Commie Camp
The first assassination attempt
Bushy liked to say his Ford Econoline was “infallible.” I loved Bushy like a brother, but he had a habit of saying the opposite of what everything was— that was his humor. He’d coaxed his baby all the way out to Detroit from Oakland and he had the empty Pennzoil cans to prove it.
When Temma told me we were getting a ride back to town from Bushy, in his infallible Ford van, she didn’t understand why I sunk my head in my camp pillow.
We were sixty miles out of Detroit, and I was looking forward to head home after a week of old-school Bolshevik history lessons, labor sing-a-longs, and organizing tips. I’d been cooking meals to earn my keep, for 200+ campers every night. It’d been a blast but I wanted to fall onto my sofa-bed at Barbara’s and go to sleep for a week.