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Rosh Chodesh Elul, 5758 August 22, 1998

SOUVENIR JOURNAL

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From Rabbi Wilfred Shuchat The ancient Greeks developed the concept of beauty. They didn’t invent it, of course, but they did make it a goal of life and society. Every thing in art and culture had to be devoted to create “the beautiful”. The ancient Hebrews who were our ancestors developed the concept of holiness. Beauty was not enough for them. Life had to have a purpose and meaning and the best way to achieve it would be to bring man closer to God. At Loon Lake we have the remarkable and quite extraordinary combination of beauty and holiness. We have breathtaking natural beauty, mountains and lakes, hills and valleys, and star-studded nights...not to speak of the endless possibilities for recreation that the lakes and mountains provide. But we also have holiness…and this is the unique achievement of the little synagogue whose fortieth anniversary we are celebrating. The location of the Loon Lake Synagogue on the tenth hole of a golf course is the ultimate symbol of the combination of beauty and holiness. The synagogue has provided an opportunity for worship. Beginning with the first Sabbath in July and sometimes the last Sabbath in June, until the Sabbath of Labor Day weekend, every effort is made

to maintain a minyan for prayer on Friday evenings, Saturday mornings and Saturday evenings. The synagogue is available for those who say Kaddish or who are observing a yahrzeit. It functions on Tisha B’Av and Rosh Chodesh. It is our spiritual home in the Adirondacks. It is also available to others. The Loon Lake Homeowners Association meets in its premises. Chamber music concerts have been given from time to time. We celebrate because we are grateful. We are grateful to the families who pioneered this development which we are trying so hard to maintain. We are grateful for the cooperation of our friends and neighbors who have helped make life so pleasant for us. We are grateful to our officers who have carried the main burden of responsibility. We our grateful to our President, Mr. Samuel Gewurz who has done so much personally to maintain our minyan for the short term as well as for the long term. We are grateful above all to the Almighty who has helped us cast our lot in this special place and has helped us enjoy the best of beauty and holiness.

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Dear Friends,

Welcome to this celebration of the Loon Lake Jewish Center’s 40th Anniversary. We thank you for choosing to be with us for this Shabbat at Loon Lake. We have much to celebrate.

Several years ago the prognosis for the Loon Lake Jewish Center was questionable. Many of the original founders and participants passed away or moved away and were not replaced by their children or new families moving in.

Today, we look forward with more optimism. Several new families having experienced the beauty of Loon Lake and the warmth of the Jewish Center, have or hope to become Loon Lakers. Several residents in Loon Lake who are not regular Shul goers have agreed to participate in our minyan if we need them and this is an added plus. This year our services and kiddushes have been well attended and well appreciated. Our synagogue and adjacent house have held up well over the years, though now we must invest over $10,000 of capital for roof replacement as well as other repairs. We have a reserve for half the funds and as part of our celebration, members and friends are committing to help raise the balance and create an additional reserve.

We hope this Shabbat will be a memorable one for all of us.

Samuel Gewurz

LOON LAKE JEWISH CENTER - A HISTORY

by Robert Agus The Beginning The Andron family converted the Loon Lake Hotel and Resort into a first class kosher resort after the previous owners went into bankruptcy. They operated the facility until the mid-1950's when a fire destroyed the main hotel building and other resort facilities. The family decided to auction off the remaining houses and property rather than to rebuild and continue operating. The public auction was held in 1957. Many of those who attended were observant Jewish families from Montreal and New York who had been guests at Andron's. In the summer of 1958 the new owners began to come to Loon Lake and to set up

their houses. Because these houses were built as adjuncts to the hotel they did not contain kitchens and other elements of comfortable independent living. Therefore that first summer was a time of fixing up, arranging and creating proper residencies. In spite of the other demands on time, energy and resources another need was

identified and addressed, i.e., establishing Shabbos services. With the help of Mrs. Miller, a resident and Andron family member, space and some materials, such as a portable aron kodesh were provided to the organizers of the services and soon thereafter of the Loon Lake Jewish Center. The initial space was a small aluminum shed-like building that was adjacent to a large multipurpose room. A small group of men turned that uninviting space into a heimishe shul and with their wives they founded a community. Morris Propp was the first president and also the unofficial mayor of Loon Lake. Aside from being a friendly, helpful person who helped everyone set up their house, he was a davener extraordinaire who established the lively and participatory nature of the Loon Lake services. He was far from alone.

Louis Schiff was another very warm person who helped everyone feel welcome. Rabbi Hymen Muss added devoted attention to detail. Rabbi Jacob B. Agus initiated the tradition of teaching Pirke Avos in a way that attracted people who were at all levels of Jewish learning. Dr. Haiim Agus was a source of strength and a ba'al korei of

unsurpassed excellence. Mr. Moe Stern and his two sons Gershon and Zalman contributed in every way to its success. Maurice Plesser was a constant source of friendship and support. The Rajsky family including Mr. Sandorfy, the Hermans, the Wechslers, and others were important members of this founding group. The women were equal partners in creating a sense of community through their willingness to help each other set up their houses and by hosting kiddushes, shalosh seudas and afternoon teas - all of which helped create a feeling of one large family, the feeling that has been maintained to this day. In 1960, a few of the founders were personally responsible for purchasing the log cabin for use as a shul and the permanent home of the Loon Lake Jewish Center. Soon thereafter the Stern family donated a Sefer Torah to the shul which was now truly a religious institution. New families joined the community over the years and sons and daughters of the original members began to assume the responsibility for it s ongoing life. Meyer Lichtenstein became the treasurer and supervisor of maintenance and served for several decades in that capacity; this summer there have been noticeable gaps in the flow of the services. Rabbi Muss served as the official Gabbai and Rabbi; Rabbi Wilfred Schuchat has been a principal leyner and for the past twelve years the teacher of Perek and now the Rabbi. After the early years of leadership by Mr.Propp and Louis Schiff the younger generation led by Gershon and Zalman Stern and Sam Gewurz have continued and strengthened the life and traditions of the shul.

It should be noted with thanks that the beginning visions and commitment have always been renewed as older members leave us. Many have and continue to contribute to this miracle. However, it should be acknowledged that Brenda and Sammy Gewurz have been singular sources of strength and energy and have maintained and, God willing, will continue to maintain the life of this special shul, Boruch ha Shem. The Continuation Many of us have benefited from the vibrant and warm character of the Loon Lake Jewish Center. It is a place that welcomes all and encourages active participation by those willing. It causes us to stretch our capacity as well so that the services and the kiddushes and the learning and the friendships continue to grow. New members quickly become established as the connective tissues of Ahavas Torah v' Yisrael become ever stronger even as they are stretched. True and certain is it that the Light of Torah shines with a special brilliance in the pure air of Loon Lake - a Light that brings all who come a sense of warmth, of belonging, and of kedushah. May we all be blessed with the continued mazal to share in experiencing and spreading the Light of Torah in this community that is graced with the Divine Presence. " I will bring them to My Holy Mountain and make them joyful in My house of prayer; their offerings and sacrifices shall be acceptable on My altar ; for My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples" (Isaiah 56:8)

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SOME MILESTONES WE HAVE CELEBRATED at the LOON LAKE JEWISH CENTER

Dedication of the Sefer Torah September 4, 1960

Bar Mitzvahs

Jeff Herman summer, 1968

David Kershner August, 1970

Aaron Hershtal August, 1994

Jonah Agus August, 1995

Aufruf

Brenda Urman and Sam Gewurz August, 1970

Risa Loebenberg and Zavie Gewurz August, 1995

Sheva Brachot

Melanie and Bob Santoriello summer, 1982

Bryna Shuchat and Josh Landes July, 1993

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FFFRRROOOMMM MMMEEEMMMBBBEEERRRSSS &&& FFFRRRIIIEEENNNDDDSSS

A LETTER FROM A FRIEND… SHELLY ORRINGER SHERR My husband Arthur Sherr and I have a vacation home in Lake Placid. We came to Lake Placid in 1989.

Arthur was a Torah scholar and really felt that he had found a home in Loon Lake. We knew Merle and Gershon Stern through mutual friends. They were gracious and extremely hospitable, as was everyone else at the Loon Lake synagogue. Everyone who came, no matter how late, or how often, was made to feel as though they belonged.

It is one of the few places where people never feel judged.

It is truly an honor and a privilege to come to the Loon Lake synagogue.

Sincerely,

Shelly

From Ruth Wisse: "We came to Loon Lake for the first time in 1962 to visit my older brother Ben and our sister-in-law Louise. They were renting Fairview cottage from Dr. and Mrs. Agus, and we were glad to be invited to stay with them over a weekend. I can't say I was bowled over by the place. There were many young families with young children and I believe that a thriving little day camp was already in session. Counselors were imported from the city and put up in the house adjoining the synagogue. That was also the place for rainy day activities. There were many lawsuits either threatened or actually before the courts. They all had to do with what seemed to be silly things like right of way, boundaries, the disposition of garbage pails, etc. I couldn't for the life of me understand why people should have to go to court, or, for that matter, argue at all. We didn't yet have a family or property of our own, and we weren't interested in becoming part of any permanent community. My brother and Louise seemed quite "bourgeois" with all their proprietary concerns. It is now many years later, and Loon Lake looms for us as an oasis on earth. The last thought I want to have on

this earth is the memory of swimming in the lake in the evening or at dawn. We value the people who help to sustain this community as we do members of our own family. And there isn't litigation in sight. Time does wonders. May our children enjoy the celebration forty years hence."

From Len Wisse: Chinderelly (with apologies to...everybody) "Once upon a time, in a little village called Nitogedakht, lived a little girl named Chinderelly, with her wicked stepmother, and her ugly stepladder--I mean stepsisters--named Yente, Shmente, and Tsatske. Well, from Chinderelly, the wicked stepladder--I mean stepsisters--as well as the handsome prince, Mazal Tov to the Loon Lake Jewish Center on this wonderful 40th anniversary,"

From Aaron Hershtal: "One of my fondest memories of Loon Lake was celebrating my bar mitzvah there. The Sandorfy/Hershtal family has been a part of the Loon Lake community for as long as it has been around. I found it truly special to be able to celebrate a milestone in my life, like my bar mitzvah in a place so rich in my family’s tradition. As well, since I have been coming to Loon Lake (starting at 10 months), I have developed a relationship with the other members of our community to the point where I consider the Loon Lake community part of my extended family."

From Aileen Kershner: "Our fondest memories of Loon Lake include 1) my father calling his stay there his jail sentence; 2) my mother (Esther Wealcatch) chopping down a wooden fence put up to bar our old ingress to our property by Mrs. Eisner, who had promised not to!"

From Jean Wepner: "Our best regards to all our friends. We will miss Loon Lake."

From Clifford Ungar: "My special memories of Loon Lake include hunting for golf balls with Dad, thunderstorms, and early morning loons on the lake."

From Danny Hershtal: "Hiking, swimming, beaching, basketball playing, climbing, walking, swimming, canoeing, sailing, golfing, Torah reading, bonfiring, singing, storytelling, marshmallow roasting. Freezing, boiling, sweating, burning, swatting, squashing, scratching. Eating, veging, resting, relaxing, revitalizing and refreshing. All these actions make up a collective memory of my summers at Loon Lake, impossible to pinpoint to a specific event or moment in time. The magic of Loon Lake is that time somehow ceases to exist as memories are compiled into a lethargic blob and melt together, as the worries and hassles of the past spring and the ever approaching fall melt away. Too often we live our lives according to events that occur. Wrapping up from the previous in order to prepare for the upcoming. However, the moments between these events are often taken for granted. These moments are our chances to breathe, relax and reflect. These are our times in Loon Lake." “I have always believed in Goethe’s dictum that great thoughts are inspired by the outdoors” – Rabbi Jacob Agus, from American Rabbi The Life and Thought of Jacob B. Agus

From Sybil Hershtal: "I first came to Loon Lake in 1958 to visit my aunt and uncle, Hymie and Isabel Moskowitz, who had just bought a cottage there. My aunt lived in New York and we lived in Montreal. We came on a Sunday, just to visit for the day. But I fell in love with the place immediately and convinced my parents to let me stay with my aunt for the week, even though I hadn’t brought a change of clothes with me. The next week when they came back for me , I managed to get another week in Loon Lake out of my parents. It seems like I’ve been negotiating to spend more and more time in Loon Lake ever since." From Ruth Muss (as told to Goldie Ungar): "My fondest memories are of the old days in Loon Lake, when the community first started. In those days the men came out for the weekends and went home during the week. The women stayed in Loon Lake for the whole summer. We came from different cities and we were different ages, but we spent time in each other's homes giving cooking and baking classes to each other and trading recipes. That’s how we got to know each other, and how we became a community. Then on Shabbat we would take turns inviting the entire community to our homes for Kiddush, trying out our new recipes, and making new friends. "

TTTHHHRRREEEEEE VVVIIIEEEWWWSSS OOOFFF LLLOOOOOONNN LLLAAAKKKEEE

The Tenth Man

A short, short story by Stan Ungar

PROLOGUE: This short story is based on an actual incident, which occurred in a small, remote mountain lake community. Any similarity in names and circumstances is entirely intentional.

Shia counted slowly – 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…..again and again only through nine. There was simply nobody else that could be found to make up a minyan at the small log cabin shul at Loonsea, a small lakeside community in the mountains. With Shmuel, the Builder and his family off to a large city to the east to celebrate the marriage of their first born, and with Daniel, the chemist and Moshe, the Tooth Puller, off with them, those left behind would surely have to pray alone. Was their tradition of so many years without missing a minyan about to be broken? But wait, an hour before Shabbos there is a knock on Shia’s door. “Who is there?” he asks. “It’s me, Menachim, a visitor to Loonsea from Plattsville, the nearest large town some distance away. May I come in?”

“But, of course, please do.”

Menachim, a round-faced, smiling man enters and explains that he is visiting the area to discuss questions about his duties

as a Teacher at the Academy in Plattsville with an old time acquaintance. He goes on to say that he went to school with Shmuel, the Builder.

And yes he would be happy to complete the minyan and be the tenth man. Not only that, but he goes on to say that he is a great, great, nephew of a famous shtetl storyteller, Sholem.

A minyan is reached, Shabbos is welcomed in and the songs of all fill the cool mountain night air.

After shul the ten men go their separate ways to their cottages. As Menachim goes his way distant laughter can be heard echoing back on a gentle breeze.

Upon Shmuel’s return Shia gives him regards from his old classmate, Menachim.

“Menachim? I knew no Menachim at school.”

At a later time, visiting the Academy at Plattsville, Shia asks about their Teacher, Menachim, who had visited Loonsea.

“Menachim? We have no Menachim here at the Academy,” says the Director.

But surely there must be such a person. We all prayed with him. We saw his smiling face, we heard his gentle laughter as he walked off into the night. Who is he? He is the tenth man.

Loon Lake

August 1995

Route 99

A short story by Wendy Ungar

"There it is, I see it!" Helen proclaimed. "Finally, the turn-off to get us to Route 99."

My friend Helen and I had been driving for close to three hours on our way from Ottawa, looking for the shortcut to our summer haven of Loon Lake in the Adirondack Mountains where our families had cottages. A left turn off NYS Route 30 and in a few miles we would arrive at the entrance to Route 99, the road that would lead us through the "backdoor" wilderness and directly into the hamlet of Loon Lake. It was about 6 pm. We had been enjoying an easy drive; it was a beautiful sunny early summer day. The sun still shone strongly through the tops of the tall white pines.

"Slow down, Wendy!", Helen cried. "You'll miss the turn!"

I saw the right-hand turn-off for 99, but was surprised at its sharpness and how easily I might have driven past it. The car swerved as I veered suddenly to make it. We just barely stayed on the road.

"That's funny, it doesn't look like it should be such a sharp turn," I commented, attempting to understand how I could misjudge it.

We looked ahead. A short steep hill climbed up and curved off to the left. Near the top of the hill stood the 99 sign, slightly tilted, its twin 9's carving out two eyes that twinkled with an evil smile, beckoning us forward. That first glimpse of number 99 at the start of a new summer season has always made me glad. Ninety-nine - the keeper of the forest, the gateway to the wonder and beauty that lies ahead. Just beyond stood another sign, "ROUGH ROAD NEXT 12 MILES" and then another, "NOT A GOOD ROUTE TO NYS 3". Helen and I looked at each other and laughed, amused that the State of New York Department of Transportation would actually make an official road sign that said "not a good route" to someplace.

"Why not just hang a skull and crossbones?" I joked.

Helen hadn't wanted to take the back part of 99. Earlier in the day she suggested that we go the long way around, without explaining her reticence. But I told her, "No way. That'll add forty-five minutes to the drive. Besides, this road is so picturesque."

We started forward on Route 99. The road quickly narrowed to one lane - one very rough lane. Although only minutes ago the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, now the light appeared to wane. The trees closed in on us, draping a canopy of branches above our heads.

"Can you believe how dark it's become? I'm going to have use my headlights!" I said to Helen with surprise. We continued to drive. The road veered sharply right and left, endlessly twisting around corners while climbing and descending short steep grades. Whoever posted the speed limit at 35 miles per hour had a somewhat macabre sense of humour, I thought to myself. With the angle of the turns on this windy road, one would have to slow down to 15 miles per hour just to keep from going off the side. Anyone daring to "speed" along at 35 miles per hour would find a branch crashing through the windshield in no time.

It grew darker.

"Is that fog?" Helen asked with disbelief, staring at the mist illuminated by the headlights.

"It looks like it, doesn't it? How can that be?" I asked.

Helen squirmed a bit in her seat. "Don't worry Helen," I said. "I've driven this road lots of times and have never had a problem."

"Well I don't like it. In my family, we call it 'Dead Man's Drive'," she said somberly, without offering to elaborate.

I looked at her with amusement. "Don't be silly!" I said, trying to hide a growing sense of foreboding.

We continued on. It was dark except for the gleam of headlights pointing the way from one sharp bend to another. All we could hear was the wear of the tires against the rough hewn asphalt. "Why don't you turn on the radio," I said, hoping that some music or chatter might provide a soothing distraction. She switched it on. Static. She moved it up and down the dial. Nothing but static.

"It's no good," she said. "You can't get any stations up here. The trees and the mountains block everything." Just as she was about to switch off the radio, there was a loud crackle and a voice started coming through. It was muffled and had a strange intonation. After some playing with the dial, Helen was able to get a clearer signal.

"...And we now continue with Orson Wells starring in 'The Thin Man, the Continuing Adventures of Harry Lime'." spoke the radio announcer.

"Oh. it's one of those old-fashioned radio plays," I said. "That should keep us amused." We listened to the drama; it was a murder mystery. The road winded on and the fog thickened. It was getting harder to see. The radio play was interrupted for a commercial.

A funny voice that sounded more like Bugs Bunny than a radio announcer said "Just arrived on the lot ... Brand new 1949 Town Cars! See them here!" How strange, we thought. Maybe the old commercials were taped along with the radio show. Then we heard another commercial, a jingle singing the praises of 'Clarke's New Miraculous Salve - the perfect treatment for inveterate ulcers, bad legs and sore heads, patented 1942'!

We were amused and bit bewildered by the retro advertising. Then very suddenly the play stopped and the news came on. "Good evening. Here is the six o'clock news for June 27, 1931."

"What?? 1931?" Helen and I looked at each other, completely puzzled. "What is going on?" I said aloud. "The radio play was from the nineteen fifties, the commercials from the forties and the news from the thirties? This is so bizarre!"

At that moment the radio went dead. Silence. Not even a crackle or whisper of static. Just silence. I slowed down to 10 miles per hour. "This is too eerie," Helen said. "When are we going to get there?" she asked anxiously.

"It can't be much longer." I tried to reassure her as I felt my own anxiety growing stronger. "We should soon be arriving at those tattered old abutments on either side of the road. You know, where the railroad tracks passed overhead in the olden days carrying rich folks to their summer retreat at the Loon Lake Hotel."

"Oh yeah," said Helen. "We have one of the original 1889 Chateaugay Railroad tickets for the trip from New York City to Loon Lake." Our imaginations began to wander to visions of the old railway and the posh private cars loaded with steamer trunks and personal servants. Every day during the summer seasons following the turn of the century, trainloads of vacationers would arrive at Loon Lake Station where the local stagecoach would carry them along Route 99, the historic turnpike from Port Kent to Hopkington. The stage would drop them off at Loon Lake House, one of the earliest and greatest of the Adirondack Great Camps. Under the proprietorship of Mrs. Mary Chase and her ne'er-do-well husband Fird, Loon Lake House began in 1879 as a cabin for hunters and fishermen on 10 acres of land on a small bluff overlooking Loon Lake. By the 1920's, it had grown into a resort spanning 4,000 acres and included 53 cottages that housed 800 guests, among them U.S. Presidents, film stars and the Manhattan elite. Our daydreaming was suddenly interrupted by a faint noise off in the distance.

"Did you hear that?" I asked Helen.

"It sounded like," Helen began, "A TRAIN WHISTLE!" we both exclaimed at the same moment. I stopped the car. We held our breath. Sure enough, off in the distance in the direction toward which we were driving a long mournful train whistle blew in the darkness.

"But there are no trains around Loon Lake," I protested. "There haven't been for 50 years!"

"There are no trains anywhere near this part of the Adirondacks," Helen added. Now we were completely baffled. Our apprehension grew.

"Well, we have to press on," I said. "Maybe we'll find an explanation when we get to Loon Lake." I started the car and we moved slowly forward, following the unending curves that brought us closer to our destination. I concentrated hard to stay on the road while I increased my speed to 30 miles per hour. We turned a corner and then about 50 feet ahead in the distance we saw what appeared to be walls on both sides of the road. We got closer. The abutments were bleached bright white. The familiar graffiti that had for the last few decades adorned the crumbling walls was not there. Not only that. The cracked plaster and decaying concrete were replaced by tall smooth walls. The structure looked as if it had been built yesterday! Then, just as we got close enough to drive between the abutments, we noticed an unfamiliar silhouette in the twilight above.

"Oh, my God! shouted Helen as she pointed straight ahead above the car. "Look at that!"

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Spanning across the road from one abutment to the other was a wooden trestle holding a single track of railroad.

"Where did that come from?" Helen asked in utter amazement.

I looked at Helen. "A better question," I began in a slow whisper, "is where are we going?"

There was no place to go but forward. We had to have an answer. We crossed beneath the trestle and drove on. After a short distance the trees abated briefly on either side of the road. Up ahead on the left was the old ticket office. It gleamed like a white ghost in the approaching nightfall. We drove by slowly. As we passed, we noticed that lights were on inside. Smoke streamed from the chimney.

"Does anyone live in that old ticket office now?" Helen asked.

"Not that I know of," I replied, afraid to tell her that last summer I had heard that the ticket office was slated to be torn down since it was derelict and considered a fire hazard.

Mixed with trepidation and relief we soon arrived at the outskirts of Loon Lake. A few familiar looking camps dotted its shoreline. These camps were part of the old hotel but had long since been purchased by private landowners who converted than into summer homes, just as our families had done in the mid-fifties when the hotel properties were sold off. By now darkness had fallen and a full moon had risen, casting a grey glow over the shadowy waters of the lake. The road meandered along, close to the shores, high above the water. We came around a turn and the headlights illuminated a strange moving shape in the distance ahead. The large object appeared to be moving slowly forward in the same direction as we were. We caught up to it. The high beams cast spotlights on two white wagon wheels and the back of a wooden stagecoach. We were aghast. I had never seen a real stagecoach, except in museums. The wheels were huge - higher than the car. The road was two lanes wide now, as we were very close to the town. I pulled over to the left to pass. I couldn't see any people on top or inside of the coach, but there was a dim light coming from inside the cabin. I had to stay over on the left-hand side of the road long enough to safely pass the team of six horses that steadily climbed Route 99, bringing its load ever closer to our common destination. By now Helen and I were completely mystified by what we had seen and heard. Nothing could explain it.

Everything around us had seemingly reverted to how it had been 100 years ago. Yet the trees, the mountains, the lake, and most importantly, Route 99, lit up by the bright moonlight, looked exactly the same.

We arrived at the sharp left turn that demarcates the centre of the hamlet of Loon Lake. I turned right into the laneway where the cottages belonging to our families stood on the corner. There they were, same as always, but looking a little brighter and fresher than usual. I parked the car by the side of the road and we got out. Both of our houses were completely dark. We looked at each other, not moving.

"Why don't we explore a little?" I suggested to Helen, unwilling to admit my fear of entering that dark house alone, not knowing what 100-year-old surprises might be waiting to greet me.

"Good idea, Wendy. Let's check out The Circle," Helen said.

The Circle is a wild and overgrown patch of brambles just down the hill from our houses. It was once a circular garden standing at the entranceway to the main building of the old hotel. After the fire which destroyed the structure in the mid-fifties, before we were born, little was done to keep up the appearance of the grounds. As children we used to play on a large stone statue of an Indian with a broken headdress that adorned the circle, in the days when the grass was still being mowed. We ran down the hill and stopped suddenly in our tracks. The full circumference of The Circle gleamed in the moonlight. It had been plowed save for a few pine saplings that stood proudly, guarding the glimmering Indian Chief, his stone feather headdress intact. Helen and I approached. We stepped foot onto The Circle and gazed up and to our left. There, towering over our heads was a massive four-storey building topped by a large square cupola. Tall Greek columns surrounded the building, reaching up to the protruding third storey. Loon Lake House stood before us in all its splendour and glory. We could see some light coming from inside, but there was not a single sound. We could hear no voices talking or birds

chirping. Not even the buzzing of the expected swarm of insects could be heard. Only the beating of our hearts and the rapid panting of our tremulous breaths broke the still night. Here we were in Loon Lake, and yet it wasn't the Loon Lake that we knew. It was as if all the ghosts dwelling in the houses of the people whose lives had created and characterized this place for so many years were suddenly given new life to return once again to their paradise - to our common paradise. If there was an answer to this mystery, I knew where we would find it.

"Follow me," I said to Helen as I strode across the circle. We walked past the Indian, who stared knowingly into the night just as he had in our childhood. We followed a road down to the bottom of a hill then turned left onto a small boardwalk which ended on a large stone and concrete patio. We descended a few wooden steps onto a sandy beach. Looking out in front of us, the waters of Loon Lake sparkled in the magical night. The moon cast a strong beam straight across the calm lake to the spot where we stood. It was still very warm outside, there wasn't even a breath of wind on the trees. I knew that the answer must lie here, in these waters. Helen and I kicked off our shoes. Still in shorts and t-shirts we plunged into the cold clear water. As my head hit the surface I felt embraced by the spirit of this place and knew that I was home. The water poured over me, washing away all connections to the past and the future. Now it was only this instant that lived. I stood up in the lake, my feet barely touching the soft sandy surface below. I gazed across. The moonlight shone in my eyes. I became aware of the hushed sound of the breeze that blew in the whispering pines. I heard crickets jeering invisibly on the beach and low bellows of bullfrogs calling to one another. The music of the night filled my ears, and yet something was wrong, a piece was missing. I closed my eyes and waited. Out of the wet darkness it began, a sound from far far away on the other end of the lake. It started as a faint tremolo and then gave way to a long mournful cry, the signature song of the pair of Loons that gave this place its name. The Loons had been the first to call this place home, long before humans came and erected their summer temples. And long will they sing,

years after the temples have burned and the trees have erased all evidence of them. I turned around and faced the beach. I looked at the crumbling stone retaining wall and the small green saplings breaking into life between the widening cement cracks. Clumps of grass dotted the sand and daisies grew wild around the edges. Helen and I climbed out of the water. To keep from shivering we ran barefoot up the hill back towards The Circle. We got to the top and we saw exactly what we expected - The Circle was a mass of tangled raspberry bushes, overgrown and encroaching on the road. A young birch and aspen forest swayed in the night breeze where only decade-moments ago the monolithic Loon Lake House stood. We ran up the hill toward where the car was parked. The mosquitoes were swarming, hungry for an evening meal. The bats flickered by us. We got to the car, relieved, not speaking a word. We moved to the back to pull our gear out of the trunk and then stopped and looked up. There on the corner of the road it stood, tall and just a little bit slanted. It gazed down at us, eyes twinkling, grinning its evil smile as it waited for the next unwitting soul to brave its mysterious path - Route 99.

Anyone desiring to travel Route 99 will find it difficult to locate. In 1995 the New York State Department of Transportation decided to remove all the state road signs, bequeathing its perpetual maintenance to Franklin County. Although the road remains, the name of 99 will live on only in the memory it evokes of stagecoaches, train whistles and hotel guests frolicking on the shores of Loon Lake.

Thanks to Larry and Edna Povich, Dr. Morrie Levy, and Sybil and Zev Hershtal for contributing Loon Lake photos.

Excerpts from a Travel Brochure Featuring Loon Lake

By Syd and Aileen Kershner

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Agus/Povich Families

Chalupovitch, Gloria & Eli

Gewurz, Brenda & Sam

Herman, Celia & Michael

Hershtal, Sybil & Zev

Kershner, Aileen & Sydney

Landes, Bryna & Josh

Levy, Dr. Morrie

Lichtenstein, Sybil

Muss, Ruth

Pearson, Millie & Donald

Sandorfy, Eugene & Lilly

Santoriello, Melanie & Bob

Shuchat, Rabbi Wilfred & Miriam

Stern, Merle & Gershon

Ungar, Goldie & Stan

Urman, Rita & Sol

Wechsler, Marilyn & Milton

Wisse, Dr. Ruth & Len

From Bryna Shuchat Landes: "It is hard to encapsulate what Loon Lake means to me because it has played such a pivotal role in my life. When I think of my fondest childhood memories, it always revolves around some aspects of Loon Lake. Some of these memories include: the Loon Lake day camp where I won the "Giggles award", swimming in the lake until dark when my parents had to forcibly carry me out, picking berries before Solly Urman got to them, climbing the water tower, activating the elevator in the abandoned house with the Sterns, playing baseball on the golf course with with a whole group of Loon Lakers and participating in a seance to bring back Mary Chase, the owner of Loon Lake and the list goes on.. One of my favorite parts of the Loon Lake experience was going to shul, playing outside shul with all the kids, taking candy from Mr. Lichtenstein, and spending time with people at the Kiddush. The shul was always the focal point of the social scene in Loon Lake. As I got older, and I started to bring friends to Loon Lake, it became their favorite place

as well. I instituted July 4th weekend bashes where I would kick my parents out of the house and invite 20-30 people. I still remember when Danny Hershtal, following directives from his parents, knocked on my door one shabbos morning and asked " How many men do you have and what time can they be in shul?" The Loon Lake community became an extended family and that became evident when Josh flew in to meet me for the first time and I felt that he needed to pass the Loon Lake test. Once I realized that he liked Loon Lake and the shul community, I felt that he was worth a second date. When we got married less than a year later, I knew that I wanted to have a sheva brachot with the Loon Lake family. Loon Lake has always been very special. It is where my parents met, and where I brought Josh for the first time and it is my hope that it will be a source of joy, contentment and romance for many years to come. Happy anniversary Loon Lake Jewish Center!"