Fear Didn't Get in the Way of Her Fun

She never said no to an adventure, even when she was frightened

Dec 10, 2024

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We drove out to the end of Long Island. Ma, me, and cousin Ross—cousin by love rather than blood, irrelevant to the story, all you really need to know about Ross is that he’s tall and lanky. And that he, like me and Ma, likes a good, low-key adventure.

We were, respectively, 60-something, mid 30-something, younger 30-something.

There was—and I’m sure it’s still there because one does not simply up and move an entire military base—well, damn, I’ve given it away. There was an abandoned military base, cordoned off with a 10 ft cyclone-type fence and warnings stenciled in spray paint all over. Danger. Do Not Enter.

Home of the 773rd Radar Squadron. Courtesy of Montauk Public Library

This was Camp Hero.
I’m glad I didn’t know the name back then—I’d’ve been embarrassed to say, “We broke into Camp Hero,” sounding like a cartoon character in a cartoon world. I guess I’d’ve been more embarrassed if I was in the military and stationed there. Maybe someone who was can check in and share their feelings…?

Rumors of all kinds of crazy experiments—psychedelics, telekinesis and such—abounded. You can lose yourself down that rabbit hole very easily (I did, links at the end). Some claimed the movie The Philadelphia Experiment1 was based on the goings on at Camp Hero. It wasn’t, it was based on the book of the same name about a disappearing ship in, surprise, Pennsylvania, not Montauk. There was a connection, and the internet abounds (see links after you finish reading and clicking like and sharing and, and, and).

I come from a family of atheist & agnostic Jews2. If you can’t prove it, if we can’t see it with our eyes, it’s suss.

We wanted to see this off-limits military base for ourselves. To some people, nothing sounds like more of an open invitation than the words off limits, no trespassing, danger. We were some people.

Mom drove, and that, in itself, meant we were throwing caution to the wind.

Our spooky abandoned air force base was part of the Montauk Project. I hadn’t fallen in love with photographing spooky abandoned places yet, so I don’t really have any good photos. Just this one.

I believed everything we heard about that base and let everything we found confirm the stories of time travel, teleportation, and mind control. This was possibly the seed planting moment of my conspiracy-theory mindset.

Underground structures had been filled with cement.
Barracks & bunkers left in a hurry, clothes scattered, coffee cups still on the table, sugar still in the bowl.
And the pièce de résistance, the requisite (for science fiction) barred cage built into a cement wall, with no entrance or exit. We made the obvious assumption this was part of the telekinesis experiments, attempts to teleport, what? who? Someone or something that needed to be caged for everyone’s safety.

It was exciting, imagining angry monsters, beasts and possibly aliens. It could happen. We’d all watched a lot of Star Trek.3

We also found the usual assortment of condoms, empty beer bottles, cigarette butts and the occasional pair of girl’s underpants, because we were not the first to be lured by a Do Not Trespass sign.

Although, we almost didn’t, trespass that is.

Not one of us cared about the warnings. There could’ve been a sign that said, Stay Out, and This Means You: Jodi, Elayne and Cousin Ross. We still would’ve gone over that fence. Adventure was in our blood! We’d driven two and a half hours to get there. Two Long Island kids and one Bronx girl. We were Nancy Drew (and her mother) meets the Hardy Boy, singular.

I made it over the fence.
Ross made it over the fence.
Ma climbed to the top, threw one 63-year-old long leg over and straddling both sides, froze.

“Leave me here. I’m okay. I’ll stay here until you come back. Just leave me here.”

It occurs to me she was four years younger then, than I am now.

I don’t remember how we got her down. Maybe she jumped into Ross’s arms—remember, he’s tall—or we climbed back up and coaxed her, but she made it down to the ground and back up & over when we left too, obviously.

I’m tempted to call her fearless, but that means having no fear at all. Being fearless is no more admirable than being color-blind. It’s something you’re missing, not something you’ve overcome.

Brave, on the other hand, is when you’re scared and do it anyway. Courageous gets the gold star.

That’s who she was. She was Courageous Cat to my Minute Mouse.

Driving anywhere was a challenge for her, she literally had no sense of direction. None. As kids we’d gotten her to drive around the neighborhood, crossing our street several times until she finally pulled over, on the verge of tears of frustration and refused to go any place until we told her how to get home. We were one block away from our house.

Afraid, but doing it anyway.

Before cell phones, GPS, or even MapQuest (yes, Virginia, there was life and even cars, before electronic navigation), taking her old cars—clunkers she called them, but I loved all her 1950s & 60s era cars: the cream Impala that looked like it was speeding even when parked, a red Nash Rambler with fully reclining seats, and the black Bonneville, practically a living room on wheels—into unknown hilly parts of the Bronx to visit her grandfather, forced to parallel park these behemoths on steep inclines using a manual transmission, her only emotional support, a toddler who never stopped talking, but who, luckily, had a peerless sense of direction and spatial awareness.

Fast forward, I live in Brooklyn, a short walk to the Parkway entrance. Ten minutes of so after leaving, she called with no idea where she was or how she got there. Luckily, cell phones had been invented and I’d programmed my number in hers. I talked her through getting onto the highway and home.

Absolutely terrified, she went parasailing with me, holding on tight to the cords of the chute then, the same as she does today on the sliding shower seat, a death grip hold to the seat. The gospel according to Mommy: The tighter the grip, the safer you are.

Bahamas Parasailing. Ma holding on for dear life, in a total panic. Me, kicking my legs in glee and yelling “Wheee!”

Courageous.

Fast forward to today.
She has no idea who I am, who any of her aides are. We hear, “Hi, who are you?” daily, sometimes several times a day. She’s in a maybe vaguely familiar room in a situation where she has little or no agency, decisions seem to be made for her. She can’t remember where she’s supposed to be, can’t remember who these people are, can’t remember what comes next. She can’t remember.

Every day is an adventure into the unknown when she’s conscious and on this plane with us. Every time she opens her eyes she never knows what she’ll see. Maybe that’s why she spends so much time with her eyes closed these days. But still, most of the time, she relaxes into us. She goes along for the ride.

This is where courage meets trust and a little leap of faith. On both our parts, even if only one of us is aware of it.

Courage meets Trust & a Little Leap of Faith

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Share The Long Goodbye : Dementia Caregiving

Not a great film, but it was my first glimpse of young Michael Paré and that was worth it.

We can do that. You can leave the church and call yourself a recovering Catholic, but once a Jew, always a Jew. Or a JewBu. Or Jew-ish (as in Jew lite). Don’t ask, there are multitudinous essays that have already been written by a million other people.

The Cage. The pilot episode, if you haven’t seen it, give it a gander.

Thank you for reading. If you like what you see, Don’t Keep It a Secret!

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Fear Didn't Get in the Way of Her Fun

She never said no to an adventure, even when she was frightened

Although, we almost didn’t, trespass that is.

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