Cincinnati Enquirer
Sunday, May 14, 1989

Unhappy campers say goodbye

Alumni gather to mourn closing of Fort Scott

BY M.A.J. McKENNA
The Cincinnati Enquirer

It wasn't much of a day for an outdoor gathering.   The grass was wet. 
The trees were wet. The gravel path vanished under puddles. Mist hid the 
clouds overhead.

But maybe the weather fit. The 100 people who gathered Saturday afternoon 
to make Fort Scott Camp's closing did not have much to celebrate.   

They were surrounded by friends they had made 10 and 20 years ago, by the 
lush grounds and white outbuildings.   But some of them were angry, and 
most of them were sad.

"This place meant more to me than college, more than law school," said 
Chuck Schroer. "Nothing else in my life had the impact on me that Fort 
Scott did."

The Archdiocese of Cincinnati closed Fort Scott at 7 p.m. Saturday. It 
was the oldest camp in the country run by an archdiocese, with 67 years 
of history and more than 150,000 alumni.

The reason for the closing: the Fernald uranium plant two miles to the 
west, which has released hundreds of tons of radioactive dust into the 
local environment. Archdiocese officials say the adverse publicity 
reduced attendance, even though the camp was never shown to be polluted.   


"It's so sad," said Cathy Sinchek. "My parents met here  --  my father 
was director for four years, and my mother was the nurse. I went here for 
eight years and worked here for four. And I always thought, growing up, 
'My kids will do this, too.' "   

"My husband and I planned to come together, when I was 18, and we came 
for four summers," said Kerry Lipps. "Everyone got so close. These people 
that we know from here, they're our best friends. They always have been."


Many of the former campers expressed doubt that Fernald was the real 
reason for closing the camp, and anger at the archdiocese for what they 
called mismanagement and a lack of investment. Several circulated a 
petition to gather signatures as the afternoon went on.

And some walked away down the drive as the chapel bells announced the 
Mass that closed the afternoon.   

"I think they are in the minority," the Rev. Len Wenke, camp director, 
said before the Mass began. "It just was not feasible to continue. We 
tried everything we could."

In the damp shadows of the old Girls' Lodge, the carving on the 
mantelpiece showed dimly:   "No wonder that your woodfire cheers. Tis the 
sunshine -- of a hundred years!"

Under the mantel, the hearth was cold and black, and swept clean.