Thanks to Laurel Graeber of the Times for perfectly capturing the spirit of Inventgenuity in last Friday’s preview. And especially for coining the phrase “But this isn’t juvenile delinquency. It’s Inventgenuity.” Read it all here.

If you’ve ever taken a look at Beam’s Philosophy page or been caught in a corner (sorry about that!) while I talked about camp, you’ll know that Beam Camp (and between a third and a half of my brain) was shaped by my mid-70s experiences as a camper at Lighthouse Music and Arts Camp of Pine Grove, PA.

I went to Lighthouse to learn how to play jazz on my saxophone. I got some world-class instruction from people like Hankus Netsky and Ed Jackson. But it wasn’t what they and the other adults at camp taught me or did for me that ended up making a critical impact. It was they way they were; their way of being.

The way Ed loved playing “Hard Times”, the way Gene Minor managed a concert band rehearsal (and his impatience), the way Hankus walked through camp and walked back through camp upon realizing what he forgot in the Eagle’s Coop, the way Don Hamilton did his straight-faced sex and drugs speech, the way Rob Howard so eagerly and gleefully anticipated his days off by singing the Commodores’ “Easy,” the way Larry Loebell shouted above his laryngitis to get hundreds of kids to reverse direction or volume, the way Lois Hamilton and Annette Fluhr made a torrentially rainy final performance day come off like nothing but sunshine, the way they talked to me as the second tenor player rather than the geeky (and perhaps sometimes distracted) 13-year old.

It’s possible that my counselors, a tuba player, a lead trumpet player and a trombone player, didn’t always like us, but they never held back on sharing their love with us. I tremble with awe, respect and gratitude for all of them still.

-Brian