David Berkowitz
March 8, 1996
Mrs. Gottesfeld
AP English
THE ONLY OPTION
The end of June lept upon me in 1991 and I tried to free myself from its claws. "I hate
that camp! I'm sick of it! You'll have to drag me into that car because I'm not going!" My
parents practically had to do just that. I had never been more relieved than I was at the end of my
sixth summer at Camp Scatico, because I knew I would not go back.
The last week of June was too distant in 1992 so I ran faster and faster until I caught up
with it and dove into it head-first. I was now a Counselor-In-Training at Beth El Day Camp in
New Rochelle for twenty-two rowdy five-year-old boys. On the average day, I ran about twelve
bathroom trips, took one or two kids to the nurse and made a countless number of sandwiches for
the children who would not eat the entree-du-jour. In that same day, I would help a dozen kids
with their batting stances, comfort seven who missed their parents and play an exhausting half-hour game of tag with all twenty-two of them. I never before had any experience like that job
which taught me that the harder I worked, the more children I made happy and the less energy I
had at the end of the day, the more fulfilled I would be.
The summers of 1993 and 1994 brought me even more happiness than did 1992. By the
end of my third summer, the camp director would be praising me as one of Beth El's finest staff
members. There were two things that set me apart from most other counselors: I was dedicated
to my work and I loved my campers.
I was on the phone with a friend of mine, David Hirschl, in late August of `94. Hirschl
had worked at Beth El for two years but then moved on to work as a lifeguard at a New Rochelle
beach club, Beckwith Pointe.
"So what are you doing next summer?" he asked me.
"What do you think?"
"Oh. Working at Beth El again?"
"But of course. What else would I do?" I saw no other option.
"You could work at Beckwith."
"No thanks. I'm quite happy with being a counselor."
"Listen Dave, the job's incredible. You could be a cabana boy or something. You'd get
plenty of breaks, a good salary plus lots of tips and all the food you want at the snack bar for free.
You want to know what I had for lunch today?"
"You don't have to. I've heard the shpiel before. Listen, I like working with kids and
that's what I'll do. And I don't do my job for the money."
"It can't hurt to have some spending money." I remembered my grandmother's words,
"I'll love you if you're rich or poor, but what's the matter with being rich?" Hirschl continued,
"At Beckwith, I've got a real job that gives me good work experience."
"You're job's the real one? You work as much as you break, you've got endless delicious
free food and you make a ridiculous amount of money. Me, I work my tail off each day with only
a half-hour break, the food is barely edible, and I am grossly underpaid. Now tell me whose job is
more `real.'" The conversation ended with that.
In December of 1994, my sister, Dana, who is seven years my senior, suggested that I go
to Israel the following summer on some teen tour program like she had done. That sounded like a
great idea, but I could not envision myself away from Beth El.
Most people thought I was insane for declining other offers. After all, I must have been
out of my mind to turn down opportunities to earn a busload more than I made at Beth El as well
as opportunities to travel! Why was I so loyal to that job? I could have done absolutely anything
in the world that I wanted to, and I continued to work at Beth El. Maybe they're right, maybe I
am insane. I'm crazy about those kids and I'm crazy about the job. How could I work anywhere
else?
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