Camp Kostopulos, the best friend a disabled kid ever had, is turning 40 this year. The partying has been decidedly low-key, however. No big birthday bashes. No cakes. None of the camp's neighbors at the mouth of Emigration Canyon have had to yell, hey, it's 1 in the morning; can the band stop playing?
That's because Camp K, as is its custom, is too busy taking care of everybody else to pay attention to itself.
Still, turning 40 is a huge deal — some would say a miracle — for a charity that began in 1967 in the form of a dream of one man, Dan Kostopulos, a Greek immigrant turned wealthy Salt Lake businessman who wanted to help kids who had a hard time helping themselves.
Dan and his wife, Helene, didn't have any children of their own so they adopted disabled kids for a week at a time and sent them to the camp Dan envisioned on land he leased from the city in Emigration Canyon.
Gary Totland was Kostopulos's first director and 40 years later remembers what a breakthrough the camp was for kids who were then called "handicapped."
"In those days nothing was going on for the handicapped in recreation endeavors," says Totland, retired now and splitting time between Salt Lake City and St. George. "In the beginning we were picking these kids up in my station wagon and taking them to the VA pool swimming and going bowling and stuff like that."
Once facilities were developed at the property, Camp K first specialized with youngsters with cerebral palsy and then, over time, swung the gates open to all disabilities. These days, kids and even a few grown-ups arrive at camp bringing everything from autism to spina bifida with them. Some can't walk, others can't hear or see, still others might have an eating disorder or seizures.
Dinner time, as current director Gary Ethington notes, includes "a lot of meds."
But that's OK. That is what Camp K is all about — giving a camp experience to kids with special needs.
Forty years later, it remains a unique undertaking — "No one else does this," says Ethington. "Not on this scale" — that goes largely unnoticed.
"I'd guess most people drive by and don't have any idea what we do," Ethington says. "If we were gone tomorrow the community at large wouldn't miss us. But talk to the families we support ... "
Camp K charges for its services, but it's based on ability to pay. Most funding comes from sources ranging from the United Way to private donors.
Although Dan Kostopulos died not long after the camp opened (Helene is still alive), his gift keeps on giving.
Just the other day, Totland's phone rang. It was a camper from nearly 40 years ago, a kid with cerebral palsy, who wanted his old camp director to come to his wedding.
"How about that?" says Gary. "We drove through a snowstorm to get there."
Meanwhile, the caretaking at Camp K, and the fund raising, keeps on keeping on.
But not a lot of birthday partying.
"When you talk about donated money from the public," says Ethington, "they don't want to see it used for marketing. We're up here celebrating, but in our own way."
Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.