“As a youngster,” declares Charlie McGonagle, “I had the good fortune of having an uncle who, along with his father, had built what he called a ‘camp’ in Wilmington, Massachusetts, near Silver Lake. He was a very gracious man, making his place available every summer to his numerous nephews and nieces and their parents. Sometimes there would be as many as 11 of us kids sleeping on the floor of the porch while the adults found room for their night’s sleep somewhere inside.” Despite the lack of running wat…
