CCC Legacy Journal: November- December 2009,  Vol. 33, Issue 6

REMEMBRANCE:  CAMP CUSINO, CO. #689

“Beer, Beer for 689

Bring whisky, bring wine

Do not let a sober CCCer in? 

That may be called the theme song for camp Cusino at Shingleton Michigan,  Despite the alcoholic content of that song there were no wild, wild parties there.  At least not during the two years of 1938-39 that I was enrolled in that company.  That was five years after Jeffery Schatzer’s father was there*, but the camp work there was still game research.  The biggest part of that was finding how much those deer and the one moose ate and what they most like to eat.

 The system to find out was WIW0— weigh in on the way in and weigh out on the way out.  I never did read about any knowledge or conclusion about all that study.  I just did the work.  After my work was done I just thought about having fun. 

 Some of that game research had a personal touch.  Those deer in pens became very relaxed in the company of humans.  A deer was let out of the pen and given the freedom to roam.  A man was given a pad, a pencil and a watch if he did not have one.  His job was like being a reporter for a newspaper.  For a few days, he watched the deer and wrote down what the deer ate, when and how long.  He followed the deer.  He was teased about the deer following him.  The animal must have followed him at the end of the day to go back into the pen to be available to go out the next day.  Being a reporter for the life of a deer must have been the most unique job a man has ever had.

 Another part of that game research was to take a census of deer in a selected square mile of forest.  That was accomplished by placing men along the boundary line of a selected site.   Three sides were stationary.  The men did not move.  The fourth sid3e had a line of moving men (and hollering as they advanced) towards the closed end of the square mile.  Each man would report any deer on his right which was chased out of the selected square mile.  That was a deer which passed between the next man on his right.  Now, I sure liked taking part in that census.  It was good for half a day of easy work.

 And, now the easy to real hard work.  Close by the camp was a saw mill which from time to time did some log sawing.  Once the conservation department ordered some lumber.  That lumber was not ordinary lumber.  Planks 12 x 2 x 16 was sawed—10 inches wide, 2 inches thick and 16 feet long.  They sure were heavy.  I know because I lifted one end of those planks.  I have forgotten the name of the man at the other end of the plank but I know he must have been tired, maybe not as much as me.  Why I was selected I do not know.  After all, I was one of the smaller men in that company.  That was the hardest work I have ever done during the 94 years of my life.  Maybe those two days of hard work made me tough enough to make it this long. 

 And, now (as I often say), I go from the toughest to the longest.  Some time during the summer of 1939, I took a short vacation from Shingleton to Escanaba by train and from there to the city of Milwaukee by hitchhiking.  That was a cheap and dependable way of traveling in those bygone days.  One the way back there was one night of hitch hiking that was all hiking and no hitching.  The highway map showed a distance of 29 miles from Sheboygan to Montiwac.  When I arrived in Manitowac I splurged and took a hotel room.  That has been the longest I ever walked at one time.  But I survived those two times.  They give me something to brag about to the younger generation. 

 There was a young 17 year-old, really only a boy, who was going into the army, the Salvation Army.  But, he had enrolled in the CCC for a least a six month period.  He was a good boy but not tough enough, or at least his ears were not able to take in all the swearing in the conversation.  He deserted and got a dishonorable discharge.  He had prayed about it and he said his conscience was clean.  In the years since, I have come to regret not talking to him to persuade him to stay.  Myself, I seldom uttered a swear word, maybe once a week.  At least one percent (he and I) did not swear.  I could have been good company for him.  Maybe we could have started a Bible study course.  Maybe even converted somebody.  That is one time I minded my own business and I have regretted doing so. 

  On one Sunday in December my last month of  being a CCC boy (I was 24), I followed my favorite past time which was wandering through the woods usually alone.  This time I went into the Seney Game Refuge.  I crossed into it going under the wire that marked the refuge boundary.  After a few hours of happy unconcerned wandering, I decided to return to camp.  In trying to figure which direction to go I realized I was lost. 

 The first time I was ever lost.  Thick clouds covered the sun.  The small trees and brush where I was had no moss on their north side like big trees have.  So I sat down to figure out which way to go.  I used my computer (the on between my ears).  After a long while, I decided on which way to go.  It turned out to be the right way.  It lead to a road that went by the camp.  When I reached camp the stars were shining and everyone was asleep. 

 I had told no one I was going into the woods.  People may have assumed I had deserted.  They would not have known where to look.  Maybe I would be there yet and I would never  have gotten to write about Camp Cusino’s good old days.

 *  An article by Jeffery Schatzer was published in the September / October Journal, Page 5—”Pride in the Past”