"As one of the worker staff, there were many memories of Camp St. Malo that happened behind the scenes.

One of my favorite memories was the day that I learned to drive the old green '59 Apache panel truck that we had used at camp. The Apache was a manual transmission, and at 16 tender years of age, I had never driven a stick shift in my life. The Apache was also a pile of junk. It clanked and rattled and was the noisiest vehicle I had never driven. It leaked oil, smelled and was about as close to a rolling coffin as I've ever experienced.

We ran out of bread on a Wednesday before Wazoo, and panic ensued. Fr. Jerrard told me I had to take the Apache to Boulder and pick up bread. When I told Fr. Jerrard that I had no idea how to drive a stick, he simply answered: "You will by the time you get back" I have never spent an entire day so terrified in my entire life. I did not know how I was to get to Boulder down the canyon, navigate the traffic of Boulder and back to CSM having never driven a stick shift.

I was sure Fr. Jerrard was trying to kill me. That afternoon, I became an expert stick shift driver by the time I arrived home at St. Malo. I marched into Fr. Jerrard's office and gave him a piece of my mind. He casually looked up from his desk; one eyebrow raised and smiled that mischievous smile he had when he was about 4 steps ahead of you. "Do I need to put you in a headlock, he calmly stated?"

Wazoo went off without a hitch" A.J. Hemida, Scottsdale, AZ - Submitted: 30 July 2009