I’m finally settled in after spending four days in the dry and dusty
southwest. I really couldn’t complain about the heat, though, given that
basketball, of the five sports represented at the camp, occupied the
air-conditioned community center. Four days of +100 temps in Arizona, and
I didn’t use a drop of sunscreen. Oh, how on searing-hot days I love
basketball’s indoorness.

This was the fifth year I attended the camp. It was scheduled for a
spot outside of Tulsa, Okla., and at the last minute, finding that the
facilities there would be yet under construction and not quite finished, the
people from Johns Hopkins reverted to a familiar site: Whiteriver. The
camp was held in Whiteriver in ’00, ’01 (my first year), and ’02. In ’02,
we left early, licked out of town by the curling flame-tongues of the Rodeo-Chadiski
fire that burned hundreds of acres of Ponderosa pine forest that year. The
evacuation meant a financial setback for the organizers, too, so the camp didn’t
make in ’03. In
’04 and
’05, it took
place in Bernalillo, just north of Albuquerque.

Because of the juggled sites, the numbers were slightly down. Twelve of
us ran the basketball arm of the camp with just under 100 campers, considerably
fewer than the 250 basketballers we organized and worked out a year ago in N.M.
Most of the kids were local or from N.M. and Oklahoma. And without
hesitation I’d regard this year’s bunch as one of the best we’ve had–congenial,
hard-working, there to learn about basketball. The life skills portion of
the camp was stronger this year, too. Pairs of us would break off from the
central venue and take groups of forty to various workshops on leadership (I was
in on this one), on making dream catchers, and on (the severe perils of) driving
under the influence. The leadership session lasted 90 minutes. It
began with a brief talkaround on qualities of leaders and exemplary figures.
We all introduced ourselves and then played games: Sit back-to-back with a
partner and stand up using each other for leverage. Same in groups of
four. In a group of sixteen, make a circle, lock hands, then unravel
yourselves. And, with a small balloon tied around your ankle, try to be
the last one standing while eliminating everyone else with bursts of
stomping-to-pop. I was terrible at this last event. Those who could
hop one-legged for the longest outlasted the rest of us quite easily.

I suppose there’s a lot more to be said about the camp: meeting elders,
catching up with friends from previous years and former colleagues from alma
mater, seeing some of the natural marvels of the desert southwest, spending time
in the gym just shooting the ball with people who love to do the same. I
also had a fascinating conversation at a reception on Saturday evening with the
superintendent of schools. I’m forgetting some stuff, and leaving some other
stuff out. The
photos fill in some of what’s missing.