The Summer That Lasts a Lifetime

“I was a fatherless teenager, whom Jerry [Neseth, Ihduhapi Director from 1965-90] always had time for. He helped me, became a role model, encouraged me, and paid for my stitches when I got injured at camp. We became lifelong friends.”

And with those few words, Richard Toftness hinted at a story that could fill entire books.

Richard was 10 years old when he went to YMCA Camp Ihduhapi for the first time in 1961. In 1967, he joined the staff, working in various roles until 1972. He then served on the camp board from 1966-76. In 1982, Richard and his wife Donna started an endowment as a way to honor the role that Ihduhapi played in his life, and in 2013, he was involved in the Palmer Ericson Chapel renovation project. It’s clear Camp Ihduhapi has never been far from Richard’s mind.

Over the 50 years since he was on staff, Richard went on to have an impressive career in technology, lived in several different countries, won both an Academy Award and an Emmy, and achieved many other notable accomplishments. However, through all of that, his time at Camp Ihduhapi and the relationships he formed there would become a defining element of his life.

While time carried on, and life pulled Richard away to some amazing experiences, an e-mail brought him back in time, back to Ihduhapi, prompting him to share a story that in many ways says it all.

A Simple Ask, a Powerful Reminder

This past spring, you may recall seeing our “Fill the Bus” campaign that raised money for camp scholarships before the launch of the 2025 summer season. Richard received an email from the Y with an inspired-by-camp fictional note that read:

“My first time going to camp started in the back of a hot, dusty yellow school bus. I traveled out of the city on what felt like an endless stretch of highway and ended at the most incredible place I could have ever imagined.

That big, stinky, yellow bus was a gateway to a life-changing experience where I learned to be myself, to be a leader, to find adventure using nothing but my imagination, to respect the outdoors, and to trust my intuition.

Here at the Y, we are on a mission to send many buses with many kids that can take that same journey.”

The note struck a chord with Richard, who not only donated towards the campaign but also reached out to share his own camp story. 

“Your email asking for donations to fill the bus brought back memories that had been pushed back into the dark reaches of my memory,” he wrote to us, noting it was “an outstanding piece.” He continued:

I remember the day I boarded the bus at the North Minneapolis YMCA building. It had a small brick house that was the office for the YMCA staff who served the kids in North Minneapolis. In the parking area behind the building, I can still see the light blue YMCA truck, which was tiny and had only three wheels. It was more of a golf cart than a pickup truck, especially by today's standards.

Our Indian Guide group had been at Ihduhapi several times, camping at what I learned was called the Indian Village on the hill above the athletic area. We camped, cooked, and had pillow fights on the log in the lodge. Mattresses dampened our inevitable fall. We had a morning church service in the Palmer Ericson Chapel on Sunday, followed by a huge breakfast in the dining hall. I can still see my dad sitting in a blue work shirt on one of the chapel's wooden benches. During several other winters, we had been at camp sliding down the monstrous Toboggan Hill and enjoying hot cocoa around the fire in the lodge.

My dad had passed away the previous year, leaving our family of three to learn how to navigate life without an especially attentive father.

I was going to camp on a scholarship. The previous fall, one evening, two gentlemen came to my home and asked my mother if they could sponsor me to go to camp. They were members of the local Y's Men’s Club. They had been in contact with my grade school and had heard about the loss of my father. I remember vividly that they asked what my mother could afford of the $48 fee. I am unsure what she answered, but things were tight at home.

Soon thereafter, I boarded the bus with the few things my mother had put together for my 11-day stay at Camp Ihduhapi.

At camp, I learned to swim, camped on an island, and learned to canoe. My craft time was spent learning photography. We took pictures, developed the film, and printed photos in the darkroom of the craft shop. The counselor was brave enough to let me develop my pictures without his presence. So many evenings after dinner, you could find me in the darkroom during my free time.

I continued to work at camp for years. Along with George Hogeveth, my friend and neighbor, we washed dishes, mopped floors, and fixed things on many weekends. We earned a little but had a great time. George and I joined the summer camp staff for several years, and I eventually served on the camp board until I moved to Colorado.

I fell in love with camp. Many times after the guests were gone at the end of a weekend, and peace had returned to the grounds, I would find myself back in the chapel, just taking in the view and getting ready for another week at the U of M. In the fall, I enjoyed walking through the leaves or sitting on Sunset Knoll, taking in the peace and reflecting on all the good times I had.

Your piece brought tears to my eyes, so let me end with what I said in a speech when I spoke at the re-dedication of the chapel [in 2014].

“I have a challenge for the camp staff of today. In the spirit that I have been talking about please never lose sight of the fact that you can have a huge effect on the lives of the kids and staff that pass through this facility.

When you’re rushing to your budget meeting, and there is a camper that has fallen along your way, take the time to help and listen. Those 10 minutes may make a heck of a difference for a kid who has never had someone take the time before.

Beryl Markham is quoted as saying, ‘If a man has any greatness in him, it comes to light, not in one flamboyant hour, but in the ledger of his daily work.’”

Where Memory, Mission, and Magic Meet

This beautiful, vibrant story speaks to the hopes of a young boy, vividly illustrates camp scenes from decades past, and connects Richard’s experience to a new generation of campers. This is the essence, the heartbeat, the soul of Letters from Camp.

We shared a campaign with a clear mission to fill buses with campers, and it unlocked core memories in an alum with a profound history at Ihduhapi.

What inspired Richard to reach out and share his story with a new-to-him Y team member also inspired him to reengage as an Annual Fund scholarship supporter and ultimately inspired this story to take shape on these pages.

The web of interconnectedness that this magazine builds is a profound gift. During a time when people are seeking meaningful connections and communities that uplift and inspire, it is wonderful to see the many ways those things taking shape right here.

It can’t be said enough: Thank you for being here.

And a special thank you to Richard for the long-standing legacy he continues to shape within our camp community.