james parlin

Cyrus Parlin:

I started working as a lifeguard in Edinboro, PA, when I was sixteen. The summer after my freshman year of college, I took my talents to the Silver Bay Association, where I was a respected member of a highly responsible team.

My freshman year had been an adjustment, as I went from small town life where I knew everyone and everyone knew me to the big city where I had to regularly interact with strangers. I had become self-conscious, working too hard to say the right thing in social groups I barely understood. During orientation at Silver Bay, I realized that I would see the people around me in the dark auditorium for three months and no more. This meant that I could behave any way I wanted with little to no long-term consequences. I didn’t have to understand social groups if I just said whatever popped into my head. This approach inexplicably worked, as I made many wonderful friends and had a grand old time.

On nice nights, we would get the mattresses and blankets out of the Emp lodge and sleep out on the dock. The stars were far brighter than where I had been living, and the Milky Way was gorgeous. We all laid on our backs looking at the stars and chatting. A woman sat up, and she began to sing. Her voice was strong and clear as she picked up “Santeria” by Sublime. What a ridiculous song to sing acapella, but it was one of the most moving musical experiences I have ever had. We all sat in silence as she worked her way through the words. I’ve never forgotten the sound of her voice.

That summer by the Lake remains a pivotal moment in my personal biography. I learned about who I wanted to be and how I wanted to behave, and those lessons never left me. While the friendships have faded to the vagaries of time, the influence of that group was profound in my life. I am so glad I got the chance to be an Emp for a summer.

 

Ursula Parlin:

The summer after my freshman year of college, I worked as an EMP at Silvery Bay. Following my father and my brother, I decided to be a lifeguard.

The most dreaded shift among the lifeguards was the 6 AM swim, for obvious reasons. The swim was held at Bay Beach, and two lifeguards were assigned so that you had a buddy for the early hour. The shift I remember the most is when I was working alongside a colleague who was a devout Christian who loved talking about her faith. Non-stop. As someone who was raised agnostic, I have never minded talking to people about their beliefs, but this specific colleague really had a way of making you feel like you were being repeatedly smacked in the face with a bible. On my walk down to the water for my 6 AM shift with her, I decided to approach my shift with her by replacing every mention of “Jesus” with “Lake George.” That morning, I watched the lake glow and sparkle in the early morning light, only interrupted by a few people swimming leisurely laps. I listened to my colleague chatter about how much she loved Lake George, about the glory of Lake George, about how lucky we were to have Lake George in our lives. In that hour, I fully shared in her wonder at the beauty of the lake, the gratitude she had for being there, the peace it gave her.

 

Lake George, for me, has always offered me what a lot of people find in religion – a loving community, a space for pensive self-reflection, a place to find calm in a busy world.

 

Like many of us, Lake George has always been synonymous with family for me. Each summer is a snapshot in my mind of my family at that time.

Lake George as a child was the creak of the stairs as my grandpa walked down for breakfast, my grandma sitting in a chair on the porch, playing bocci on the lawn with my brother and cousins, spirited games of rag tag, a cupcake picnic on Pudding Island with my mom. I remember family games of tennis, hikes up mountains where my dad would let me eat his sandwich at the top while he settled for my PB&J. As a teen, Lake George became walking along the Friendship Trail with my childhood best friend and chosen sister, talking about our crushes and the upcoming cross-country season.

Through college and medical school, Lake George held some harder memories of family too; grandma’s memorial service, the delayed flight that meant missing grandpa’s. My parents surrounding me with love while I struggled with depression.

Lake George as an adult is getting to be a kid again with my parents, listening to my dad playing guitar, cooking with my mom, cocktail hour on the porch. It’s family, and it’s home.

 

Jim Parlin:

              When I was twenty, I spent the summer working as a lifeguard at the Silver Bay Association.  While I worked at each of their swimming areas at one point or another, I seemed mostly to end up on the raft at Bay Beach, seventy or so yards from shore.  The swimming area had buoy lines that marked its borders, but they only ran halfway out to the raft, which was just as well, as small boats handled by inept sailors drifted through the swimming area about once a week, and they usually made it through the gap without getting entangled in the buoy lines.

              Lifeguarding is a funny business, because it is excruciatingly boring on the one hand, yet demands constant focused attention on the other.  I was always worried about two things:  Was I staying alert, and if I had to go in the water to save someone, could I do it?

              Staying alert wasn’t as hard as I thought.  You learned not to watch everybody, but rather to scan for irregular activity.  One person I watched like a hawk though, at least at first, was Mr. Wu.  I have no idea how old Mr. Wu was, but he appeared to be about 117.  The first day he came to the beach, he waded in, settled into the water, and began paddling towards the raft where I was sitting.  All I could see of him was his nose, just barely above the waterline.  The nose moved in a surprisingly straight line towards the raft at roughly the speed of a pine cone wafted along by a very gentle breeze.  I stood at the edge of the raft, ready to pull the old guy out at any moment, but he made it to the raft, lifted one finger out to touch off, and headed back towards the beach.  This kept up for about an hour, and repeated itself every day I was there.  I stopped worrying about Mr. Wu.

              June and July passed without the performance of a single rescue.  The beginning of August featured clear blue skies and a scorching hot sun.  I sat on the lifeguard tower on the raft, slathered with sun block, wearing a shirt and a pith helmet, and with a towel over my legs.  I was baking.  In my peripheral vision I spotted a slender young girl dog-paddling clumsily towards the end of one of the buoy lines.  As I watched she grabbed the line and clung to it.  This was against the rules, so I blew my whistle, pointed at her, and yelled, “Let go of that rope!”  She gave me a look of utter despair, let go of the rope, and sank like a stone.  I was stunned and jumped down from the tower.  She managed to thrash her way back to the surface.  I asked if she needed help, and she nodded frantically as she started to go back under.  I stripped to my bathing suit, did my life-saving jump, and hauled her in.

              She turned out to be fine.  I asked why, if she couldn’t keep herself afloat, she didn’t grab the line again.  “You told me to let go,” she said indignantly.  I’ve spent fifty years pondering whether she would ultimately have chosen death over disobedience.  The rest of the summer passed without incident.  I went back to school with a hell of a tan.

 

Ruth Parlin:

The summer Jim and I worked at Silver Bay, I arrived for my john-cleaner job in mid-June. As I'd done since childhood, the first thing I did upon arrival was to go swimming.

I asked around and learned that Jim was lifeguarding at Slim Point. Although the day wasn't very nice -- cool, breezy, and overcast -- I put on my bathing suit and headed over there. The beach was deserted, as suited the weather. I asked Jim about the water temperature, and he said it was beautiful. So, I ran into the water and dove in.

Once I caught my breath from the shock of the freezing water, I climbed up the lifeguard's tower and pummeled that lying liar. That was only the first of the multiple pranks he pulled that summer, which, despite this inauspicious beginning, was a lot of fun.