Camp Nebagamon

by Adam Kaplan

The saying goes, “You only have one chance to make a first impression.” So why Paul Bunyan?

Curious, isn’t it? Camp Nebagamon for Boys, an institution that strives to welcome and nurture generations of young men, offers a first impression consisting of a hulking, 15-foot statue representing the roughest, toughest, most intimidating figure in the history of (fake) lumberjacks.

Keep in mind the emotional state of these boys as they enter through the front gates for the first time. Many of them have never been away from home. They’re somewhat terrified. In that moment of apprehension and uncertainty, they want to be comforted. They want to be assured that they are up to the challenge. Basically, they want their mothers. The last thing they would need is a reminder of how puny, weak, and insignificant they are in comparison to the true giants of the Northwoods.

Indeed, the choice of that massive Paul Bunyan statue as a first impression might seem to be an odd one… to some. But only to those who have never spent time at Nebagamon—or, for that matter, have never taken a really good look at the statue.

Paul, 1940

A close inspection of our iconic gatekeeper reveals that Paul is not nearly as unapproachable, stoic, and daunting as one might think. For example, have you ever looked closely at Paul’s hands? No? Well next time you are at camp, check out the fingernails. Nail polish! PINK nail polish!  Our resident tough guy paints his nails pink? Yep! And what is that popping out of his back pocket? It’s not just your garden variety bandana-style hanky. Nope, not at all. Peeking its head out of Paul’s work pants is an adorable mouse. Paul Bunyan, alpha male of alpha males, cares for a cute, little pet mouse in his back pocket!

Our mischievous staff members’ Nebaga-additions to Paul actually make sense because it’s important to remember how much of the Paul Bunyan legend is enormously whimsical. A giant pet ox? That might be frightening—except for the fact that Babe is a blue ox. That’s just playful, appealing to the kid in all of us. And what about when Paul gets hungry? Well, he has his resident cooks strap giant slabs of bacon to their feet to skate playfully across a cast iron griddle—you know, to grease it for the ginormous pancakes to follow. I mean, come on, that image doesn’t suggest “Lumberjack on Steroids” as much as it shouts “Disney on Ice.”

Paul, 1958

So the Paul Bunyan at the Camp Nebagamon front gate—the first one built in 1937, and the current one having stood there for nearly half a century—was not meant to loom larger than life. It was meant to suggest that we embrace life. It makes us grin. It energizes us. It gets us in the mood for a summer of whimsy and wonder.

In fact, if one really thinks about Paul Bunyan and what he stands for (literally, in our case), it becomes clear that he is a near perfect representation of Nebagamon. Paul is all about effort and perseverance. He represents both reaching personal potential and valuing teamwork. Virtually every Paul Bunyan legend tells the story of a challenging situation being overcome through working hard, working together, and pushing through some tough circumstances. This is the story of virtually all Nebagamon successes as well.

Sometimes an all-true Nebagamon tale tells of an incredibly challenging portage requiring that the entire trip group work together to make it to that next lake. Sometimes it is the story of a camper passing his tripper rank in swimming despite being afraid to swim in a lake, an achievement that may require the combined efforts of staff members and cabinmates, not to mention a deep personal drive to achieve that goal. Sometimes it’s about a homesick little boy who needs to lean on counselors, his camp big brother, village directors, and his peers to help see him through his first few tough days. And sometimes it is the story of making and keeping your best friend in the world through distance, arguments, jealousies, or personal struggles.

All are stories embodied by that 15-foot lumberjack behind the Big House—determination, cooperation, persistence, potential. So no, Nebagamon’s Paul Bunyan was not meant to intimidate, but rather to motivate and to remind us all that the best things in life are earned through hard work and enjoyed through a sense of community.

As I often say, the geniuses who invented this place had it all figured out, including knowing how best to make a great first impression.

4th of July, 2016

by Jessie Stein Diamond

When I was six years old, my brother and I each had an enormous white pet rabbit. We never could tell them apart until the day one died. That’s when I figured out the difference.

My “bunny” was the not-dead one.

Bunny’s now immortal presence at camp, a 400-pound white concrete statue by the Little House driveway, reminds me how great it was (and is) to be the youngest child of Nebagamon’s longtime directors, Nardie and Sally, and the youngest grandchild of, Muggs and Janet Lorber, Nebagamon’s founders.

We were a migratory family. As early as possible each spring we would bust loose from school and our winter home in St Louis and drive 13 hours north to Lake Nebagamon. The summer of 1969, when I was six, was among my best ever. That’s when my parents commissioned a replacement for camp’s second wooden Paul Bunyan statue, which had been carved in 1958 and stood outside year-round.

That particular summer began like any other. We arrived as the scent of blooming lilacs wafted across Swamper Hill. Even as a preschooler I loved exploring camp by myself. In late spring, I wandered with a tin water pitcher that I filled with wild asparagus I picked at ‘secret’ patches in camp. I often found enough for Evie Johnson, beloved pre-camp cook, to serve to everyone at the Big House dining table.

Infinite freedom

Before I was old enough to go away to a girl’s camp by myself, every summer felt like infinite freedom. My older siblings, Ted and Jane, had Jay, Polly and Sally Horvath, as contemporaries and partners in mischief (secret clubs and mysterious adventures). Their parents, Betty and John, whose astute insights and infectious belly laugh and cryptic quips, respectively, were a solace to my parents who worked dawn to midnight most days. I found my own fun.

That particular summer, I was the most faithful visitor watching as Anthony Zimmerhakl (Zimmie) and his son Steve built a sturdy new weather-resistant Paul Bunyan statue. Most days I watched Paul Bunyan’s statue take shape, as I petted my warm, nose-twitching bunny’s silky soft fur.

That was as fun for me as walking to town to buy penny candy, as magical as watching dance rehearsals by the Tamburitzans who spent every summer rehearsing folk dances and music for an end-of-season performance at the Lake Nebagamon auditorium (seemingly the height of glamour and romance).  I was mesmerized by the daily routine of our on-site artists: Steve and Zimmie, a La Crosse public schools fine art teacher, as they steadily shaped wet concrete over Paul’s inner wire mesh. A sturdy, handsome statue gradually emerged—rising from the boots, to the knees, to the belt, to the flannel shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, and then up to his bearded face and dapper hat.

On sunny days, I would go to the lake with my babysitter. On the sun-warmed wooden dock in front of Kozy Korner I would ‘cook’ through my treasured Mud Pies and Other Recipes book (piling and dripping wet sand). I found and played with toads, frogs, harmless garter snakes and turtles. On cool days I read much of the Rec Hall library—Jules Verne, Hardy Boys!

Tiny berry tarts

As that summer progressed, I picked buckets full of wild strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries and hand them over to camp chef Dwight “Dirk” Dirksen, another of my favorite people, who baked tiny berry tarts just for me. On the second floor of the Big House, I often visited my maternal great-grandmother, Maggie (“Danny”) Rolfe, for a snack from her ‘peanut machine’ (pull the knob for a handful of salty peanuts) and bug juice.

I vaguely remember the dedication ceremony later that summer when Zimmie finished our manly Paul Bunyan statue. My dad wrote and delivered a grand speech about the logging industry for an audience of my nuclear family, grandparents, and great-grandmother plus that summer’s collective universe of campers and staff. Together, we celebrated our new sculpture—a worthy tribute to camp’s former use as a lumber company and the Big House’s storied history as a summer home for the Weyerhaeuser family.

Then, after my great-grandmother and I christened the statue (with water balloons filled with bug juice), Zimmie surprised me with a gift. He and his son had secretly turned Paul’s spare dabs of concrete into a giant bunny statue just for me!

Since then, nearly 50 years have passed. Paul Bunyan steadfastly welcomes all to Camp Nebagamon. Yet the experience of being a child in America has changed, especially for kids with few advantages, in ways that break my heart. What’s left of the body parts of camp’s (second) wooden Paul Bunyan have slowly decomposed and are now mostly rotted in their final resting spot under the Swamper Jop. The wooden heads of camp’s first and second Paul Bunyan are encased, trophy-like, in custom-built glass cabinets in the Herb Hollinger Museum. Even Zimmie’s legacy as a folk artist has been altered by legitimate objections to his stereotyped images of Native peoples in his other sculptures and murals on display elsewhere in Wisconsin.

Ultimate vaccine

Like many who spent their early years at Nebagamon, I received the ultimate ‘vaccine’—a safe and happy childhood plus knowing so many kind, smart, funny, fun, generous adults at Camp Nebagamon who nurtured hundreds, cumulatively thousands, more happy childhoods.

Each of us recalls our own friends, values and capabilities we gained at Nebagamon. These experiences helped us find our footing as adults. For kids who experience poverty or disability, being at camp can be even more life-changing, even therapeutic. As we look toward Nebagamon’s 90^th season in 2018, a big “How” to our alumni community for paying forward our own life-changing summers via www.cncharities.org.

I lead the terrific board of the Camp Nebagamon Scholarship Fund (CNSF) as the third generation in my family, following in the footsteps of my parents’ 50+ years, and my grandparents who founded CNSF in 1947. Generous donors to the CNSF helped 240 kids in 2017 attend nonprofit camps with expertise in recreation and therapeutic supports for youth who experience poverty and disability.

Likewise, support for Camperships for Nebagamon (CFN) has diversified and enriched the privately-owned camps Nebagamon and WeHakee since 1995.

So every time I walk by the Paul Bunyan statue, which stands as a symbol of both sturdiness and adventure, I recall my own childhood. But I am also reminded that a summer camp environment is a glorious opportunity for any child. And like the spare concrete that comprises the bunny in front of the Little House, just a little bit extra can have a lasting effect.

by Brad Herzog

Here’s something you might not know about the Statue of Liberty: Many historians believe that, while the copper statue represents the Roman goddess Libertas, Lady Liberty’s face may have been modeled after someone familiar to French sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi—his mother.

Kind of changes your perspective about it, right? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses… and clean up your room!”

Camp Nebagamon’s version of the Statue of Liberty, on the other hand, is modeled on a legend, through and through. The man at the entrance to the 77 acres is all myth. But what a myth it is.

Paul Bunyan is a giant of American folklore, both literally and figuratively. He has been the subject of countless articles, poems, stories, songs, and stage productions. In a 1958 Disney animated short musical, Paul Bunyan, the voice of Paul was the same fellow who voiced Kellogg’s Tony the Tiger. The film received an Oscar nomination for Best Animated Short.

Paul’s likeness rises above dozens of American places—from Bemidji (Minnesota) to Bangor (Maine), from Old Forge (New York) to Eau Claire (Wisconsin), from Manistique (Michigan) and Muncie (Indiana) to the Mall of America. There’s an annual Paul Bunyan Mountain and Blues Festival in Westwood, California. And during Paul Bunyan Days in Maries, Idaho, people flock to the Blue Ox, billed as the “Biggest Topless Bar in Idaho.” That’s because it has no roof.

So many places claim Paul as their own that his origins are rather murky. On November 6, 2006, the state of Michigan designated the town of Oscoda as the “Official Home of Paul Bunyan” because the Oscoda Press published the first Bunyan story exactly a century earlier. But the myth of Paul likely stems from the oral traditions of North American loggers—fragmented, hyperbolic stories told in bunkhouses. And, in fact, the earliest recorded written reference to Paul Bunyan is said to be an uncredited 1904 editorial in… the Duluth News Tribune.

There is an upper Midwestern focus to much of Paul’s tale. Indeed, when a member of the Wisconsin Historical Society named Michael Edmonds wrote a definitive summary of the larger-than-life lumberjack, he called his book Out of the Northwoods: The Many Lives of Paul Bunyan. Edmonds concluded that Paul’s stories originated from woodsmen in Wisconsin lumber camps at the turn of the 20^th century. Which begs a titillating question: Were some of those early tales told in Lake Nebagamon?

But accounts of Paul range from coast to coast. Some stories have him born in Maine, a child so large that five large birds had to carry him to his parents, so thirsty that it took ten cows to supply milk for him, so hungry that it took 50 eggs a day to feed him. He was a future lumberjack with the eating habits of the Lumberjack Village.

Paul was so strong that he could clear enormous wooded areas with one swing of his massive axe. He was so fast that he could turn off a light and jump into bed before the room got dark. Yes, Paul Bunyan tales are constructed of exaggeration layered on top of embellishment.

There is a Logger Lover-ish aspect to much of the Bunyan myth—in the form of winters beyond belief. Babe the Blue Ox? His distinctive hue came from a “winter of blue snow,” an entire season of bright blue snowflakes that permanently changed his color. And that same year, so the story goes, ol’ Paul marched through a storm in search of firewood. But he dragged his heavy axe behind him, accidentally carving out a canyon. The Grand Canyon, in fact.

Yes, if there is an American wonder, there is generally a Paul Bunyan myth behind it. The Great Lakes? Those were watering holes he created for Babe. Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes? Merely Paul’s and Babe’s footprints. New York’s Finger Lakes? Paul tripped and used his hand to break his fall. Oregon’s Mount Hood? One day, Paul tried to smother a campfire with rocks. The Missouri River? Formed from Paul’s tears after Babe went to that pasture in the sky.

So is the Paul Bunyan story folklore? Or is it, as some historians contend, “fakelore”—a literary invention passed off as an older folktale. Most of the modern stories of Paul, they say, are composed of elements that don’t stem from the original folk tales. Or are the origins something else entirely? A few authors have suggested that there may be a connection between Paul Bunyan’s exploits and those of a powerful French-Canadian lumberjack who worked in Northern Michigan and Wisconsin in the decade following the Civil War, a fellow by the name of Fabian “Joe” Fournier. The man apparently met his demise in a drunken brawl at the hands of a stonemason named Blinky—I’m not making this up—in 1875.

But that name… Fournier… Fournier… Fornear? Could it be that longtime Nebagamon associate director Adam Fornear (below, dressed as the Bull of the Woods on Paul Bunyan Day, 2008) is actually related to the Paul Bunyan?

That would be legendary.

By Alex Gordon

Paul Bunyan. Strong and solid he stands at the gates of Camp Nebagamon, an assuring and welcoming figure to generations of campers, staff, and alumni. But beyond the photo ops and occasional late night shenanigans, not many people spend time with ol’ Paul. Alone, he silently watches camp’s pick-up trucks and trip vans come and go, with no company to pass the time, not even a blue ox.

In reality, though, Paul is not alone. Paul has many doppelgangers spread throughout the Northwoods and beyond, a veritable cadre of brothers in axes. Yes, just as Lady Liberty can count on dozens of cousins foisting torches from her birthplace in Paris to Duluth (where an eight-foot replica stands near the Duluth Aquarium), there are Pauls located throughout the nation—from parks to parking lots. There’s an axe-wielding Paul in a cluttered backyard of a private collector in Phoenix, Arizona… and a washer-and-dryer-hawking Paul in front of Fasco Appliance in Oskhosh, Wisconsin… and a Paul as part of a miniature golf hole in Lake George, New York…

Yes, there are Pauls aplenty. Here is a look at nine of the more interesting ones among dozens of Bunyans scattered across the land:

Bemidji, MN: Perhaps the most famous Bunyan statue, though oddly one of the least artful, this 18-foot-tall, 2.5-ton behemoth celebrated his 80^th birthday this year. Though once hailed by the Kodak Company as the country’s “second most photographed icon” behind Mt. Rushmore, this Bunyan suffers from proportionality issues, more resembling the shrunken-headed hunter in the waiting room in the final scene of Beetlejuice than a rugged woodsman.

Brainerd, MN: Next to the Bemidji Bunyan, perhaps the next most famous is the eerie colossus on the road into Brainerd that figured prominently in the Coen Brothers’ 1996 classic film Fargo. But in the same way the fictional film was billed as “based on a true story,” the Brainerd Bunyan is a prop based on an actual talking statue sitting on the outskirts of town in the Bunyan-based amusement park Paul Bunyan Land. A second Bunyan joined the party about a decade ago at the Brainerd Lakes Welcome Center, sitting on a stump with his right hand permanently hoisted in the air patiently waiting for a high five for carving the Grand Canyon.

Akeley, MN: The lumber town of Akeley in north central Minnesota claims to be the Bunyan birthplace and thus goes all-in on the Bunyan theme, hosting an annual Paul Bunyan Days festival, housing the Paul Bunyan Museum, and featuring businesses like Akeley Municipal Liquor Store & Lounge (“Where Paul wets his whistle”) and the Blue Ox Market (presumably, where Paul buys his Pringles). The town naturally features what may be the largest of all the Bunyans, depicting Paul kneeling down with his palm resting open for endless photo ops. His facial hair is enough to make a Brooklyn artisanal microbrewer jealous.

Bangor, ME: Maine’s “Queen City” also asserts to be Bunyan’s birthplace and also lays claim to what a plaque says is “reputed to be the largest statue of Paul Bunyan in the world.” Bangor’s 31-foot-tall, 3,700-pound giant is one of the more life-like Bunyan’s, a quality exploited by an actual Bangor native, Stephen King, who brought Bunyan to life in his 1986 book It after the statue was possessed by an evil spirit.

Klamath, CA: Just like so many born either in the Midwest or upper New England, Paul eventually moved out west to retire in California—or so the story goes at Trees of Mystery, a kitsch-meets-cool-redwoods attraction near Northern California’s Redwood National Park, about 40 miles from the Oregon border. Standing (next to a massive Babe) over 49-feet tall, this Bunyan appears to actually be the tallest, a fact he will actually tell you as the statue interacts with guests, answering questions and making wisecracks. Ira Glass even featured this Paul for his public radio show “This American Life” in 2013.

Westwood, CA: Some six hours southeast of Klamath, sits another Golden State Paul, in a town built by the actual Red River Logging Company, which was credited with popularizing the Paul Bunyan myth through advertising pamphlets in the early 1900s. For a town with such a rich Bunyan history, Paul here sports a slight physique suggesting he might be more comfortable reconciling the lumber company’s books then felling mighty pines. Westwood’s Paul doesn’t even have a beard; instead sporting a magnificent Mario-esque mustache.

Portland, OR: Perhaps the most urban Bunyan, this 31-footer stands tall in a busy Portland neighborhood. Originally built in 1959 for the Oregon Centennial Exposition, Paul has a bemused expression on his face, which might have to do with his looking on day and night across the street at the clientele coming and going from an establishment known as The Dancin’ Bare.

University Park, IL: With his shoulders slumped and eyes cast downward, this 25-foot Bunyan stands (or more accurately, slouches) on the campus of Governor’s State University in the south suburbs of Chicago. The renowned artist Tony Tasset reportedly wanted this Paul to reflect the world-weary mindset of America in the early 2000s, but we like to think Paul is just deflated at the thought of the Chicago Bears missing the playoffs yet again. 

Bloomington, MN: Tucked amongst the Foot Lockers and Auntie Annes of the Mall of America is a Paul Bunyan-themed log chute ride featuring a catchy Bunyan jingle (Everywhere down in Lumberville. Born to every Jack and Jill. You will hear the mighty call of a man named Paul. He’s the biggest lumberjack of all) and a cameo from the man himself about halfway through the journey. Sports trivia buffs will note that the ride sits on the site where former Minnesota Twins slugger Harmon Killebrew’s club record 520-foot home run landed in the old Metropolitan Stadium. Killebrew, a prodigious slugger who died in 2011, was often referred to as baseball’s version of, you guessed it, Paul Bunyan.

David Greenhouse (New York City/London 94-00, 02) wrote in to say… “I really, really enjoyed reading the latest Keylog about the international presence at Nebagamon. Must have been a lot of work to put together, but it tells a story that resonates with me. I found that all the wonderful people from around the world that I met at camp enriched my life, made me more curious, and somehow showed me the path for me to go and live abroad myself. My son Wilbur was born on March 15, and he enjoys having camp songs sung to him, particularly “Mr Zip Zip Zip” and “All Night, All Day.” He may be a future camper (from the U.K. no less!) in a few years time.”

Niels Trolle (Denmark 69-73) sent a digital keylog of sorts to Nardie and Sally Stein, regarding his five summers at camp: “My summers in Nebagamon enable me, every night before ‘I close my eyes in sleep,’ to imagine myself going around in camp from the tent to the waterfront or to the upper hill, or to the Big House, or in Lake Nebagamon at the waterfront, picking an ice-cream cone at the Dairy Queen. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to take my wife Kirsten to camp one summer, that my son could spend two summers at camp, and that I could show camp to one of my daughters. The keylog is for almost 50 years of friendship across the Atlantic Ocean.”

Sally Lorber Stein wrote to share her fond memories of Ed Drolson (Lake Nebagamon/Minneapolis 53-65, 67-69, 72-74), who passed away in November: “To most camp alumni, 54849 means camp. For Ed Drolson, it also meant his hometown. I always felt that the Drolson family, especially Eddie, bridged whatever gap there might have been between the village and camp. Ed’s parents, Ludy and Evelyn, met on the Big House steps, and Ludy was the postmaster of Lake Nebagamon for many years. The Drolsons were the first to invite the Lorbers into their home—and I remember musical evenings there, with each Drolson playing an instrument or singing. Ed and I were buddies. We learned to walk on stilts together (I have the picture to prove it). At Friday night roller skating in the village auditorium it was a treat to watch Eddie, the picture of grace, gliding in perfect timing to the music. He also was a great dancer (I loved to dance the polka with Ed). In 1953, Ed started what would be a 20-year run on the staff. He was a senior counselor, then a village push (Swamper and Axeman), and he finished his career at CNOC. One of the highlights for Ed was being chosen to be a counselor on camp’s See America Trip, and he reflected on that adventure throughout his life.”

“Ed and his family were at Nardie’s and my wedding—in fact his mother played the music. Then we welcomed Luise into our lives, just as Ed had welcomed Nardie, and the four of us were firm friends. Ed and Luise were fine parents who adored their children, Paul and Paula, and relished their time with their grandchildren. Ed was a fine and respected teacher. He liked helping children, as he did, winter and summer. He met people easily and readily made them feel welcome. He had courage, wit, and a fun sense of humor—and he loved telling tales of his early counseling years. Even after retirement, Ed relished any contact he had with camp, enjoyed coming to barbecues, and welcomed each new set of directors. Walking the grounds of camp at the beginning and end of each summer filled him with joy. Ed Drolson is gone and the village grieves with us. There is a hole in the atmosphere at 54849.”