www.pylescamp.com
Testimonials:
Parent of DeAndre, Los Angeles
"This camp has changed my son greatly. He's willing to go to any length to do what he has to do to be a responsible individual. I am very proud of him! Thank you from the depths of my heart."
Brad - Camper from Ventura
"This past year since going to your camp I have used the values and lessons you taught me. By using these, I lettered in wrestling, have become a better friend to my parents, become more responsible and have excelled in art. All of this because your camp taught me perseverance, courage, courtesy, manners, chores and hard work"
President George Bush
"I can't begin to tell you what an impression my talk with the boys made on me. The fact that you give these kids who have so little such a great experience. I feel greatly moved."
Robert F. "Smokey" McAdams
1920 — 2008
It is with profound sorrow that we mourn the death of our founding manager Robert F. “Smokey” McAdams. Smokey died peacefully on the evening of October 7, 2008 surrounded by his beloved family. They had recently celebrated his 88th birthday.
Smokey’s love for the outdoors and genius with troubled boys combined to bring about an extraordinary life’s work through R.M. Pyles Boys Camp - the “miracle of the Sierras.” Everyone touched by this miracle feels privileged to be a part of it. Smokey began breathing life into Mr. Pyles’ fledgling wilderness camp for boys in 1952 and the two worked hand in hand for the next seventeen years. In what he called the “ideal endeavor for me,” Smokey designed, implemented and spearheaded the camp while Pyles labored tirelessly to fund, construct and promote. Smokey continued after Pyles’ death in 1969 and stewarded the camp for a total of twenty-five years of pouring his life into that of others.
During that time, over 25,000 lives converged to experience something that “carries such an impact that it often becomes a major factor in shaping a new outlook on life,” as Smokey puts it himself. And this is true not only of the campers, but board members, solicitors, donors, volunteers - everyone fortunate enough to be involved with the camp. As file drawer after file drawer of testimonies confirm, few come away from the experience unchanged.
Smokey was born in 1920 and grew up in the piney woods of East Texas the sixth of seven children in a long established family. Born with a naturally genial and generous nature, stepping forward to lend a hand would become the major theme of his life, a hinge upon which he would say his ‘whole existence” would hang. Early on, this helpful spirit found a home among the Boy Scouts where he obtained his Eagle Scout badge at age fifteen. A natural leader, he became president of virtually every organization he belonged to from the beginning: his church group, the Future Farmers, class representative, etc., although you would certainly never learn that from him.
In 1945 he met and married his lifelong bride, Lois Wisham, while serving a four-year stint in California with the Navy. After the war, he attended Texas A&M University and earned a degree in Wild Life Management in 1950. Jobs were scarce at the time and he was still active in scouting, so he entered the training course to become a professional Boy Scout leader. Graduating third in his class of 110 gave him the ability to choose where he wanted to start working and they moved to the Bakersfield/Porterville area. There he tailored the traditional Scout model to meet the needs of the underprivileged boys he found and in doing so, found his own true calling. In two short years he “forged a remarkable track record with his innovative programs and hard work.”
“Bob McAdams became known as the brightest young Scout executive in the United States.” Word of his success spread quickly and “chance of a lifetime” would soon arrive in the person of R.M. Pyles.
Mr. Pyles had envisioned a boys camp while fishing in the breathtaking Sierra Nevada mountains. The year was 1949. He had come a long way from a tough beginning in life to become a successful oilfield man and maybe it was gratitude in his heart that prompted him to feel that is was “a little selfish not to share this experience” with less fortunate boys. They were so much like he had been - underprivileged and at-risk – and if he had found a way out of that cycle, maybe he could help others do so too.
Pyles had the determination to follow through on his vision to establish the camp, the initial financial backing and intense physical labor involved coming from those in his own industry. While he had provided the setting, the camp was not yet focused enough to yield the life changing results he desired. Pyles had the wisdom to seek help. Upon hearing about McAdam’s success with the Boy Scouts organization, he thought, “Maybe this is a young man we should investigate.” At their first meeting Mr. Pyles was as impressed with McAdams personally as he had been with his resume and let him have full rein. McAdams took the camp name of “Smokey” and began breathing life into Pyles’ dream. So it was, as Tex Chandler says, that “the camp was born the day Smokey went up there.”
He chose six Eagle Scouts as counselors the first year and set a goal to raise future ones from within the camp who could relate to the campers’ lives and serve as role models. He set up the camp very similar to the way he would a Scout camp. It revolves around the enduring principals of personal cleanliness, courtesy, responsibility, daily duties, regular hours and lots of fun – the building blocks for the community they will learn to live in at camp and hopefully carry home. They gain new confidence by learning wilderness skills that are then tested and honed on an extended camping trip. It is usually on this out of camp trip that their hearts and minds are the most open to life changing re-evaluations of their lives. Smokey always contended that “when you’re high on a mountain ridge with only millions of stars above you, you can’t hear the devil’s voice anymore; he’s too damn far away.” And if you asked him to describe the camp in one word or give the theme of the camp, he would always give the same answer – love.
Camp was always a family venture for Smokey and Lois. Together they embarked on a life dedicated to the betterment of boys. They rode up to camp on horseback and stayed in a tent those first summers, the little donkeys they used as pack mules frequent uninvited guests walking right in through the flaps. And later as their own family grew, their children Linda and Mike rode up the mountain along with them. Back at home, no matter what their commitment involved, it was just all a part of the adventure of a deeply meaningful life – not giving a second thought to the years of getting up in the middle of the night to find a boy, appearing in court to testify or taking boys into their home for months at a time. Maybe it was because theirs was such a natural outpouring that it never dissolved into the discouragement, jaded disheartenment and burnout that so often undermines this lifestyle.
Mr. Pyles and Smokey worked together many years. If Smokey’s genius was boys, Pyles’ was “scrounging building materials and supplies” and manpower. No matter what his challenge, if it was for the boys at the camp, he made it happen. His ashes were scattered at the camp when he died in 1969 and everyone is still nourished by a sense of his powerful presence there. The camp would never have come into being without him, but it easily could have withered after that had not been for Smokey.
Smokey became the father many of the boys never had. As ex-board president Ben Bayliss put it, Smokey was “sentimental and emotional, but the steel and fire are there when they’re needed. He calls it “tough love.” He can handle a violent boy, a sarcastic boy, an unreasonable official, or a know-nothing do-gooder and back ‘em down or straighten ‘em out just by what he says and how he says it. Show him a boy with a cut hand, a cold or sore throat, a fever, homesickness, depression, a bee sting or a broken leg and Smokey knows what to do. Tell him to set up a barbeque, address a Rotary Club, straighten out a problem with the selectors or the forest service or a supply problem or a generator breakdown or a water shortage and Bob knows what to do.”
But there are many camps with wonderful programs and inspiring directors. What is it that makes Pyles so special? How does the miracle of the Sierras happen? Even Smokey himself was never sure. “Here the boy goes back to the same miserable home, the same miserable condition, the same everything. How can you really believe this is happening? I really don’t know the answer. The only thing I know is that it does happen. The result has been success. In two weeks, the camp takes a boy, inspires him, changes him, and gives him something he carries with him for the rest of his life. It is a miracle!” Smokey came to believe at least part of the reason for the success of the camp was that it opened up a little window for what he called “Golden Moments” – moments when the boy caught a glimpse of the possibility of a different life. That was a seed that if watered could nourish a boy for a lifetime.
In 1978 after twenty-five years with the camp, Smokey and Lois moved to Grants Pass, or as he would say, “Grass Pants,” Oregon, a town he once defined as being 1,000 miles from where their hearts lay. But their hearts began to take root in Oregon also. They spent several years having a ball caravanning around the country in their RV with various beloved dogs to meet up with their friends and loved ones. On the road and in town, he continued the life that was as much a part of him as breathing – giving to others. He and Lois hosted a steady stream of ex-campers who could always count on some new brush-clearing project, which gave them the one-on-one time with him they loved and the satisfaction of work that Smokey seemed to know everyone needed. He frequented the local jail where he continued to counsel young troubled boys, treated local nursing home patients to visits with his dog Mackey, and planned special field trips or domino game nights with friends. He even started writing ideas for a couple of western adventure novels he’d carried around in his head for years.
Up until his death, he continued to correspond with the many board members, campers, sponsors, camp neighbors and friends he had made through the years. Ex-campers brought their families to meet the man who in two weeks time changed the course of their entire lives. He was still receiving letters of thanks from people he had never met for the momentous impact of his life on those of others. He would, in typical Smokey fashion, respond with sheepish amazement and gratitude that someone would have noticed.
He still got excited about the start of camp each year and would eagerly call to see if everyone had shown up as expected. The camp was so deeply engrained in him that he still felt compelled to tell everyone where he could be reached at any time and still dreamt about Mr. Pyles and the camp. Pyles Camp, after all, was where some of the most meaningful experiences of his life had taken place. Recently he seemed very pleased and a little surprised when a new friend expressed interest in seeing the camp. But it’s easy to understand. After 50 years, his excitement about the camp was still infectious.
There was a brief period early on when Smokey left the camp for a short time – a couple of years. But he returned eagerly, saying he just couldn’t get it out of his system. It’s funny, but that’s how everyone else feels too. Once anyone has been to camp, they never really get it out of their system.
No one who met Smokey ever really got over it either. He’s everyone’s most unforgettable character. There was more oxygen in the air when he was around. Every situation was better, more fun just because he was present. And that maybe was the key. Smokey was always present with people. He was interested and engaged, not thinking about himself. His integrity was written all over his face, just as everything else about him. He was transparent – what you saw was what you got. He didn’t mince words when he wanted to know something, which was often. Because Smokey wanted to know what you really thought. Years after retiring from the camp, he still lay awake some nights worrying over race relations in Los Angeles. There was absolutely nothing trivial or flimsy or superficial about Smokey. Neither was there anything morbid or negative. He loved taking on the great adventure of life with everyone at his side.
Smokey always had an audience, but the best part about him was that he was completely oblivious to it. The boys followed him around “like lemmings.” It was a joy just to watch him sit at the dinner table with them, “every one of them hardly able to eat, his eyes so on Smokey and taking in everything he was saying. Just ordinary conversation you understand, but boy-type man-type conversation. Those were the kinds of thing he was interested in. He always knew what was going on with the athletic teams. He was good at ping-pong, excellent with horses, and he was just somebody they looked up to and it showed in their faces when they looked at him. And it wasn’t just the boys. It would have been natural to be intimidated by the board of directors. They are a mighty impressive bunch, after all. But the great thing was that they were just like the boys when it came to Smokey. They all wanted to be just like him. Everybody wanted a piece of Smokey, to be part of the group around him, to absorb the essence of Smokey, whatever it was that emanated from him…to be part of it…and that is a gift from God and not something that you learn, not something that anyone would know how to set about trying to become.”
My aunt once went to a funeral where they asked everyone whose life had been impacted by the deceased to stand. She said it was an amazing sight to see how many responded. There’s no doubt in my mind that if the same appeal were made today on behalf of Smokey, the response would be more like that when 40,000 men followed Dostoyevsky’s funeral procession. What a blessing to have known and loved the man called Smokey!