Paging Doctor Cohen with an Assist by Cliff Davis
We are spending the weekend at Camp Davis on Lake Ariel in the Poconos, the lovely vacation home of our dear friends Cliff and Linda. I met Cliff and Linda fifty-one years ago on the second floor of University Halls Dormitory number Four (called U-Hall 4 by its denizens). The greatest difference between this U-Hall and the other five identical cinderblock post-WWII buildings was that unlike all the others, Dorm 4 did not suck, at least not according to its inhabitants despite the occasional midnight shouts at us to the contrary from the other dorm residents. Cliff and Linda came to college (he to Cornell and she to SUNY Cortland) together and have never parted since. We all joined the same fraternity, where we resided for two years and then joined to rent an apartment together for our last year. We are a close-knit college group that also consists of Gary and Dale, Bob and Lisa, Marc and Margie, Ann and Russ and Mike. All but Russ and Lisa were Cornellians, and the only ones missing from that list and from this weekend at Camp Davis are Deb and Jay, who are in Europe and Mike and Merys, who will stop by tomorrow after Shabbat.
This reunion has no purpose other than giving us all a chance to see one another and talk about old times and new life updates. We gathered for a lunch of Hot Truck meat and cheese sandwiches, which were a hallmark of our nighttime freshman experience in U-Hall 4. We then spent the afternoon whiling away a lovely sunny summer day between the deck, the lawn and the dock. At one point a command decision was made that some of the attendees were going to get some exercise by partaking of water sports on the lake. First, a group took a ride around the lake on Camp Davis’ motorboat. The lake is a small but pristine family lake with a hundred or more cottages dotting its shoreline. The composition of the residents ranges from full-time local inhabitants to “summer people” like Cliff and Linda (though their home is winterized and they do use it to gather in all seasons). This is a scene from On Golden Pond with a glassy lake with geese and loons floating here and there and the occasional boat (quieted by the requirement of only inboard motors allowed) passing, dragging a rubber tube filled with laughing children. Mostly there are peaceful kayakers paddling here and there around the lake with a few brave swimmers floating on air mattresses (brave because the water temperature is a chilly 71 degrees, not so cold by Northeast standards, but shiveringly cold to us California sorts). Meanwhile, we were scattered across the deck, lawn and dock in whatever soft chairs we could find, not worrying too much about how we planned to get up and out of them when the time came.
As with most lake communities, lakefront is at a premium and the cottages are fairly close to one another, but Cliff tells us that he feels lucky in that they are not only friendly with their neighbors on both sides, but that those neighbors, one full-timer and one occupied by summer people, are liberally inclined, with the Trumpers located elsewhere around the lake. None of us can recall a time in American history when the political views of our neighbors were such a relevant part of our comfort calculus. Meanwhile the large lakeside beech trees in front of Camp Davis are perfectly positioned to provide welcome shade during the heat of the afternoon for aging Baby Boomers, one more worried about impending skin cancer threats than the next. Some of us throw caution to the wind and just sit in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, watching the lakefront gaggle, deciding what water sport they used to do, would still consider doing or have no intention of doing.
As the afternoon wore on, finally a few brave souls decided to venture forth under their own steam onto the lake. Russ chose to take the paddle board out for a spin. Russ is reasonably proficient to at such things, but it still looked uncomfortable to try and balance upright on a board while paddling out into the lake. I determined that I would only do that if it came with a chair on the board since my back hurt just watching Russ wiggle his way out onto the water. Then Margie and Lisa decided to go out on kayaks. Margie is an experienced kayaker, but Lisa had never been out before. Bob helped Lisa get situated while Margie went slightly offshore and showed her skills by doing figure eights and such out beyond the dock while she waited for Lisa to get her balance. Once Lisa got comfortable, off they went chasing Russ out towards a little island in the lake that formed a good object for their mission. We were all duly impressed and got back into our conversations about kids and grandkids, reorganizing the world as we went. After a while, as the sun started setting and dinner started to beckon, we began to wonder where the kayakers had gone. Russ had found his way back, but the kayaks were nowhere to be seen. Finally, Cliff decided to go out see if he could find them and Marc and Bob decided that as the concerned spouses that they really should go along with him.
Those of us on shore waited anxiously while sipping our frosted drinks, not really too worried, but feeling that we should show some appropriate concern. When the boat returned, we could see that Lisa was in the boat, but Margie was not. We didn’t have to wait too long to figure out what this all meant about the kayaking expedition. Soon, from the other direction came two kayaks cutting a very professional swath through the lake waters. Dr. Margie Cohen (technically Dr. Margie Curtis-Cohen) was in the lead and Dr. Marc Curtis Cohen (yes, his middle name is Curtis and was long before he ever met Margie) was behind her, alternating his paddle strokes like a seasoned kayaking pro. It seems that Margie had led she and Lisa out to a spot and missed the location of Camp Davis (it seems lake houses look more alike from the water than they do from shore), thereby perpetrating the emergency rescue effort. Lisa had become fatigued of arm and fortunately, Dr. Cohen was available to substitute in. Once Lisa had been saved and dragged onboard by dutiful husband Bob, Dr. Cohen was left to try to manage the onboarding of a kayak on the open sea. Luckily for him, he was out of sight of the shore contingent, who would have loved to cheer him on in the endeavor.
The boating and kayaking team tied up to the dock and dragged the kayaks onto the shore and sighed a long sigh of relief. Rescue mission accomplished compliments of Dr. Marc Curtis Cohen, even the trauma was created by Dr. Margie Curtis-Cohen. It was noted by all at Camp Davis that none of this was possible without the assist from Cliff, which we were all duly reminded of thanks to Cliff himself.