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The Weekend I Learned to Tune a Twinkie

Last week, I was up early, as usual, reading the Morning News and enjoying my strong, chicory blend mug of coffee when the headlines of a story about Florida caught my attention. The splash of heavy black print read 'Controversy over Nudist Camp.' In scanning the story, I couldn't help but recall a weekend invitation I received in October of 1957 from a close friend. For the youngster who might by chance read this story, 1957 was well before Al Gore invented the Internet, when texting meant writing a story on an Underwood typewriter, when everyone would appear baffled if someone mentioned a 'cell' phone, and long before cameras took digital pictures on removable chips. My invitation came in the form of a thick letter full of Kodak- developed pictures of the Ozark Mountains in the north central region of The Land of Opportunity. The scenery was awesome with the early changing of the trees and the brilliant colors in the background. An idyllic and tempting set of pictures. My friend, whom I will call Peter in this story, enclosed with the pictures a note he had written from a motel where he usually stopped on his business travels. He raved about a resort located in the backwoods, three miles from a small town I had never heard of before. He went on to say that he had wrangled us a one-time pass for a weekend stay at the bargain price of only fifty dollars to cover our food. Our use of the cabins would be free. They were one bedroom, one bath, with open living room, kitchen, and dining table. I think I remember him using the word rustic weekend with ...

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