It Had Become our Nest

I am a nature-lover. Better yet, a wildlife enthusiast. One summer, outside of my window in the room I stayed in at Camp Deerpark, I watched a bird begin to build her nest, twig by twig. Then a few days later, I watched her lay her eggs in that very same nest. Later I witnessed those eggs hatch into small hungry miracles. Eventually, each one of her birds learned to fly. I watched the nest become empty again. This is the story of how Camp Deerpark impacted my life, the youth I worked with, and the lives of my children. I am like that bird.

I was born on a New Jersey chicken farm in 1940. I was raised in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, and at age 11 started attending Newlinville Mennonite Church, one of the first Mennonite Churches established in a Black community. Our pastor invited us to attend Camp Men-O-Lan, also in Pennsylvania, where I met other children of color from DC, Philly, Harrisburg and Reading. My counselor at Men-O-Lan was John Kraybill. I remember building a great relationship with him, and my age mates. As a teenager, I desperately wanted to attend Lancaster Mennonite High School, to keep in touch with many of my Camp Men-O-Lan friends, but my mother made it very clear that I was going to the local school where the rest of my family had attended. “If it was good enough for them,” she told me, “then it’s good enough for you.” She was right. I graduated the top boy of my senior class.

In 1961, at 21 years of age, I was ready to leave Coatesville. I tagged along with a friend of mine who was heading to New York City to be a 1-W, which was the legal status given to conscientious objectors of war. In exchange for enlisting in the military, we were required to complete a certain number of hours of community service work.

So that’s how I found myself in Harlem. And, boy, was I scared. Of course I had seen Black people in Black communities; but not at this level. Harlem was tougher and rougher than Coatesville. My small apartment was right next door to the Seventh Avenue Mennonite Church. Thankfully, at the time, the pastor, and the person in charge of placing the new 1-Ws, was none other than John Kraybill, my counselor and good friend from Camp Men-O-Lan!

Soon after, I became a member of the church, and served as their Youth Leader. In 1966, when Kraybill left New York City, I became the lead pastor. The church began a youth center and I was the coach of a community basketball team. I was known as the “Hoodlum Priest,” because many of our youth had intimidating reputations.

One of our players, Jack, a flashy 17-year-old, often visited the center. I knew he was dealing drugs, and tried to warn him about his lifestyle. “I can make more money in a week than you make in a year,” he told me one day. He was probably right. I had quit my job to become a teacher in one of the most notorious junior high schools in Harlem. Still, I was worried that I couldn’t give Jack what he needed most to survive the streets.

And then late one night, there was a knock on my door. The basketball team spilled the horrible news, “Jack is dead; they killed him.” His flashy lifestyle was a threat to the wrong people. As devastating as the news was, it fueled my passion to work with youth even more. I vowed there would be no more “Jacks.” Not if I could help it.

In 1968, soon after the assassination of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., the Mennonite Minority Council was established. The purpose of the council was to diminish the large disparity between money given abroad, and money given to the local community. Around the same time, there were also talks within the Mennonite churches of purchasing a campsite near New York City. As I visited various locations with other Mennonite pastors, I kept Jack in mind. I was looking for a place where the youth of my community could know God, peace, brotherhood, and love. It had to be a safe place, a place to rescue our youth from the dangers of Harlem’s streets. “No more Jacks,” I told myself.

We finally settled on Camp Deerpark. With funds from the Mennonite Minority Council and young adults from the Mennonite Voluntary Service Center, we had plenty of helping hands at our Youth Center in Harlem and at Camp Deerpark during the summer. Every spring we would help fill out paperwork and set up doctors’ appointments for about 30 of our youth to be able to spend time at Camp Deerpark.

It was a dream come true to see my youth run through the grass, and walk through the woods, and enjoy nature as much as I did. Even my own biological children, all six of them, grew up in the safety of Camp Deerpark. It had become our nest, nature’s sanctuary to us.

The nest is empty now. My children, Anita, Richard, Melody, Robert, Shawn, and Kiesha, are all independent adults now. Surely, Camp Deerpark was vital in all of them establishing their faith, growing and maturing spiritually, and finding God’s will for their lives. The Harlem youth and basketball teams are all grown up and leading their own lives now too. All I ever wanted was for them to see the world as God sees it. They have all learned to fly. They are all miracles. Camp Deerpark helped me do that.

—Written by Celmali Jaime Okonji, program director in 2006–7, attended Evangelical Garifuna Church and King of Glory Tabernacle, both in the Bronx.

Richard “Dick” Pannell is a retired podiatrist and lives in New York. He is the former pastor of Seventh Avenue Mennonite Church in Harlem.

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• 50 Years of Camp Deerpark Buildings
• 50 Years of Camp Deerpark Directors
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• A Conscious Decision
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