The Project Ends

I've made one last "video" of Shiloh pictures set to music, pictures that I've gathered for this project.  Now the project is ending, I'm both sad and proud to say.  I've collected over 100 in-depth interviews, 2000 scanned photos and documents, and 10 recorded "history party" gatherings, all of these from Shiloh folks from across the country and across the years.  These materials will live in archives for the future so that researchers can access them and learn about this program that was unique in history.  It was a Church of Christ outreach that connected people all across different parts of America in very fascinating ways, sometimes connections with difficult results, sometimes with quite beautiful ones.    We now have a permanent record of that.

If you are a Shiloh alum and have documents and/or photos that you didn't get a chance to add to this project this year, do not despair.  The plan is that materials like yours will belong to the archives at David Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee, and so you will be able to send them there to add to the continuing story.

I’ve been able to meet many, many wonderful people in this project and learn about what their time at Shiloh meant in their lives.   Everyone I’ve spoken to has been thoughtful and caring.  I stayed in the homes of former Shiloh workers and friends.  I attended gatherings of people in the Shiloh family, and I’ve seen people reconnect who haven’t seen each other in years.  It has been a very meaningful time getting to know so many of these good people.  Some of them even knew me when I was very little.  How sweet to reconnect with them as an adult!  Some of them have told me about my own family history, a very meaningful experience for me.

Thanks to everyone who helped make this project possible and who helped make it good.  To the current Shiloh folks, keep going!  We are behind you!  And to all of the kids and young people whose lives have been involved in Shiloh throughout the years, this is dedicated to you.

Daughters and Sons

I got back from a trip to Oklahoma and Kansas recently, and I interviewed Chip and Mendy (Chip is getting the pie in the face):

Connie and Denny:

and Kim:

They all had very different stories: Chip and Mendy were at camp in the mid- 1980s and then again in the early 1990s, and they talked about leading camp and fundraising and the dramas of religious disagreement and lack of funds.  Connie and Denny lived at Shiloh year round in the early 1970s in Hempstead, Long Island.  They lived in a former office space that had never been intended for living quarters, that had no showers or stoves or dish sinks.  Connie took care of the living space, and they made it work.  Kim lived in Brooklyn and was the only African-American woman on staff at the time she was there in the late 1970s.  She found some of the restrictions placed on female staff members to be detrimental to her sense of credibility in the neighborhood.

Each of these people had to face challenges with living in a community of people, challenges having to do with beliefs or space or sense of identity.  And beyond that, at one point or another, each one of them would have small children in the places where they lived (Kim would stay in the city for a while after Shiloh, and begin to raise her children there).  

I made the following video to honor the families of Shiloh, the places we all come from, and the messages we give to all children.  Whether we are immigrants through Ellis Island, or born in the Bronx with family history from Puerto Rico, or an East New York mom raising kids, or have painfully indistinct lineage, or grew up on a farm in the Midwest, or like me a post Civil Rights-era Nashvillian, all of the origin stories are fully worthy and precious.  In New York, where the dream of America is at its most visible, tangible, beautiful, and painful.  In Shiloh, where the stories meet and then touch in a new form of community.  In the family of God, where every story is meaningful and precious, and every footfall is a part of the gracious dance.  Hope in the Eyes of A Child is a motto of Shiloh.  I wanted to pay tribute to the idea of family in its many forms, of ancestry in its many forms, of relatedness in its many forms, for all my family members that I interview and hear.

Bend toward justice

In his interview, former camp director Jason told me that the vision statement of Shiloh is the following (it is also right there on their new Website): Equipping New York at-risk youth and their families with tools that build hope.  Providing tools that build hope.  So educational tools, spiritual tools, emotional tools, relationships, networks, fun.  From my observation of its history, Shiloh has been very good at being involved in individual relationships and mentorship.  It has also been good at providing opportunities for kids to see the world differently.  It has been a fun place for kids to go and learn new things.  And it has always emphasized the spiritual dimensions of life.

I suggest that this is enough.  I also suggest that this is not enough.

I want to use this paragraph of blog space to ask my diversity of readers to continue to think on behalf of at-risk communities.  Have a courageous heart when it comes to working against entrenched systems that are bad for these community members.  Have a soft heart when it comes to people who are at risk.  Study hard about why things got to be the way they are, so that bad cycles can be broken and not repeated.  And keep remembering to do these things, don’t forget them, because the way our society is set up is not conducive to automatically supporting their human needs.  

I am saying I think it will take each of us to make better that which can be made better, and I am encouraging us to make it better, as we think about Shiloh.

Well.  I got back from another interview trip to New York this past week, and here are a few stories I heard there:

Here is a concrete example of Shiloh working to provide educational tools to kids.  Nicole [I don't have a picture of her] is the liaison between Shiloh and public schools. She provides after-school, curriculum-based (and fun) educational projects for children attending partnering schools.  For example, she has worked with kids on a project that set the after-school kids up as entrepreneurs.  These young entrepreneurs were making, selling, and giving away buttons.  They worked on the business plan together.  They had a product and a market and goals.  She taught them that entrepreneurs give back to the community.  She emphasized math and cooperation.  She also served and continues to serve as the school's liaison to Shiloh, telling these after-school kids about camp and other Shiloh programs, and she stands in a place where she can be a person of trust for parents, a known quantity for parents who might not know what Shiloh has to offer.  In talking to Nicole, I got a clear sense of her joy in making learning fun for kids.  So this to me sounds like it is a tool that provides hope.

I also interviewed Kenny.  Kenny's story was a poignant reminder of how education can function as a tool in someone's life, but, even though Shiloh had a tutoring component at the time, Kenny was involved long before there was a formal link to the schools.  As a little boy in the 1970s in East New York, he got involved with the year-round Shiloh program in his neighborhood.  So many kids in his two-block radius were also involved in Shiloh.  Three other boys in his Shiloh class--Teeter, Douglas, and Terrance--became his close friends.  Here they are together in front of the Shiloh bus, in a picture taken by his Shiloh teacher, Karyn.

Kenny says he hadn't been aware of things beyond his two-block radius in his neighborhood, except through the experiences he had with Shiloh.  In this photo, the boys are on a field trip together with their Shiloh teacher.  Maybe in this instance they're going to Arkansas (they all have Arkansas shirts on).  Kenny is on the left with the hat.  He says he remembers playing on these field trips, being on the bus, meeting new people, seeing sights that were brand new to him, and one time meeting Shirley Chisholm on a trip to Washington DC.  He was able to see what was possible in the world, and he said if he wanted to go back to those places that were out there, he knew he had to choose a specific path in life.  

In the picture below the boys are back in their neighborhood and are honoring their mothers together on Mother's Day. There was a Mother's Day meal that Karyn facilitated, and there was a rose for every mother.  Kenny is on the right in the Yankees jacket.  In Kenny's interview, he talked emotionally about the positive power he got from his mother, who believed in him no matter what.  He said he would do anything for her.  In the end it was she who convinced him to move away from their old neighborhood, for his job, for his benefit. 

Kenny also told me he played a board game once at Shiloh that was designed to teach the boys that sometimes the long way around the game board is a better way to win than the quick and easy way.  He never forgot that game and referred to it multiple times in our interview.  Growing up, he took that long way around.  He emphasized his schooling and let go of relationships that would lead him down a path to trouble.  He wasn't involved with Shiloh after his earlier experiences, so it was his own pull toward education as a tool that moved him to make the decisions he made.  Today Kenny has a college degree and works just outside of Washington DC and oversees the creation of quality affordable housing in those neighborhoods.  He has made sure he is close enough to come back and take care of his mother, who lives in New York.  

One tool that Shiloh seems to be so good at is providing a fun place where kids can go and feel loved.  Camp is a place that has been Shiloh's consistent touchtone throughout its history.  Like I myself have done here in this blog, like Kenny did, it sometimes seems useful for other interviewees, too, to bring a metaphor along in their interviews.  Metaphors capture experiences, religious feelings, relationships, even a relationship to one place.  Here's an image that the camp director Ryan has for camp.  It has its literal basis in solid earth:

Ryan, the current camp director who started as the head of maintenance and who has spent long hours crawling underneath every camp building, was working to construct the camp's chapel (the interior is above) when he discovered that the entire property is situated on a solid rock.  This image of building on the rock of God is the one that has been Ryan's metaphor as he framed the physical aspects of camp, had midnight conversations with troubled campers, and as he led raucous singing of camp songs.   They sing: "You ought've been there/ When He saved my soul/ You ought've been there/ When He put my name on the roll!"--with clapping, stomping, and full-body spin.  

So it's got a metaphor that both Ryan and I like.  But how can something like camp serve as a tool for building hope?  Well, Nicole told me that the Shiloh people she knew were in love with a place, and that place was camp. And one former camper described the atmosphere of camp as "pure love".  Ryan described to me a situation between two people at out camp who didn't like each other.  Both told him that the other one couldn't understand his particular situation, because that other person had not lived such a hard life.  Both were angry and hurt at the other's actions.  But it turned out that both of these people had come from eerily similar backgrounds, and both were hiding from and judging the other.  Ryan was able to facilitate their shift in relationship, in seeing each other for the first time.  The people who work out at camp strive for this kind of atmosphere of safety and reconciliation, and sometimes they have experienced it themselves.  

Sometimes a counselor might see camp as simply one reasonable service in the journey of life's ongoing opportunity for service to others.  Cue was a counselor at camp around the time Kenny and his older brothers and sisters were there.  Cue grew up in Brooklyn, too, not too far and a bit earlier than where Kenny did, and she, too, had supportive parental support.   She remembers her parents exposing her to the art, museums, and culture of the city around her.  Her stepfather gave her intellectual puzzles like building a working television set from a kit.  Like Kenny, Cue was an academic achiever.  Here's a picture of her as a counselor at camp.  She's on the right, with a little bunching of female counselors.

At the time she was at camp, Cue was exploring the intersections and divergences between the women's movement, the civil rights movement, and the anti-war movement.  (Talk about intellectual puzzles!)  Shiloh was a comfortable place for her to put feet under these explorations, as there were other people buzzing about these issues there.  There were not many African-American staffers at the time, but she did not feel uncomfortable and shook off any attempts that fellow staffers may have made to bend over backwards for her.  She saw her work at camp as a reasonable service.  It was at camp she heard about Pepperdine College in California.  And at this next step Cue's spiritual identity deepened, and she moved forward with becoming a neonatal nurse. Although she had a clear sense of her purpose and sense of service from early on in her childhood, Shiloh had been a directional arc for part of her journey.  

Cue's extended metaphor toward the end of her interview was of a circle in which we are all connected.  We bend in toward each other in the circle by both giving and receiving and by paying attention to the other people in the circle.  This next story is about people who sort of loved and lost their Shiloh experience, and who moved away from that experience by staying exactly in the same place.  Craig and Lynn Ann loved their 1970s Shiloh experience in the year-round program in Red Bank, New Jersey, so much that they left vowing that they would return again soon.  But when they came back, the Shiloh program had closed in Red Bank with no plan that the program would return there.  So with very little funds, in trepidation and faith, they started their own program, based on the Shiloh model, and gave it the name Aslan after the mythical Narnian lion who represents Jesus.  With their guiding imagery in place, they began the program with all former Shiloh Red Bank kids, and simply went forward forging intentional relationships from there.  They never stopped.  Aslan is relationship driven, they say, just like Shiloh was.  Now they, as the Aslan program, still work to empower local kids with bicycles, tutoring, mission trips, and intentional relationships.  This has not been an easy journey for them and their family.  Craig and Lynn Ann told me that, even though over the years their lives have had profound difficulties, and they have been oftentimes lonely, they both have felt unable to do anything other than that which they felt called to do, a call they first heard at Shiloh.  Shiloh changed our DNA, they tell me.  They've never been the same.

I mentioned Jason in a paragraph above, a former director at camp.

Jason told me that his personality is someone who likes to fix things.  He seems to be a person who can see the way that existing systems can be improved.  When he was camp director, he wanted to make camp special for kids.  And his desire to fix a previously ailing camp program led him to throw a wild array of fun at the wall and see what stuck.  So he initiated things like chess classes, rocketry sessions, "wilderness night" (when the electricity wasn't working in certain cabins, those cabins were specially "selected" to participate), and a homemade slip and slide.  He wanted to provide opportunities, like Kenny's field trips, that would open windows of thought.  He worked at camp until he had his first son.  Then he realized he needed to have time with his family, and took a job at the Manhattan Church of Christ, which houses Shiloh offices.  Now Ryan is camp director, and brings more of a pastoral style to camp.  Jason continues to advise Shiloh staff with the touchstone phrase: be intentional about how Shiloh can live up to its purpose of equipping kids with tools that build hope.

Jane worked as chief girls' counselor at camp in the 1970s, and she, too, talks about how much she and the counselors worked to give kids fun, broadening experiences and personal relationships at camp and in the year-round programs.  Although the language of "tools that build hope" was not a part of Shiloh's stated lexicon at the time, it was part of the spirit of what they were trying to do.  Jane formed her identity as a "rabble rouser" in the civil rights, anti-war, and women's movements, just as Cue did.  Her spiritual journey in college included a probing of the biblical text that led her to Shiloh, a place where the text seemed possible to live out.  At camp she was the chief girls' counselor.  She worked long hours to put together penny carnivals, pirate night, treasure hunts, luaus, and Christmas in July.  She worked in the year-round programs in Newark and in Brownsville in Brooklyn.  Jane ended up moving to New York City after Shiloh.  

Brother Maxwell's consistent support and service through hammer and nail have helped shape Camp Shiloh.  He has been a board member during times of change.  Brother Maxwell's conversion experience took him from a destructive path onto a constructive one.  After his conversion, he stopped his destructive lifestyle, began attending church, street preaching, and ultimately pastoring his church in a place where he felt he could be of the most service.  He says his experiences have led him to value the importance of honestly telling all parts of his story, even the bad ones.  They have also led him to believe in the importance of giving to others who are in vulnerable situations, a place where he, too, might have one day been.  

A minister of a Church of Christ in Long Island, Brother Maxwell was baptized in a predominately white church, and, although his congregation is African-American, he tries to keep conversation and teaching open between his church and white Churches of Christ.  But he mourns that the black church and white church have "divorced each other," a term he did not originate, but a concept he hopes is possible to overcome.  Which metaphor will trump the other in American church society: Cue's circle of mutual giving, or the divorce between the black and the white churches?  A quote from Martin Luther King seems to blend Kenny's image of the long way around the game board image and Cue's circle of connectedness.  He said the arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice.

So I have told a few stories today of people I have met, although there are a few more I did not include here.  Their stories are for another time.  But after I have told these stories, I continue to exhort us all, imperfect though we are, to remember, to bend toward justice.

Artifacts found in Texas

I've just gotten back from a two-week interview trip all around Texas.  I stayed with a lot of Shiloh people and Shiloh friends, people that I didn't know yet, but people whom I would interview or ask to help me host History Parties.  It's a quick intimacy to sleep in someone's guest room and eat their food and then ask them to talk for a few hours about a place in their lives where they were involved in something that had a particular significance for them, perhaps tilted the compass of their lives one way or the other.  And perhaps I am staying in or looking at the results of the tilt.  Seeing the decades-long marriage of two people that met at camp, understanding the job choices that were made after the political or religious change that happened in the city, hearing the stories of pain or joy or missionary zeal and feeling the heat of those stories from the voices and eyes in front of me.  In many ways I have been gathering the artifacts from the lives I've intersected in this project, artifacts different from those I could carry out in my suitcase.  Recording them, studying the pictures they took, building memories for myself out of capturing their memories.  

Here are some hold-in-the-hand artifacts they've kept, artifacts I got to see and that now I present to you:

Artifacts of Shiloh and Eastside Church of Christ: This is a place that seems to have left fewer trails than others I've followed in this project.  But it does help me to understand Shiloh's theological bent at the time, as well its camper population.  There was an English-speaking congregation and a Spanish-speaking congregation, and I hear that because the Spanish-speaking residents of the East Side were at times more systematically invested in the church life, there were years when Camp Shiloh had a significant population of children whose parents were native Spanish-speakers.

Velma, Eddie Grindley's office secretary at Eastside, told me stories about trying to get Eddie organized--a task in itself--and she let me scan some of her old pictures, too.  I drove and drove to get to her house in the country, and I listened to her stories of Eastside, then drove back the next day with a portable scanner for her pictures.  Later at the end of the trip, at Bob and Myrt's house, Bob told me about working with some of the Shiloh kids at Eastside, and about being a very young Church of Christ preacher in the big non-Church of Christ city.

Velma's picture of
Eastside Church of Christ
building, where Eddie Grindley
was preacher,
and where some Shiloh
kids in the 1950s and 1960s attended.

Eastside Church of Christ
young people's group, ca. 1958.
Some were Shiloh campers.

Artifacts from doctrinal controversies of old:  There's a spiritual legacy of the Church of Christ in the life of Shiloh, both as a positive and in tension.  As it has always been driven by the specific religious engine of the Church of Christ, Shiloh has not been a stranger to certain kinds of doctrinal controversy as it tried to reconcile its work with the Church of Christ doctrine, especially in the conservative South.  In the 1960s and 1970s using a more "conversational" translation of the Bible that may or may not have made changes to certain theological ideals: I don't know whether or not using these Bibles at camp caused Shiloh itself to be questioned, but I do know that when Johnny and Polly showed the book to me, they had been talking about the changes in the national mood around the time they were at Shiloh in 1967.  They both had a twinkle in their eyes when they talked about how they were at times Christian rebels.

Leaders Mitchell and D.L. told me about their professional responses to charges that Shiloh was interested in the "social gospel" over baptism or that there were people on the premises who talked about the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.  They told me about directions they tried to take camp.  Barbara, whose husband Dwain had been a preacher, told me that in the first summer in 1951, she and the other counselors had been gathered together and given the option to go elsewhere because the landowner was a premillenialist.  Some counselors did leave, Barbara did not.

Johnny and Polly's Bible, in
the Good News for Modern Man translation,
used at camp.  They met at
camp in the summer of 1967.

Pizza and dishes--little details from two different camp neighborhoods:  Early on at the first campsite, local boys from Bernardsville, NJ, came to the campsite and asked to take the female counselors out for pizza pie.  Pizza at that time had not made it to the South, so the counselors thought, Piece of pie?  Barbara counselor tried it for the first time and remembers she did not like it.
Some neighbors in upscale Bernardsville complained of the children's noise, and there were times that campers had to go on in the back yard of the big house to ensure the wealthy neighborhood's residential feel.

Then a few decades later Shiloh bought a camp in New York that it could own outright, as D.L. explained to me at his dining table.  In the new camp the site was surrounded by an orthodox Jewish community.  In the 2000s, said April at a History Party, one rabbi who led a neighboring camp came over to apologize for his camper's prank calls, but the Shiloh staff were muddy and bloody from doing repairs, and were in no great shape to receive visitors.

Dishes Nina found in the basement of the camp's main
building, ca. 1980.  Likely left over
from when the camp was a Jewish hotel or camp. 

Saved artifacts with meaning:

Year-round worker Karyn saved the
key to her East New York
apartment on Williams Avenue.
She made lasting friendships living there,
including with some
of the boys in her Shiloh class.

A page from Linda's camp scrapbook.
She told me in her brief-but-deep interview that the time at Shiloh
in the early 1970s represented a "work of the heart" for her.

Amanda's artistic photo of kids in the camp pool, 2006.
They look like synchronized swimmers, but
getting the pool in working order for them to use has
been a labor of love at times for Shiloh,
as has been teaching swimming techniques.

Cassie photocopied a thank-you note from a camper ca. 2006,
 a note that was left pinned on a wall after camp one summer.
I've scrubbed out the camper's name, but the camper says
 he can make good decisions now using "fruit of the spirit words,"
and he will always remember God has a plan and a future for him.  It impressed Cassie.

The emotional artifacts of Shiloh: Mary, a female counselor from near-current days told me at a History Party of her friends that when she got back to her home after her fun and intense summer at camp, the time felt different, more stale, and she felt sadness.  For a while she would open her suitcase that had been full of her grubby clothes.  Her mother questioned what she was doing.  She laughed and told her mother that she was smelling the smell of camp.  Telling me this, she laughed again.  This group from the History Party loves to get together and talk about Shiloh.

Lives have been changed by the events at Shiloh.  Bob and Myrt met in 1952 at Shiloh, and, after he wrote a long-distance proposal by mail, they married and moved to the East Side together.  April and Dan married a few years after being friends at camp.  People have become teachers, ministers, social workers because of Shiloh.  I don't generally blog about some of the sad things that have happened to people, but there has been pain and confusion in people's lives: religious, physical.  Cindy, who had a painful experience in New York, took a night after talking about those difficult things to then compose a statement she read in the morning, a word to the friends she knew in from the year-round programs in East New York and Brownsville:

"I would just say to you my friends that you were brave comrades, a privilege to know and to walk with, in a good, perhaps great, cause.  God be with you."  --Cindy (1972-1974), when asked in her interview what she would say to Shiloh folks today.

Dorothy says Shiloh helped her to focus and become disciplined, but in addition to this it was a joy to see her reunite with her friend Tahna from the old days at a History Party, the same day as her interview.  Steve talks about how he put everything he had into Shiloh at a time when it was vulnerable, Jon told me a bit about the spirituality of manliness and basketball and firebuilding at camp.

Again there are others I leave out and things I haven't expressed here.  But I have your artifacts gathered up, little gifts you gave me of your truth from that time in that place.  They all mean something to this story, and you have my thanks.

Violence and God in the Drop-Dead City

In 1975 when the New York City mayor Abe Beame asked President Ford for money to bail out the bankrupt city, the president turned him down.  The New York Daily News summarized Ford's response with the now-famous headline: "Ford to City: Drop Dead".  New Yorkers were experiencing economic woes, explosive racial anger, and persistent violence.  And East New York and Brownsville, where many 1970s Shiloh workers lived and many 1970s Shiloh kids grew up?  What chance did they have for help in the city the president told to drop dead?  Did the previous New York City mayor John Lindsay help them in his campaign for racial tolerance, hurt them by overspending and playing the politician, both, or neither?

Jonathan Kozol's 1995 book, Amazing Grace: The Lives of Children and the Conscience of a Nation describes the South Bronx, where many current Shiloh kids now grew up or are growing up.  He describes the conditions there as painful stressors which no one should have to endure.  He cites unequal educational systems throughout the country as a significant factor in the persistence of the urban ghetto, and he implicates white America for not using its societal power to change the way that system continues.

It's hard for me to choose the right words as I write about these places, the homes of these kids I talked to.  I have spent very little time in East New York, Brownsville, the South Bronx, and other places like them.  I've done some reading and interviewing, but still I feel ignorant of the full realities and their causes.  I do know that many people I talked to witnessed or were victims of different kinds of violence.  I think it's safe to say that violence has affected just about everyone who has been in those neighborhoods in some way, no matter what their color or place of origin.  I know there are drugs and gangs and death there, and there are kids who just want to hurry home from school and lock their doors behind them to protect themselves from scary things.  And there are kids who want to go to school and succeed and not be urban statistics.  I know there was a lot of racism at the creation and subsequent isolation of these places, racism that is perhaps less overt now but has, I suppose, just been crystalized into our national fabric--you go one way, I'll go another, and never the opportunities shall meet you.

I'm not a psychologist, sociologist, nor a theologian--I read and then I listen to people tell their stories, hopefully with empathy and forethought.  Most of the people I have talked to in this project are joyful and interesting, no matter which side of the "Shiloh staffer/Shiloh kid" spectrum they fall on (these days it is more of a spectrum, not a strict divide, although the organization is aware that it is not a balanced line).  My questions are not probing on the topic, but still it's interesting in an interview to ask about who God is.  Among other things, I hear that Jesus is black, God has no color, God is like everything all at once.  Somehow I see those statements as good signs when I think about places like East New York, Brownsville, and the South Bronx.  I am glad there are places where God can show up and not look exactly like me and my God who does things in Tennessee, and I'm glad a Shiloh kid's God and a Shiloh staffer's God can be different and still be the same God.

In a few days I am heading off on a whirlwind trip to Texas to do about fifteen interviews of former Shiloh workers and friends from a variety of eras in Shiloh's history.  I know I'll ask questions about the story of what happened at Shiloh.  But I'm also interested in some measure to at least think about, What does God look like in Texas?  Does living in Texas now shape your memories of New York and New Jersey back then?  And how does being from Tennessee and being in my skin shape the very questions I ask?

I have a lot of things I wonder about--these and more--that I can't completely answer as I go through this project.   But as I hold the stories in my hands and think about them, considering the complexity is intentional.  If those of you reading this have Shiloh memories, what are the complexities associated with your memories?  Can more than one answer exist for the questions you have?

Both from The Gospel According to the Children at Shiloh, 1973.