Camp BrosiusIU's Vacation Destination

For all of us who have experienced the magic of Camp Brosius, we have something to celebrate when you think of how long the spirit has survived. For 100 years Camp Brosius has provided a constant grounding for families to unite and grow in an adventurous yet relaxing environment that rebuilds our composure annually to face another year of challenges. I am from the fourth generation of a family that has come to Camp Brosius for what we believe to be every year since 1921. Whether open or not, we put foot on the hallowed grounds every year. We anxiously wait and look forward to 2022 when we can be resting our heads back at camp.

Our family is draped in history at the camp. My father and grandfather were named Carl Brosius Sputh Sr. and Jr. after George Brosius the camp namesake. My father would tell the story of our grandfather negotiating with Herman Wells to make the Normal College and Camp Brosius a part of Indiana University in 1941. He told us they went to Butler University first and was turned down. Stecher Cottage was originally built by funds that my grandfather raised to have a place where the men could go and smoke in 1934. My how times have changed. We have generations of stories of which many have been lost in time, but each one of us carries our own memories that we cherish.

A few years back the family and their friends raised some funds to help renovate the Sputh Round House that was in need of major repairs. When I toured the staff quarters upstairs before the project started, I saw a board that my dad had signed and dated in 1928 when he was 12 years old. Right under it was the name Eric Sputh 1991. Eric had stayed in the Round House as a staff member. Camp has always been a part of our family. My siblings and I would attend the children’s camp for six weeks and then stay maybe another week or two in Rows End Cottage with family. In youth the lake occupied most of our summers. Most of the family consider Camp Brosius home and keeper of our family spirit.

Camp Brosius is different for every family in what it brings to them. For my family it is a time when we all reunite and become kids no matter how old we are. We love competition, we love having extended time with each other and unfortunately love playing practical jokes. Awaking at the crack of dawn for a flight home having a the sail from a sunfish blocking your door, having a cabin wrapped in saran wrap, glasses of water falling off a door on you, rubber snakes in the bed, squirt guns or water balloons flying in all directions, the pranks have been endless and the smiles and laughter refreshing.

One summer there was a pandemic of beds being short sheeted. We have a big family and no one was spared. All week it went on and no one had caught the culprit. Each bed in the pandemic was so neatly done that my wife, daughter and I came to the conclusion that it must have been my mother, because none of my other siblings or family members could ever make a bed neatly. So we plotted and executed a plan to short sheet my mother’s bed, who was 71 at the time. She loved it and it was a great laugh, but she was not the culprit. Confessing on the last night was brother Ted and his wife Chris all proud of their skullduggery.

100 years is special. I have watched my kids and my grandkids do the same things I did when I was at their age in the timeless setting of Camp Brosius just as my father and grandfather did with us. Our family is spread all over the country, Camp Brosius has been a glue for six generations. It has kept us close and taught us all how important the roots, values and the traditions of family are in the frame work of our lives. On behalf of the entire Sputh Family and our friends who join us each year, we salute all those who have kept the traditions and spirit of this magical place in tact through the years. We celebrate 100 years of Camp Brosius and pray that the joy of this special place continues for eternity.

Ed Sputh
Sputh Family and Friends

At the ages of 9, 10 and 11 (that would’ve been 1952-54), I was banished to Camp Brosius, in those days an IU-staffed-and-operated kids’ camp with six-week sessions. In later years, married and with three kids of my own, we took our family vacations (one summer, four generations of us went Brosius camping) for 15 years in a row at Camp Brosius—by then converted into the IU Family Camp. Brosius occupies fond spots in our hearts, given that each of our kids worked there for a summer during college (waitri/waterfront/ housekeeping). Those three years as a kid-camper were special indeed for me.  Here are some memories.

I grew up in the Evansville area, and for some reason, a lot of kids from Evansville went to Brosius in those years. As a group, we’d board a Chicago and Southern (C&S) DC-6, fly to Chicago Midway, transfer to the Randolph Street station and, after miles of rock-and-rolling thru southeastern Wisconsin, arrive at the Elkhart Lake train station. Plymouth was the stop just before Elkhart Lake. When the train pulled out of Plymouth, we got the all-clear to begin the disembarkation process—suitcases, lockers, duffels, and tennis racquets frantically hauled down from the racks, placed in the aisles, and a mad scramble to get off before the train continued its milk run after about a five-minute stop in Elkhart Lake. Total chaos—kids and counselors running everywhere.

Spending three summer sessions trying to pass the swimmer’s test and flunking miserably until, finally, passing to great joy and jubilation: a standing O at dinner that night from the staff that had abandoned all hope. Flag-raising below the tennis court followed by breakfast in the mess hall (now Squirrels Nest, I think) with the disgusting odor of oatmeal wafting thru the morning fog mixed with delicious eggs and pancakes. Rainy days spent in the arts-and-crafts building making two-color woven bracelets: loop one strand, cross over with the 2nd, up with the 3^rd, thru the loop with the 4th. Homesickness that put a lump at the base of your throat. Yelling “Boy in the area!” when in the girls’ cabin area up on the hill, followed by synchronous slamming down of the wooden slat-shutters. A great camp nurse, beloved by all and simply called “Nursie.” Mosquitoes leaving life-long scarring for which even Nursie could only offer a dosage of what was called 6-12 and left enough grease on your skin to oil a Caterpillar earthmover—Caladryl came along shortly, thank goodness. Archery.  Tennis. Gymnast bars. Canoes. Rowboats with oarlocks. The Round House. The swamp. The nifty houses along the lake shore, including a huge summer home belonging to the Garton family who owned a toy factory—hence, dubbed “Toyland.” IU faculty members, directors, and benefactors Clara Hester and George “Dixie” Heighway to name a few.

So here’s the thing: I now swim for an hour, five days a week, as part of my personal fitness regimen, and I hope those snarky counselors at Camp Brosius—many long gone to their eternal rest, I’m sure—are smiling at the results of their shaming. God bless every one of them. Seriously, I was lucky to have the Brosius experience, and trust IU to continue the good work it does there.

Jeff Blackwell—Indianapolis, 2021