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Prime Times Camp for Seniors photo by Bob Carey / Los Angeles Times By Beverly Beyette Los Angeles Times "Greetings from Camp Mount Crags. Today we had crafts. I made a yarn dog. The games are really fun � I won a medal in the Frisbee toss � and there�s a big swimming pool. The food�s great, barbecue chicken and ribs and brownies and stuff. I think we have the best cabin. I�m not a bit homesick. Love, Grandma" CALABASAS, Calif. � A few of the little old ladies are sitting in a circle, blowing bubbles with the gizmos they�ve found in their camper goody bags and talking, well, you know, little old lady talk. Beverly Adams, 69, is regaling the group with the story of how she once received a fan letter intended for Beverly Adams, the film actress who�d just appeared in "How to Stuff a Wild Bikini." "He wanted a picture of me in my bikini," says Adams. "I weighed 196 at the time." She�s trimmed down since but still wages a battle with the scale. When she comes to camp, she brings a diet lunch, "and then I eat it and theirs too. I never lose, but I�m never hungry." She laughs. "According to the charts, I should be a 6-foot-2-inch man with a large frame." Smurfy Evans, a transplanted Brooklynite who says she�s "over 60," retorts, "I wish you were a 6-foot-2-inch man with a large frame." The others howl in appreciation. Rena McArthur, 74, who wears purple pants and has purple flowers tucked into her white hair, is telling about having visited the home of the Loch Ness monster in her native Scotland. Adams listens, then says, "I married the monster." More laughter. The women in this group belong to the Salvation Army�s Van Nuys Home League, part of its women�s ministry, and they�re among about 125 campers at the army�s annual summer camp for older adults, men and women, at Camp Mount Crags in Calabasas, a hilly area on the edge of Los Angeles County. Average age of campers: late 70s to early 80s. "They let us out every Wednesday, under close supervision," deadpans Adams. And are there more like them at home? Oh, yes, says Evans, but not everyone is "ambulatory at the same time." Hearing that another camper, Frances Friedman of Pasadena, is celebrating her 94th birthday this day, they invite her to pull up a chair. Soon, Friedman, an ardent Dodgers fan, is leading the group in a spirited rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." And then she is explaining why she has no regrets about not having children. "First thing they want to do," she says, "is put you in a rest home." Those who have come to camp are not candidates for a rest home, thank you. Some may have plastic knees or a bit of arthritis, and may walk with a cane, but they�re out to have fun. Some are revisiting a long-ago time when they went away to summer camp. Others are enjoying an experience they never had as children. In an era of computer camps, weight-loss camps and sports camps, why not a senior citizen camp? Although a number of groups offer day-camp experiences for seniors, the Salvation Army�s Maj. Ardis Fuge, secretary of older adult ministries, believes this sleep-away camp is unique in Southern California. The three-day adventure begins with an orientation meeting presided over by Fuge. This is her show. "Are you all ready for an exciting time?" she asks campers, some of whom are decked out in red, white and blue in keeping with the camp theme, "Celebrate America!" The answer is a resounding "yes." More than half of the campers have been to the annual camp at least once and look forward to it each summer. Soon after settling into their cabins � tile-roofed, dorm-like facilities with Spartan twin-bedded rooms � the sleepover campers set about the business of having fun. The setting is idyllic, in a serene valley sheltered by live oaks. There�s standing room only in the crafts room, where campers are making miniature topiary trees, covering Styrofoam balls with tufts of colorful fabric and gluing ribbons and beads to the rims of little clay pots. Nearby, in Flick, the big octagonal meeting hall, the bingo crowd is in hot competition for T-shirts, mugs and other new merchandise that�s been donated to the Salvation Army. Bingo is big at older-adults camp. A white golf cart bearing a decal, "God Squad," rumbles past with a young staffer at the wheel, carrying a less mobile camper from one campsite to another. "Last year we had four or five on walkers," says Fuge. "But they get older and they just aren�t able to come." Never mind. You should have seen them at the opening night barbecue, dancing the chicken dance. It involves flapping one�s arms, wiggling one�s hips and generally jumping about. Campers also love to eat. No nouvelle cuisine here. We�re talking comfort food � eggs and sausages, fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Some campers are on limited incomes, and at home, Fuge knows, "many of them don�t eat well. One man told me a can of Spaghetti-Os lasts him three days." Although three days of camp costs only $60, "most pay only $10 or $20," Fuge says. "It depends on what they can afford." One man told her he wasn�t sure he could come this year, as he hadn�t yet received his gas bill and didn�t know if there would be money enough left over. She arranged matters. Most campers are affiliated in some way with the Salvation Army, either as residents of its Silvercrest senior residences or as members of its corps, as Army churches are called. So it is no surprise that there�s a dollop of religion in the camp mix. For Lois Rellinger, 75, of Hacienda Heights, camp is a respite from caring for an ill husband. Growing up in Michigan, she never got to go to camp. "I was born when the bomb dropped, the 1929 crash." Others, like ex-New Yorker Evans, who as a Girl Scout went to Laughing Water Camp somewhere in the Adirondacks, have memories of other camping experiences. Memories of short-sheeted beds and poison ivy and geeky cabin mates. Here at Camp Mount Crags, Doris Mays, 75, of San Fernando has come with husband Lawrence, 79. Wed 57 years, they�re repeat campers, and they�re having a ball. Mays volunteers a little marital advice: "Don�t let anybody tell you what your husband�s doing � unless you see it. It just makes trouble." Another camping couple are Bob and Helen Wrightson, 85 and 82, from Simi Valley. They�ve been coming here for years. "We love it," she says. "Everybody�s very loving and thoughtful." Adds her husband, who wears a lapel badge explaining, "I Can�t Hear," "There�s so much to do, but they don�t pressure you in any way." First day of camp ends with a movie at 9:15 p.m. As the film "Yankee Doodle Dandy" with James Cagney opens, about 35 campers are in the audience. Slowly, the number dwindles to 20 and, before the film�s end more than two hours later, only six remain. It is early to bed for those campers planning to take part in the next morning�s 7:15 prayer walk. The mountains are still shrouded in mist as they gather at the flagpole. "Little Bo Peep and her sheep," says Maj. Marilyn Bawden of the Santa Monica corps, leading a group of about 35 along a dirt road among the big oaks. After breakfast, Fuge asks campers, "What are you doing this afternoon?" A lone voice shouts, "Bingo!" No, no, Fuge says. "We�re having our own Olympic games." As John Williams� "Olympic Fanfare," composed for the 1984 games in Los Angeles, wafts through the tall trees, the Olympic torch � a pair of Tiki torches � is lit. Don Mowery, resident camp manager, proclaims, "Let the games begin." But camp is not all fun and games. Workshops include "Gracious Grandparenting" and "Prescription Drugs in Medicare." The former is sparsely attended. As one camper says, "I came here to get away from my grandchildren." Among those skipping that session is Jessie Almada, 73, of Buena Park, a second-time camper. She figures, "Child-rearing should be done by the parents, not by me." Her only complaint about camp: It ends too soon. "It�s like giving me two licks of an ice cream cone. I want the whole thing, down to the soggy little tip." Frances Friedman, in a Dodgers warm-up jacket and red-white-and-blue crocheted hat, is here, there and everywhere. At 94, she says, "You gotta keep busy." She mows her own lawn and still drives a stick-shift 1962 Ford. Age? "That�s just a number God gave you." She has her pension, earned through years working in the laundry at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena. And, she takes some satisfaction in mentioning that, while her late husband, a railroad man, never gave her mad money, she is really enjoying his pension. Friedman flits from event to event, even trying her hand at the bowling. She says, "I always say God�s keeping me here so I won�t miss anything." Obituaries | Sports | Business | Classifieds | Tempo | Prime Times | So Oregon Sites | Outdoor Journal | Subscribe | Contact | Movies | Advertise | Real Estate Showcase | Archive | Editorials | Letters to the editor | Religion | Wake-up Call | NIE | Cyber Chef | Job Network | So Oregon Weather | WSJ Northwest | Forums | AP Wire | AP Money | F.A.Q. | Awards Ottaway Newspapers, Inc. The Community Newspaper Subsidiary of Dow Jones & Co, Inc Copyright �The Mail Tribune 2000, Medford, Oregon USA