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by Bob Wallace
Jeoffrey's been hit. He took one in the back. The large green
splotch on his previously white T-shirt is a definite clue.
"Direct hit. Woo-hoo!"
Nearby, speckles and blotches of various colors adorn Cami's clothing—red,
orange and a touch of yellow. Jessie seems to be worse yet. His hair
is slicked with gelatin, which is also running down his face. In the
distance, a voice rings out, "I can't close my eyes—they're
stuck open!"
Welcome to the annual Arizona Camp Sunrise Jell-O® War . . . .
The competition began shortly after the camp's conception, twenty-some
years ago. On a long bus ride to who-knows-where, the campers discussed
their individual dislikes of hospital stays. Each had more than their
share of pokes, prods, and treatments to recollect, plus their common
dislikes of missing school, missing friends, feeling lousy, and not being
able to play outside.
One definite similarity arose in their mutual dislike of hospital food—especially,
Jell-O®. The mere mention of the stuff set off an entire busload
of groans. Already sick, and further nauseated with medications, their
food trays usually included the colorful gelatin—sometimes exclusively.
Jell-O® for breakfast, Jell-O® for lunch, Jell-O® for dinner—they
all agreed, they were burnt out on Jell-O®.
"I'd as soon throw it against a wall as eat another bite
of Jell-O®!" one camper announced.
"Yeah! Jell-O®'s for throwing, not eating." They
all agreed.
The camp director, M, a young volunteer counselor at the time, was present
on the bus. Fun loving and open-minded, this sounded good to her. M suggested, "Maybe
we should have a Jell-O® throwing competition."
Kids being kids, it was quickly suggested that the Jell-O® should
be thrown at each other. Bingo! A Jell-O® fight! And so began the
first ever "Jell-O War!"
Arizona Camp Sunrise is an oncology camp located along Christopher Creek
in the Tonto National Forest of northern Arizona. The nonprofit camp
operates on the premise that children who have, or have had, cancer should
have the same opportunity to enjoy summer camp as any other child. The
camp staffs doctors, nurses, counselors, wranglers, and cooks to help
make that a reality.
Horseback riding, games, arts and crafts, hiking, sleeping in cabins
and tents—Arizona Camp Sunrise has it all. Plus, the camp provides
the specialized medical attention a child with cancer requires. And,
of course, there's the Jell-O® War.
To host a Jell-O® War you must first make a ridiculous quantity
of Jell-O®. After it cools, the multi-colored gelatin is cut into
cubes and bagged. The closely protected arsenal is then transported to
an undisclosed site.
Campers and staff (some wearing protective garbage-bag-ponchos) are
divided into two teams and everyone is armed with a bag of sticky ammunition.
Anticipation runs high while a lengthy explanation of rules, tactics,
and regulations is recited.
Rules thoroughly covered, the whistle blows and there is but one stratagem:
THROW JELL-O®! What follows is complete melee. The only thing clear
is that the rules were added only for effect; even the concept of teams
quickly disintegrates. Basically, a person throws, smears, and sticks
Jell-O® to everyone they find. No one escapes ungelatinized. Jell-O® covers
your clothing, your hair, and all exposed skin.
Once it's over, there are photos, a mass exodus toward the bathhouse,
and a follow-up battle for the showers.
For over two decades, battles have been fought, clothing has been stained
and riotous laughter has infected everyone present. It's sick .
. . it's disgusting . . . and it's the most uniquely healthy
war ever waged.
Originally published in the 2006 November/December
issue of Camping Magazine. |
