The Perfect Wind Ensemble

A shorter version of this story is in my book "A TIME AND PLACE The Making of an Immigrant." I have expanded the story and it will be published as part of an e-book in the near future.

The Perfect Wind Ensemble

The following year, I was selected to yet another, and different summer camp. Nuns managed the camp and took care of us.

The place we slept in was different from where we napped. I remember this camp well. Nuns took our temperature under the arm and not the more intrusive way to which I had been accustomed.

Because of an outbreak of mumps, five of us boys were quarantined in one room for a while. So, how do five boys pass time during a quarantine?

During such a time, and the close-knit camaraderie with the other four boys, I learned that flatulence was considered funny. Naturally, each of us in that room wanted to be the funniest. Contests to determine a winner were regularly held.

To counter boredom, we selected players and scorekeepers to judge teams consisting of two boys against the other two. The fifth boy was appointed to keep score. We rotated players and judges so all could get into the competition. Acceptable outbursts were scored in goals. A given timeframe was chosen, much like a soccer tournament.

Much twisting and grunting dominated the event. The scorekeeper had to show keen discernment between a real goal and one fabricated by other means. Accidents did happen––which resulted in frequent trips to the privy.

I learned during those educational times, that the desired noise can quite accurately be duplicated. This is done by placing a cupped hand under the armpit, and then quickly pressing the arm inward. With a little practice, the desired sound always erupted. Well, such learning was considered a magnificent achievement for all five of us. We practiced those joyous sounds until we sounded like the perfect five-piece wind ensemble.

Our wisdom expanded and we even came up with a ten piece orchestra. We learned that by spitting into our palms to dampen them, we could lie on our backs, place a cupped hand under each of our knees and pedal our legs; similar to the pumping of a bicycle. This combined effort filled the room with triumphant music that fed uproarious laughter and giggles. . . .Thank God for the mumps.