As we solemnly file into the Old Pavilion at Echo Valley, I steal glances at the campers and staff around me. It’s the summer of 1997, and I’m surrounded by “No Fear” t-shirts and Doc Marten sandals. The smell of Polo Sport cologne permeates the air. Everyone is serious, quiet, pensive. We take our seats as the sun shoots its last rays over the canyon walls, and Greg Rich steps forward to read Psalm 107.

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