By Gretchen Keiser

A teenage girl strutted down the hall at St. Paul of the Cross School in northwest Atlanta. Oblivious to the heat, which hovered, as usual, in the mid-nineties, she kept singing the song a group of kids had been rehearsing in a classroom: “I am a bundle of poss-i-bil-i-ties.”

The Bill Gaither song, “I Am a Promise,” was the source of the name for the archdiocese’s three-day camps, which opened in mid-June as a hope for safe haven for some of the city’s black children this summer. Some seven weeks into the 10 weeks of Camp Promise, expectations have been tested by the gritty reality of hot days, an abundance of kids, a ‘learn-as-you-go’ plan of operation and the invariably ill-timed bus breakdown.

Despite it all, people who have been working in the three camps are unabashed when asked about the worth of the venture. When they talk about the people who worked alongside them--many of whom came from across the country--their eyes fill with tears.

Talking, Touching Listening

“Some of the kids looked like they were just starved for someone to listen to them,” said Merlin Todd, the strapping co-director of St. Paul of the Cross camp. The sisters and volunteers who came not just from Georgia, but from Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, Kansas, Texas and New Jersey “embrace them, they listen, they talk, they touch them. It’s been beautiful.”

“It’s been a giving, loving situation, as much from the kids as from the staff themselves,” he said.

From the earliest plans to April, it was clear that volunteers would be critical to the success of the program.

St. Paul of the Cross had sponsored a day camp in previous years, but it had served about 100 children. Camp Promise was planned to serve some 700-800 children at three locations: St. Paul of the Cross, St. Anthony’s in southwest Atlanta an Sts. Peter and Paul in Decatur.

All three had more children registered than expected in the early weeks. At its height, Sts. Peter and Paul had 240 children, St. Paul of the Cross had 387 and St. Anthony’s had 280. Over the summer, some 900 children came to the camps.

Call For Volunteers

Perhaps as unexpected as the numbers of children was the strength provided by people who came to work. Religious communities and provinces in at least 11 states responded to a call for volunteers. Students came from Virginia. Particular parishes, in many cases drawing on people involved in the Cursillo movement in the archdiocese, sent volunteers and provided materials and financial support

for the camps.

Those who came from out of town, mostly teachers, brought special skills in art, music, special education and work with the learning disabled. The also brought, by their presence, inspiration to local people working.

“To have a group like that assembled from around the country, many coming alone or in groups of twos and threes to respond to a need in an area where many had never been before--it was such a confirming, uplifting experience...for me, for all of us,” said Msgr. Jerry Hardy, archdiocesan chancellor.

“We were so pleased to have had a number of seminarians and deacons working in the camps. Their contribution added a special quality of support that we all valued.”

“I was thinking back to the planning sessions in April--what we knew about running camps then and what we know now--and it was a humbling realization to see how well the thing had gone and how so much had depended on and been enriched by these volunteers form outside,” he said.

Mission Accomplished

All three camps had a corps of paid staff, like Brenda Hunsucker, a mother of six who ran the cafeteria and alternated as bus driver at Sts. Peter and Paul camp. “I have spent most of my summer counting children,” she said, laughing about the many trips on and off the bus.

“I think that we have accomplished what we set out to do,” she said. “We wanted to keep the kids off the street, and when they go home, they’re too tired to be out.”

“It’s really special to see people giving their time coming from so far away.”

The closeness that developed with out of town volunteers was so deep, she said, “It just nearly killed me when someone left.”

On a bulletin board behind the director’s desk at St. Paul of the Cross are posted notes and letters from volunteers who have already gone home. Still at work were a group of nine Sisters of St. Joseph from Baden, Penn. One, Sister Coletta, said that spending five weeks at the camp was the inevitable outgrowth of a year following from Pittsburgh, the news of Atlanta’s children’s murders.

“I felt like my heart was here all year,” she said. “I just felt like I should put my body here, too.”

A kindergarten teacher who has been in the Pittsburgh diocese for 20 years, she had taught a group of children to sign for the deaf, and guitar in hand, was about to begin a last rehearsal for closing Mass.

Among the children, “there has been a real gentling in the five weeks,” she said. “It’s almost as if you forget about all the tension and stress.”

Fears Revealed

At two of the camps, St. Paul of the Cross and St. Anthony’s, workers said they were made acutely aware of the children’s fears by their reactions to minor incidents. Once, children said they saw a man in the woods around St. Paul of the Cross and their descriptions became more and more frightening. No one was found, but it revealed the depth of their fear.

For at least some of the children, that fear was alleviated by the care they felt at the camps. Aleta Paschal, a young camper at St. Paul of the Cross, said she had been frightened by the murders. “The camp made me feel better--knowing that someone was here to watch us all the time and you didn’t have to be on the streets,” she said. “And you could have fun here and take your mind of your troubles.”

Perhaps more than fear, workers saw a need that would outlast the crisis of Atlanta’s children’s murders.

Reflecting on the experience of the summer, Deacon Jim Adams, a director at St. Anthony’s, saw a trust growing between the kids and the people who worked for long periods of time.

Giving and Getting

“A lot of the kids have been deprived--of material things, of emotional things, too,” he said. “They were shy and inhibited. Now they’re just so trusting, open and receptive to us. They’re not afraid to hug you. A lot want to hug you to death.”

He said he had been hesitant about the program in the beginning, but has been changed by the children. “The kids have really made it for us. They needed us. We needed them,” he said. “It hasn’t been a one-way street.”

While the program was planned as a response to the children’s murders, he was among many urging that it be carried out again. “I would vehemently recommend that we do this again,” he said.

“There’s more of a need--something we can give them: to say, ‘You don’t have to have a threat of violence of fear to have us do something for you.’”