Saturday, November 18, 2017
 
A LETTER TO DICK FIHN FROM TOM WILSON

 

January 20, 2004

Aloha,
I received your letter and wanted to thank you for thinking of me and sending the photos and list of names. Your package brought many fond memories flooding back into my mind. I find it interesting that the mind can reopen so many circuits after they have been inactive for so many years. All of that said I can’t remember the names of any of the unidentified faces.

I talked to Bill Ellison the other night and we had a bunch of laughs reminiscing about camp days. Bill says you might have another get together this year. It is a long way but I would be interested in getting the word. Perhaps I can use some of my free frequent flyer miles. The only problem is finding a seat on an airline that hasn’t restricted virtually every seat on every flight.

I moved to Hawaii in 1970 to work for a year on a development of a resort on the Island of Kauai. Got hooked on the lifestyle, the climate and the people. Decided to stay and married a hula dancer. Had a couple kids. Semi retired 13 years ago in Honolulu and settled in Hilo looking for a less urban environment to raise our children.

Being the Outfitter was one of the great jobs at Tomahawk. Lots of toys to play with. Remember the time those guys took all the leftover cans of fuel and “burned” the dump. Shocking! (eds. note: Yes I remember it very well indeed!).

I have thought of Bob Bryant many times over the years. I remember all the hours we spent tearing apart and fixing all of that old equipment Molby kept dragging home from the military.

Bob was a wizard at fixing things. From vehicles to dish washing machines and from freezers to coolers. He had a solution to most every breakdown and we had plenty of them. He was a great guy to work with but you knew what a tongue lashing was if he caught you speeding on the camp roads. He was one of the good ones.

Catching snapping turtles in the spring for the annual feed at a tavern across the lake was one of Bob’s things. Fortunately he taught us how to grab them and keep our fingers.

George Cherny was a good friend to have when you found yourself in a bar facing down a few of the locals who claimed a proprietary interest in some young girl you had been admiring. George was a 23 and 1/2 beer guy. His 24th was always for the ride home and he claimed he could never quite finish it.

I was interested to see that you were still around and living near Lake Wobegon. I remember you being older than the hills in 1958.(eds note: not quite that old Tom). You must be well past Social Security and Medicare by now. (eds. note: this guy really knows how to stick the knife in). In any event, it was good to hear from you after all of these years. If you get in touch with “Charley” (eds. Olson) or others give them my regards.

 
 
 

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