Summer time is here again, with it's sweltering heat, oppressive humidity and the scent of chlorine wafting from the municipal swimming pool a mile down the road. The kids are just now getting used to their vacation routine, but in no hurry whatsoever to return to school. For the Baptist youth in town Summer means one thing: Falls Creek Baptist Assembly...or maybe it's Falls Creek YOUNG Baptist Assembly. Or some variation thereof, all we ever called it was Falls Creek. It was our "Summer Camp", and since we lived in the buckle of the Bible Belt it was also "church camp".
With little motivation as of late to write practically anything I have decided to share a few of my Falls Creek memories, fading even now as I type them onto this computer screen. None are monumental, but the ones I do remember are fondly recalled.
It was at Falls Creek that I learned how to "short sheet" a bed, or maybe I should say it was where I learned what such a thing was. Basically it's a practical joke where the perpetrator folds the flat sheet on the victim's bed in half so that he won't be able to get his legs in all the way down the length of the mattress. I've tried to describe the hilarious outcome of this tried and true prank, but words fail me. In a dark room full of rowdy boys, tired from a long trip but excited by the prospect of the coming week, this was just one of the shenanigans we got ourselves into.
Falls Creek is located near Davis, Oklahoma, nested in one of many mountains that fill the horizon. The scenery is beautiful, if not quite awe-inspiring. There is a peacefulness in the air just waiting to be shattered by rowdy teenage boys and girls who are blissfully unaware of nothing else except each other. When they grow up they will remember the majesticism of the location, but for the time being they are distracted by hormones, libidos, urges, desires, wants & needs, a virtual Mulligan Stew of budding teenage sexuality all kept on a tight leash by the all-watching eye of God and church. The highlight of their Falls Creek day is when the last "Amen" has been spoken at the evening church service. They are dismissed into the warm night air to mingle. Like a subdued meet 'n' greet to anyone with the guts to actually step up and speak to a stranger of the opposite sex. Most of 'em just look at each other and wish they were half as bold. But when you're 14, 15, 16 years old LOOKING is all that's really required. You can head back to the cabin without having spoken a single word but if you'd been lucky enough to cast your eyes upon a fair lass or a budding handsome prince it was all good, regardless.
But none of that happens until after church. And, oh my God, what a lot of church there is. Morning service. Afternoon service, Evening service...hours of church service that's mandatory for everyone. They don't call it a Baptist Assembly for nothing. There may have been another daily service (or even two) that I'm forgetting about, but even without them you've got for yourself here THREE separate opportunities to accept Jesus Christ as yer personal Lord and Savior. Multiply that by the six days you're at camp and you've got a whopping EIGHTEEN chances to get your life right. Eighteen LOOOOONG sermons to sit through. Hard-ass wood pews to scoot around on, trying to keep your rump from falling asleep. I'm sure these days the congregations sing those wimpy praise and worship songs accompanied by a full band, but in the late 70's, when I was there, it was still good old hymns from the Baptist Hymnal (I first heard my favorite hymn there, "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross"). Instead of acoustic & bass guitars, drums, pre-programmable samplers and digital keyboards, a full horn section, a "praise team", full-on youth choir brightened up by rock concert lighting we had a piano. That's it. Oh, sometimes there was a choir at the rear of the stage, during the evening services, and even a wind band (I played saxophone in that one a couple of times), but suffice to say there was very little that could be considered "cool" about any of this. But for some unknown reason it all became sort of interesting after a while (at least it did for me).
I actually played in the wind band during one of the three times I attended Falls Creek. There was an audition process, but it wasn't very hard to make the cut. It was not exactly a first-tier ensemble, but really not all as bad as you might expect. I remember one afternoon during rehearsal when a little rain began to fall on one side of the building. I mean to say that if you looked through a window to one side you would see a pretty decent amount of rain coming down. But through a window to your other side you would have seen a sunny sky, dry as a bone. Maybe this kind of thing happens often. I'd never witnessed it before and have not again since then.
There is (was?) a souvenir store located in the center of the main thoroughfare, where you could buy books, trinkets, t-shirts and all sort of knick-knacks with Jesus or the Falls Creek logo printed on them. One year I bought a copy of Norman Vincent Peale's "Sin, Sex & Self-Control" from that store. I don't think I ever read it, but the title alone sort of clues you in on the issues I was facing at the time. They also had a huge selection of "Jesus Music" albums. There was, like, this entire sub-culture of Christian rock bands and religious music artists who had released several albums I'd never heard of. It was as if I'd stepped into another world where all my familiar Beatles & Stones were replaced with the Imperials, Dallas Holm & Praise, 2nd Chapter of Acts, Joni, Keith Green, Gary Paxton, on and on and on. All of it middle-of-the-road pap...there was no heavy rocking Resurrection Band or...well, I guess Res was just the only bunch of bible thumpers who were really rockin' out back that far. At any rate, it didn't matter in the long run because I didn't have any money to blow on that stuff. I wound up hearing it anyway (I was a DJ for a short time and hosted a radio show called "Gospel by Radio", so I heard a LOT of that crap). Even came to like some of it (no matter how wicked I get, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Keith Green and John Michael Talbot).
The first time I went to Falls Creek it was by invitation of a good friend. I'd never even heard of it. Assured that it would be a lot of fun, I decided I'd see what it was all about. That first year was probably the best, accompanied by David M. I don't remember too much about the second time I was there. I don't think David made it to that one, or perhaps it was a situation where we were both there but pissed off at each other, not talking.
My third Falls Creek experience may not have been what I consider the "best" one, but it was definitely the most memorable. I had just gotten out of high school by then and was deep in love with a girl whose name or eventual relation in my life I will not reveal. I have no doubt we were really in love, but it was kind of juvenile, immature affair where we were all over each other any and every time we were together. So the whole week we were basically inseparable. One day we were out walking by ourselves and wound up in a secluded spot. We were a promiscuous pair, that's for sure but I'll spare you all the finer details and just blurt it out: I enjoyed a nice bit of oral sex from my girlfriend at church camp. There. That's it. Everything I've said in this essay has led up to this particular moment, the one that is, and always will be, the most vivid recollection of my days at Falls Creek. Things were going along fine and dandy when we heard the sound of some people coming up the trail. At which point I was obliged to stand and button my trousers, frustrated but thankful that we weren't caught.
Now, this was all in the late 70s, as I think I mentioned above. Falls Creek is not only probably but LIKELY a completely different kind of place now. I couldn't tell you because I haven't been back since 80. For awhile there a few years ago I had a strong desire to return. Maybe see how much things had changed since the old days. But now I'm glad I didn't. I don't want to know what goes on now. I am sure I would say to myself, "well, it's not nearly as good as it was in the old days", which would be complete bullshit, because there wasn't a whole lot "good" about it then. It was US that made those weeks memorable. Not meaning "David & I" or "Unnamed Lover and I", but EVERYONE that was there in those cabins. I don't know how much all the accepting of Jesus Christ as personal lord and savior on the part of 90% of the kids had to do with it. Maybe it's just the "camp experience". Or maybe it was all the opportunities for discreet sex (haha!). From what I've read I have learned that the outdoor tabernacles, where we sweated it out morning, noon and night have been replaced by a huge building with air conditioned comfort. Hell, the hard wood pews are probably gone, traded for cushioned seats. I could almost bet that the atmosphere in that building is more that of a rock concert than a church service...and I suppose that's what church has turned into...a huge show.
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