Column: More Than a Mentor – The Lasting Legacy of ‘Weeds’ Camillo
By Fred Camillo
Recently, I attended and spoke at the grand opening of the new Greenwich Boys & Girls Club building on Horseneck Lane, a place I knew well from my days as a member of the old Greenwich Boys Club in the 1970s. When I saw the brick I purchased in memory and honor of my late uncle, Lorenzo “Weeds” Camillo, I took a photo and posted it online. I knew that my uncle — whom my siblings and cousins called “Uncle Raines” — had positively impacted the lives of perhaps more than 20,000 young men during his tenure at the club from 1926 to 1981. Still, reading the hundreds of comments from former club members truly struck a chord. My uncle likely never realized how deeply he had shaped so many lives, characters, and futures.
Men from across the country, some of whom I have never met and from many different eras, shared stories about the man who gave them “chair time” (I was a member of that club!) for misbehavior, and about the sayings and style that became legendary. His impact was clear in every post. “Weeds” Camillo was a defining figure from their youth and a symbol of a time long past — an era when punishment for bad behavior was expected, tough love was accepted, and good deeds were met with a quiet smile or nod rather than overblown praise.
Today, many would not recognize those times, norms, good-natured nicknames (everyone had one), or methods of settling disputes. Kids were allowed to be kids. You made friends on your own. Sometimes you fought — often with someone who would later become a close, lifelong friend. You learned to bury the hatchet. And all of it happened without parental involvement, without social media, and always in person. There were no cell phones, computers, Apple Watches, or even Ubers. We walked everywhere, occasionally took the bus, and thought nothing of long distances — even without a Fitbit to count our steps.
Modern life has brought conveniences we now take for granted — and for which we are, in most cases, grateful. Yet there was something special about the Games Room, the 25cent (later 50-cent) club card, earning a swimming pin for a feat in the pool, basketball leagues and bombardio, beach days, annual trips to Yankee and Shea Stadiums, and Prescott Bush Day. On that day, blowing into soda bottles could earn you chair time — or worse. (One year, my ticket number for a prize was taken away for a similar offense. That number was later called, and the bike went to someone else who had behaved. And yes, Weeds was the one who took my ticket.)
There was something special, too, about the men who worked there — Budgie (Blume), Toot (Schinto), Jim Starcher, and, of course, Weeds. At various times, none of them were our favorite people. They had a job to do, and while we viewed discipline as necessary, it was something to be avoided if possible. We were kids, and that was part of the fun. Getting called out and punished was frustrating, but even then, we understood that these father figures were teaching us how to properly conduct ourselves as children and teenagers. What we didn’t fully appreciate was that they were also teaching us how to be upstanding adults.
Looking back now at the public service of so many of my contemporaries, I am amazed by — and deeply grateful for — their commitment to the community. Examples abound, an Horseneck what makes Greenwich the special place it has always been. Many are well known, while others prefer to stay out of the spotlight. All embody the adage I often quote: “Give and forget. Receive and remember.”
Thank you, Weeds. Thank you for what you taught us all those years ago. While the new club and its current and future members may not know you, your spirit, your example, and your commitment to others still live on at that piece of land on Horseneck Lane — a place that will always be “The Club.”
