Stephen Madarasz has worked as a communications professional in Albany for more than 40 years. He began his career as a broadcast journalist with WAMC and helped establish its news operation. He also served for more than 30 years as communications director for CSEA.
Stephen serves on the board of directors of the American Red Cross of Eastern NY and Capital Repertory Theatre. He also teaches marketing communication and public speaking at the University at Albany, and balances advocacy with his love for the performing arts.
In his story “Night March at Camp Wauwepex,”. Stephen recalls a night that had a certain unexpected military flair.
Night March at Camp Wauwepex
By Stephen Madarasz
“GET UP. GET DRESSED…CAN’T YOU HEAR THOSE DOGS BARKING? GET YOUR GEAR TOGETHER…WE’RE MARCHING OUT IN TEN MINUTES.”
Gear? What’s happening?
It was midnight on an August night in 1971 at Camp Wauwepex out East on Long Island and my 13-year-old self, had been startled awake from a deep sleep.
The commanding voice was insistent.
It was Robbie, a young Army vet recently returned from Viet Nam, an adult leader of our Boy Scout troop although he had no direct relation to any of us. He was only in his mid twenties but seemed a lot older.
Robbie carried himself with authority and we were in awe of him. He was a big imposing guy with an impressive mustache. While gruff, he also was encouraging and approachable. Over the past year he had taught us a lot about camp craft and wilderness survival on some pretty intense winter campouts.
He could also be coaxed into sharing stories about his army experiences and we couldn’t get enough of it.
“LET’S GO. GET IT TOGETHER AND FALL IN.”
Robbie was issuing the orders so it must be something important and necessary.
I grabbed a plastic drop sheet, flashlight and mess kit and threw them into a backpack. Judging from sounds and muffled comments coming from the nearby tents, everyone else was doing the same.
The campsite was aglow from Coleman lanterns as we all gathered in formation, more than a little confused and bleary-eyed. Robbie was in charge but several Dads were there too, with serious faces that betrayed nothing.
“ATTENHUT! WE”RE MOVING OUT.”
No explanation was given and no one dared ask for one.
We marched out into the moonlit night and onto the lake road, headed away from the Camp facilities. No one spoke.
Then into the woods and to a halt a short ways in.
“SPREAD OUT AND BED DOWN FOR THE NIGHT.”
Unsure, we all complied without a word as if to question the order would be to disobey it.
I headed into the woods and found a depression filled with dry leaves, wrapped myself in the plastic sheet and used my backpack as a pillow. I lay there for awhile zoned out before I fell asleep.
Sometime after dawn we were awakened, reassembled and marched back to our campsite.
Over breakfast, the conversation buzzed. None of us was quite sure about what we had experienced but we were all in agreement that it had been SO COOL!
Robbie and the other adult leaders were enjoying our reaction and turned our questions back at us, challenging us to explain the what and why of the exercise. They relished the recap, ribbing us about our astonished expressions.
On Visitors Day the nocturnal saga dominated conversation with assembled families. The Moms, of course, were initially concerned but the Dads assured them it was simply a rite of passage.
So it was.
I stayed involved in Boy Scouts for another couple of years until high school activities led to a different path. The raw awareness of early transformative experiences morphed dramatically as I matured. Then, decades of adult life.
A few months ago, a childhood friend emailed. He’d been thinking about Robbie as a role model and mentor and wanted my help locating him.
My search yielded a recent obituary.
Robbie had been a good and responsible man with a family that loved him, a successful career and good friends. Any of us should be grateful for a life that ends that way.
It was good to know and what I might have expected.
Still, I wish there’d been an opportunity to let him know all these years later how much his effort to help a group of boys become strong, resilient men was appreciated.
The memory of that night march at Camp Wauwepex is in sharper focus now.