Photos, Poems and Videos
from the celebration
of Ben Kimball's 100th Birthday
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Tributes to Ben Kimball and Camp Dry-Kye
Remembering Ben and Dry-Kye
By Peter Caroline, Arizona
What a marvelous tribute to an unforgettable mentor! I was at Dry-Kye
from 1949 through 1952, and I can sincerely say that Ben Kimball was the
defining figure in my life. Prior to Dry-Kye, I had no knowledge of opera or
classical music, no interest in cuisine other than as fuel, and no real
friends or acquaintances other than my suburban (Newton Centre) Jewish
milieu.
Ben changed all that.
Our counselors were M.I.T. students from India
and what became Pakistan. We enjoyed the cuisine of a wide variety of
cultures, in addition to the heavenly fried clams at Brookside. I developed
my shooting skills (much to my parents' horror), and actually earned my NRA
Jr. Sharpshooter's medal with several bars, using my old Stevens .22 rifle,
which Ben had christened "the Crud Cannon." David Ogden and I used to make
our own muzzleloading pistols and black powder at camp, and somehow managed
not to blow ourselves up in the process. This early exposure to firearms led
to a lifetime hobby and vocation. I currently write for a firearms
publication, I've written ads and collateral material for a wide variety of
firearms manufacturers, and currently own about 200 guns and associated
reloading equipment.
Ben had been all over the world, done everything and had a vast
storehouse of knowledge, some of which was apocryphal. He taught us, by
indirection, that just because a grown-up or authority figure said it, did
not mean it was gospel. An educated level of skepticism is a necessary
survival tool. He taught us that life should be lived as a grand adventure.
Recounting my adventures at Dry-Kye, I have heard comments from
politically correct, liability-phobic individuals that this must have been a
frightful place. Comprising a mixed bag of Jews, Italians, Greeks, Yankees,
Asians and whatever, we campers happily greeted each other with ethnic
epithets that today would result in our crucifixion by the guardians of
diversity and multiculturalism. We ran with knives, played with guns, smoked
anything that would burn, hitchhiked into town, and settled arguments with
sword-and-dagger duels (actually tree limbs hewn to shape). We all survived,
and prospered.
Today, at 73, I still wear my Dry-Kye T-shirt proudly, and remember with
love and admiration the man who made it all possible.
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