By the late 1990s, January through June at Eisner might as well have been renamed “No Room.” Each year the camp filled earlier than the year before, and we spent months telling parents there was simply no space left. We added bunks, shifted the dining hall to shifts, but it was never enough. And there were limits to how big Eisner could—or should—grow.
Nationally, talk of expanding the Reform Movement’s camping program was heating up. Smitty, our National Youth Director, warned of the daunting costs: a new camp might require $35 million. Howard Kaufman, longtime chair of the Eisner Camp Committee, often asked if that number was real. I told him it probably wasn’t far off—if you were building on raw land. But there was another option: buying an existing camp.
In June 1998, just before camp opened, I learned that Ed and Barbara Ulanoff, who had run Crane Lake Camp for nearly fifty years, were considering retirement. A tip from veteran staff member Les Bart put me onto it. After walking the grounds, I called Howard. Crane Lake clearly wasn’t anywhere near Smitty’s $35 million price tag.
Howard liked the idea and suggested we visit. He also invited Harold Grinspoon, a Springfield businessman and philanthropist we both knew, to come along. Harold met us at Eisner, and the three of us set off for the ten-mile drive to Crane Lake.
Howard and Harold made an unlikely pair. Howard, raised in Pittsfield, had once dreamed of teaching English but instead became CEO of Kay-Bee Toys, turning the family business into a national chain. He approached decisions empirically—testing new ventures, expanding what worked, and discarding what didn’t. His first major gift to Eisner had been the swimming pool, and as chair of the camp committee, he was the Movement’s point man in the Berkshires.
Harold’s path was rougher. He grew up poor in Springfield and struggled in school. As a young man, he sold encyclopedias door-to-door, saving enough to buy a duplex. One property led to another until he owned close to 10,000 apartments. For Harold, giving was about planting seeds that would grow. He had begun funding scholarships for Russian immigrant children, which soon expanded into $1,000 grants for any Jewish child to attend camp. His role in Jewish philanthropy was still emerging—but his energy was unmistakable, as was his expectation that everyone involved be fully committed.
At Crane Lake, Ed and Barbara welcomed us warmly and showed us around: the fields, the pool, the cabins, the dining hall. We were struck by the small kitchen and the old tables and squeaky floor. The setting was beautiful, though worn from years of use. I loved the sweeping vistas and was especially thrilled that the camp had a real waterfront—something I missed from my Wisconsin days. When Howard asked about selling, Ed raised the thorny issue of capital gains. His proposal was to donate the camp in exchange for lifetime income.
On the drive back through West Stockbridge, Howard turned to Harold. “Let’s buy it,” he said.
Harold exploded. “Pull the fucking car over!” For a split second I thought he was angry. Then he pointed at a bank. “Let’s stop here so I can pull the cash out of the ATM.” It was pure Harold—startling, funny, decisive.
The momentum seemed unstoppable.
But not everyone agreed. Smitty and Arie Gluck, the URJ’s national camping director, came to inspect the camp. Arie dismissed it as “an antique” in need of rebuilding. Smitty argued it was too close to Eisner, in the wrong place for the Movement’s expansion. I was even asked to talk Howard and Harold out of the idea.
Howard wouldn’t budge. He called Eric Yoffie, the Movement’s president, who sounded intrigued, even enthusiastic. Then he enlisted another Eisner stalwart, Martin Messinger, to join Harold and himself in making the first payment.
Howard, Harold, and Martin were certain: Crane Lake wasn’t just a good deal—it was the beginning of a new era for the Reform Movement.
