Max, the maintenance man.

After a taxing year on the faculty of a boarding school, my new wife and I, like many other young people, headed off to Maine to work at camp for the summer. My wife had been involved with this summer camp for about 15 years. I had never been to any camp.

Every summer the camp hired a helper for Max, the maintenance man. The helper was usually a young man in his teens, perhaps the brother of a longtime camper or someone from a supportive camp family; this summer, it was me. While Max needed and enjoyed his annual helper, he made known on the first day how difficult it is to train someone new every summer. I knew I'd have to prove myself as the weeks wore on.

Max and I worked together for only three months that summer, yet he made an indelible impression on me. He's a man who can do it all. He is the camp community representative and public relations expert. Yankee thrift drives the man; he finds a use for everything and can improvise without hesitation.

I was a preppy, clean looking guy in khaki shorts; my appearance probably made Max think that he had his work cut out for him. On the first day, Max gave me a simple painting job. I returned, covered with paint and looking like a cheetah, and quickly dug out my jeans. Max seemed to chuckle in approval. I had completed my first task satisfactorily.

Every morning at about 7:30, Max met me at the shop. We checked the vans and other camp vehicles and then met up with the director to review her daily list of maintenance chores. We laughed about unusual requests for a minute, then got in the truck and went off to do the day's work.

Max taught me to delight in things foreign to me. He regaled me with stories of mundane happenings. One evening, he said a dump truck had overturned on the state highway. Luckily, there were no injuries. Max explained how smoothly and evenly the truck hurled the gravel over the road. "No man or machine could have spread it prettier," he said.

Max is also a volunteer fireman. Once, while we were on our way to get a piece of sheet metal for the camp play (they needed thunder, you know), his beeper went off, and we were close to the location of the trouble. When we arrived, we found that an elderly woman had fallen. Max comforted her and assisted the paramedics when they arrived. I held the door.

Max and his family raised a few hogs each year, so at the end of each day, we loaded up the truck with pig buckets from the camp kitchen. Although he only ate lunch at the camp, Max always commented on the food in the dining room. It took me a while to figure out that Max could judge the quality of the camp food, and more specifically the chef, by the eating patterns and growth of his hogs.

Max loves "his" camp. He and his wife are now the maintenance department. Barbara cleans some of the huts, then helps Max feed the wood chipper or finish the 11 hours of mowing. She is also an accomplished baker of whoopee pies and a leader of the women's auxiliary. Their hospitality that summer was outstanding. We enjoyed them and their son, "Little Mac," who I know could maneuver the John Deere much more adeptly than I could.

Throughout the course of the day, Max sees almost every department and every activity at work. He knows what's happening in all corners of camp. He has a friendly rapport with the staff, is generous with praise, and tactful with criticism. Max watches the campers and delights in their accomplishments. Like a counselor who has been at camp for years, Max has become a bastion of strength for the camp.

Camp is a place for growth. Counselors and campers learn and grow as a result of their intense relationships and contact. My relationship with Max was no less meaningful. Max, the maintenance man, touched my life and taught me much about respect, honesty, humility, and loyalty. I know he will continue to influence the lives of campers, counselors, helpers, and directors.

Francis M. Ryan is a school administrator at Rumsey Hall School in Connecticut. His wife, Whitney, is co-director of Waukeela Camp for Girls in Eaton Center, N.H.