Music Lovers Pay Homage to ‘Mr. O’ During Reunion at Rural Camp He Created

Some of those gathered in the mountains had not played their musical instruments in years. Others play them professionally every day.

But they all joined forces last weekend in a rousing rendition of The 1812 Overture complete with a 38-caliber pistol in lieu of the cannon called for by the score. And when the last note had echoed off the last wall of the natural rock canyon in which they sat, more than one set of eyes in the place was damp with tears.

“Mr. O was like a father to us,” said cellist Karen Emery, 41, wiping her eyes. “He was an inspiration.”

Added Sandi Wright, also 41: “Being here is like being with family.”

Mr. O, as he was affectionately called by those who knew him, was Fred Ohlendorf, coordinator of music education for the Long Beach Unified School District from 1947 to 1970 and considered by many to be the architect of the district’s music programs. In 1942 he founded Arrowbear Music Camp at a family-owned site midway between Big Bear and Lake Arrowhead in the San Bernardino Mountains. And every year since then, generations of Long Beach-area music students have been experiencing a summer tradition that many say has profoundly affected their lives.

More than 200 alumni of the camp gathered there Sunday to reminisce about old times and mark Arrowbear’s 45th anniversary. Though there have been reunions before, this was the first since Ohlendorf’s death three months ago at age 80. And in a sense it marked the beginning of a new era for the camp, now managed by the venerated musician’s son-in-law, Dennis Dockstader.

“We wanted to show that Arrowbear is still here, better than ever,” said Dockstader, 44.

To help make that point, he combined the old-timers with this summer’s crop of talented high school newcomers in a joint orchestra and choir, 350 strong, to pay tribute to Mr. O by performing one of the old man’s favorite musical numbers. The immediate purpose: to dedicate a new outdoor bowl to Ohlendorf’s memory.

But the truth is that things at Arrowbear aren’t as they always have been. Since the late 1970s, according to Dockstader, the camp--which is expected to be attended by about 600 youngsters this summer--has experienced a steady decline in enrollment among the junior high school set, which has always formed its backbone. And though the camp has long been considered a fun place to be, he said, it has not always enjoyed the best of musical reputations.

“It just hasn’t felt like the old Arrowbear,” Dockstader said, referring to the traditional family-like intimacy that he believes eroded somewhat as Ohlendorf’s health failed.

To turn things around, Dockstader said, he has made some changes. The new camp manager said he has increased the time devoted to the actual playing of music during the one- and two-week sessions and upgraded the professional level of the musical staff.He also said he has attempted to bring back some of the intimacy and unity traditionally associated with the camp by increasing the number of campfires, encouraging close relationships between counselors and campers and initiating camp discussions on such non-musical topics as ethical values, character building and personal problems.

“The experience of the camp was a heavy social experience and we’d lost some of that as (Mr. Ohlendorf’s) power diminished,” Dockstader said. “The strong moral, ethical direction had dwindled.”

Remembering the Smell

For those who returned Sunday to relive the scenes of their youth, however, the fiber of the place was the same.

“The first thing I remembered was the smell,” said Jane Green, 35, a professional oboist from Whittier who attended the camp for six consecutive summers beginning in 1962. It was her experiences at Arrowbear under the tutelage of Ohlendorf, in fact, that had convinced her to devote her life to music, she said.

“I was always so happy here,” said Green, whose 15-year-old son now plays alto saxophone in his high school marching band and may attend Arrowbear next summer.

Bill Shibley, a Long Beach lawyer and tuba player, said that being back at Arrowbear evoked a flood of pleasant memories. “I sort of grew up at the camp,” he said.

Current campers had mixed reactions to the onslaught of old-timers. Tami Borowick, 18, said she initially thought their presence at the morning rehearsal was somewhat intrusive. “It was a little annoying,” she said. “Here we’ve been going over the same stuff again and again for a week and we’re trying to get the new people to learn it in one rehearsal.”

But the older generation impressed her with its musical acumen, she said. And by early afternoon she and many of her peers were expressing admiration for the veterans.

‘They Fit Right In’

“It’s neat to see where they’ve ended up,” said Diane Shapiro, 16. “It gives you something to look forward to. They fit right in--they’re not strangers; they’re just like us.”

Indeed, generational lines seemed indistinct as revelers laughingly looked for themselves in old camp photos and soberly paid their respects to Ohlendorf’s widow, Edna, holding court in a nearby cabin.

“Fred would have loved this,” said the 81-year-old grand matron of the camp. “He’d especially love hearing 1812 played by everybody.”

And that was the culmination. With brass players perched high in the rocks and singers sprawled far below them in the pine needles, they belted out the majestic piece in familiar strains that echoed through the mountains and into the ears of an audience numbering considerably less than the musicians.

“It’s nothing like playing in the Philharmonic,” said Dennis Trembly, principal string bassist in the Los Angeles Philharmonic and one of the camp’s most celebrated graduates. “These people are here because they would rather be doing this than anything.”

When it was all over, director Akira Endo--who started out as an Arrowbear camper in 1955 and now directs orchestras throughout the country--strode in silence to the edge of the rock-lined stage and, cupping his hands around his mouth, looked up to the sky.

“Mr. O!” he yelled, the tone of his voice reverberating through the hills like the whine of a lone musical instrument. “That was for you.”