A Trip to the Uper

In mid-July of the summer of 1988, I hit a low point. I was exhausted after finishing up a session with a difficult cabin of eight-year-old boys. I had just received a rejection letter from a high school friend with whom I had hoped to move beyond friendship. In that depressed state, I discovered my underwear was missing.

Every bunk in Blackfeet cabin was occupied during the previous week including the upper bunk I tried to keep empty as a privilege and sign of my station.  At the beginning of the week, Danny and I noticed that we had the same dirty clothes bag, a classic setup for wacky confusion. This kind of duplication was not unusual in the age before internet shopping when the options for outdoor equipment in Kalamazoo were limited to Meijer Thrifty Acres, K-Mart, and MC Sporting Goods.

Wanting to avoid a situation where I ended up with a small boy’s underpants, we agreed that his bag would always sit under the bunk on the left with mine on the right. However, our system was disrupted on the last day when another camper knocked over the weekly can of diluted Lysol cleanser used to wipe down the mattresses between sessions. Both clothes bags ended up on my bunk. Danny took my bag, and I had a duffle full of a small boy’s clothing, including underpants.

I had hoped to shop in Ludington that Saturday with some of the other staff members, but I was 17 and still technically a ward of the camp. I told Jim, our camp director, my story, explaining that I was wearing my last pair of clean underwear. The reason he could not approve the trip has become hazy with time, but it resulted in my setting off on a warm Michigan afternoon for a forbidden trip to the M&M Uper.

Walkerville was a few miles away on dirt roads. We didn’t spend much time in the town because there were only four businesses that would interest camp staff types: The Pump Room Bar and Grill, a small burger restaurant, a video store, and the M&M Uper.

At some point, the Uper had been Super. It may even have been a Supermarket, but in the years we were there, only “M & M Uper” remained on the sign. The Uper was a general store with a small selection of groceries, hardware, and clothing. I assumed it was the nearest source of underwear, though I had never carefully checked their inventory. I hoped there would be underwear and hoped it would be in my size.

I set out walking after a lunch of single-serving boxes of cereal. Fueled by dry Froot Loops and Corn Pops, I started on the trail around the lake to East Beach. From there, I would connect to Winter Road far from the main camp. I wasn’t 100% certain that the walk was against the rules. I frequently ran off the camp property on morning jogs. Yet, it followed that the same spurious logic that banned me from Ludington would also keep me from the Uper.

Winter Road was nicely shaded though always infested with deer flies. These pests were easy to avoid when running, but a constant irritant at a slower pace. Thankfully, my hat kept them from getting twisted in my hair. They disappeared when I came to the open asparagus fields at the end of that road. I turned right and walked a mile or so with fields on both sides. The long rows of green stalks were interrupted by the occasional double-wide trailer decorated with planters made from old tires and a large satellite dish.

This walk took place in the days before hydration concerns had entered the culture, and few people carried water bottles. I was getting thirsty on that hot day and was pleased when I reached the blacktop road by the town cemetery. A left turn and a few more minutes brought me to my destination. I entered the M&M Uper.

The Uper was not large, and I quickly found the clothing section. I could have bought a new towel, socks, and pocket T-shirts. However, it was the small selection of tidy whities that caught my eye. My hopes were realized as I picked up two three-packs in my size. I didn’t know when and if my clothes would return, so I figured I should be prepared for the next session.

Focused on replacing my clothes, I had not thought about the logistics of purchasing underwear in a small country store. There were no self-service kiosks, credit cards, or scanners. The middle-aged woman at the cash register would hold each package and punch the price of my new skivvies manually into the machine. I worried she would press each number key judgmentally, considering the reasons a young man would have a pressing need for six pairs of new underwear.

In the classic style of the embarrassed shopper, I added a few additional items as a clever distraction: a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos, two cans of Coke, and four postcards to signify my general decency. However, she merely greeted me kindly, rang up my purchases, took my money, and handed me a bag.

With the transaction completed, I walked across the street and sat on a bench beneath a tree in the schoolyard to drink a cold soda. The sweet taste was refreshing, and about halfway through the can I discovered I was content. The schoolyard in summer was beautifully devoid of children. Traveling to college in the fall would have strangled the relationship I had hoped for. I had clean underpants for a week. In that moment, all things were well.

After finishing the can, I made the return trip without incident, between the asparagus fields and down Winter Road, cutting in again at East Beach and following the trail around the lake to reach the cabin area by way of the firepit. No one was or would be the wiser of my absence.

It was a satisfactory Saturday, and I greeted the campers who arrived the next afternoon with a level of confidence only possible with clean underwear. My bag of dirty clothes also arrived on the bus with a note of apology and contact information from Danny’s Mom. I sent his bag down to Kalamazoo when the next session ended.

The last time I drove through Walkerville, the Uper was closed and empty. A sign on the door described efforts to open a new independent grocery store in the town, but I believe a couple of dollar stores have taken its place. Thankfully, in the summer of '88, the Uper was there when I needed it most.