Whenever a school year ends and summer approaches, I think about going to camp. For me, Camp Hollis has been the place I’ve spent so many summers; first as a camper, then as a counselor and, for over twenty years, as Hollis’ director. The camp on the shores of Lake Ontario in the town of Oswego gave me many opportunities to meet talented people who devoted their summers for the betterment of children. One of them was Bill Noun.
Bill was a Hollis counselor when I was a camper and when he died a few months ago, I was reminded of the profound effect he had on me. Though he was one of a dozen or so young adults who supervised us kids, Bill had a way of making an impression when you met him. Many people can attest to that, including those who worked alongside him when he taught at the Oswego High School. One of those teachers, Mike McCrobie, shared his memories of Bill in a column he writes for The Palladium-Times:
“Bill was certainly capable of teaching every level of math from Algebra to Calculus, but he most enjoyed the remedial math students. For much of his career, Bill was the champion of the underdogs—the kids who struggled not only with math, but often with life.”
Bill’s influence as a teacher went beyond helping young people understand a school subject. “If students didn’t have Bill for math,” Mike wrote, “they might remember him as the faculty emcee of the annual fall sports pep rally. Wearing his Buccaneer-blue blazer and white pants, he’d work the student body into a frenzy in the jam-packed gym doing the ‘class yell.’”
I imagine the teachers enjoyed Bill’s enthusiasm as much as the kids. Another educator who saw him in action is Sarah Gould Hill, who taught math alongside Noun. In fact, Sarah learned a lot about classroom work by being a student teacher under Bill’s guidance.
“That was in 1978,” Sarah said, “and it was a different time for teachers. Bill was good at comforting someone who was having a tough time. I watched him in the class, working with students, putting a hand on their shoulder and offering soothing words. His positive attitude really made a difference for those kids.”
In fact, as Sarah mentioned, there was a saying that circulated among the Oswego teachers and students that became a kind of inspirational quote: “Be kind. Be like Bill.” At the mass to remember Noun held in St. Mary’s Church, those in attendance were given a program of events. Included in it was this belief from Bill: “All students have to do is find and use that speck of greatness they have in themselves and run with it for the rest of their life.”
Even after he retired, Bill continued at the Oswego High School by running an Assisted Learning Center, where college students would mentor high school kids in different subjects. “He came in every day except a few weeks’ vacation he’d take in the winter to go south,” Sarah said. “In the end,” Mike noted, “Bill had more than fifty years in education all told.”
There’s one more memory that Mike and Sarah shared about Bill that really triggered my Camp Hollis memories of him. Bill played the ukulele and was heard during his years teaching, especially on the last day of school before a holiday vacation. Five minutes before dismissal, Bill would come on the school’s PA system to serenade students with a holiday-related song. What a way to start a vacation!
And what a way to make a Camp Hollis campfire special. That’s where Bill had his greatest impact on me. Campfires are an important part of an overnight camp. For many kids, it’s their first time away from home and as the sun sets and skies darken, it can be a hard time for those experiencing homesickness. Thankfully, there were counselors like Bill to make those campfires fun and exciting. But, because Bill was special, he also made them meaningful. Here’s how:
Bill shared popular folk songs during singalongs and if we didn’t know the songs’ words when we arrived at camp, we sure did before we left. Bill made it a point to single out lyrics that he thought had special meaning to Camp Hollis, like the song “Home on the Range.”
“The next song I’m gonna sing,” Bill would say, strumming his uke, “is one you already know, but its words are very important, so listen carefully. Home, home on the range,” he’d sing, “where the deer and the antelope play.” Pausing, Bill pointed to his ear. “Where seldom is heard a discouraging word…” To make sure we were listening, he repeated that line slowly. Fifty years later, I still believe what Bill Noun taught us: Camp Hollis was a place where you’d hear encouraging words.
Years after that memorable campfire, I got to hear Bill play and sing again. In 1992, Camp Hollis started offering a program called Senior Camping, a two-day camporee for the young-at-heart. Seniors by the dozens came to enjoy camp, and since they loved singing, I’d call Bill and ask him to come by and share a few songs. I never knew how he’d show up: he might be Elvis swiveling his hips or Don Ho in a Hawaiian shirt and lei. Once, he brought along his three siblings and they serenaded us as a barbershop quartet. He was always a crowd pleaser.
Bill only declined my invitation to visit camp once. I’d called him to see if he could play for the seniors and he told me his mother had just died. “We’re Greek,” Bill said, “and Greeks honor their loved ones who’ve passed with a year of mourning, so I won’t be doing my songs during that time.”
It was hard to imagine a year without Bill’s music and you’d think it would be even harder now, knowing I’ll never hear him sing again. Isn’t it interesting, though, that, even in silence, what I hear is Bill Noun’s encouraging words.
