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Jolly Solly: Guest of Honor

R. Atkins

Moishy and his friends stared at each other in shock. A court order! That sounded dreadful. What if the court decided to close the camp down? It was simply unthinkable.

Wednesday, August 03, 2016


Photo: Nechama Leibler

The day camp was in full swing. Fishel and Faivish had gone away to their grandmother in Miami, so things were definitely a little less lively than they’d been before, but Moishy Morris and his friends were still having a fine time. 

Color war had broken out a while back, and the teams were busy preparing banners. Moishy was painting a border with his friends, when they heard the sound of raised voices from somewhere nearby. The head counselor was having a heated discussion with an unknown person. 

“I’m fed up!” growled a man’s voice, sounding awfully familiar to Moishy. “The noise of the boy’s singing carries all the way over to my house. It’s bad for my roses, I tell you. They need peace and quiet, not this great big racket you keep setting up.” 

Moishy groaned to himself. No wonder the voice sounded familiar. It was Mr. Krankowitz! The old man seemed to like nothing better than to complain all day long, about everything from the sun being too sunny to the rain being too rainy. And now he’d set his sights on the day camp!

Photo: Nechama Leibler

The head tried to respond politely. 

“Sir, thank you for bringing this to my attention; but the singing is such an important part of day camp. The boys love it. Please understand that we do try to keep noise generally down to a minimum, and nobody’s ever complained about the singing before.” 

“Well, I’m complaining right now!” retorted Mr. Krankowitz. “I’ve definitely noticed my roses have been looking peaky lately, and it’s you people who are to blame. And that’s not to mention the other problem I’ve come about. What about the smells, huh?” 

“Smells?” asked the head, in a puzzled tone. 

“Yes, smells! You gave the boys hot dogs for dinner the other day, and the smells reached all the way to my house. I tell you, my pink roses nearly turned white! What’s wrong with dry toast, that’s what I want to know? Why, when I was a boy…” 

Moishy knew from experience that once Mr. Krankowitz got started on his childhood, the listener was in for the long haul. Sure enough, the head counselor — who had a dozen things waiting for his attention — was forced to hide his impatience and try to listen as politely as possible.

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