour Castle roof. And our beds were perched on the very peak.
“Friggin’ bloody! Shirley friggin’ Griffin!” This was Dave’s favourite way of expressing his displeasure – in this case – EXTREME displeasure.
Having grown up with three brothers, I immediately kicked into revenge mode. “Dave, we cannot let Shirley and her heartless band of thugs have the last laugh. Let’s sleep up there on the roof! After all, the beds are already there, and they’re all set up, pillows and all.”
It didn’t surprise me that Dave was all in on this plan. Getting a good night’s sleep was right near the top of his bucket list. How many times had I been jolted awake by a pillow in the head? “Mickey Bruchi! Friggin’ bloody! Would-ja quit with the snoring?”
This story would have had a different ending if we’d fallen out of bed in the middle of the night. As it was, the gaggle of giggles and wows of the large gathering below woke us early the following morning. Shirley Griffin and her partners-in-crime had assembled a crowd of campers and staff. We had a good laugh and a crazy conversation before we climbed down and proceeded up the hill, called to breakfast by the Dining Hall bell. What a joyous day!
Shirley Griffin’s spirit and ashes will live forever among the forests, fields and waters of Waseosa, nourishing us all, past, present and future with the memory of a fearless life well lived at Camp Huronda.