Steve "The Mooch" Mnuchin and his little fat fists full of Hershey Kisses for Goyish Princesses

When Steve Mnuchin the 77th Secretary of the Treasury of the United States of America was a young boy he had spent his summers at Camp Chickawah located on Island Pond In Harrison, Maine.  Mnuchin grew up well to do and Jewish in New York City in the 1960’s.  It was during these long hot summers that Mnuchin’s parents Robert and Elaine would do what all well off Jewish parents did and ship their children off to a sleep away summer camp, somewhere far away.  These sleep away camps, (not to be confused by our gentile readers with concentration camps) were by Jewish law located at least a minimal 4 to 15 hours away from the home address of the parents.  This was to insure the most anxiety as possible for the children and quiet for the parents.   For those less fortunate Jews (there always are just a few), there were day camps located in a closer proximity to their homes.  Studies from that time showed that Jewish parents who sent their children to day camps rather than sleep away camps (which lasted a life affirming 8 weeks) were infinitely less happy with their own lives.  Robert Mnuchin was a wealthy business man, so he was more than happy to send young Steven and his older brother Alan to Camp Chickawah for those 8 weeks of summer bliss.   Robert and Elaine would have the “hired help” pack the boys things into large trunks and then have the trunks and the boys shipped north to Maine. 

         By their third year at Camp Chickawah both boys had become accustomed to the in’s and out’s of summer camp.  While Allan was good at sports, young Steven showed an aptitude for the arts and crafts.  The other boys found young Steven a bit on the girly side for wanting to spend his days doing pottery rather than playing baseball.  Steven would just shrug his shoulders and go off to make another ashtray.  When the other boys would pick on Steven for “throwing like a girl”, Allan would always step up for his brother saying “one day my brother will be able to buy and sell all of you putz’s like gefilte fish.”  The time that his bunk mates had given Steven a “flying wedgie” by hanging him on a nail by his underwear, suspending him over the ground till his underwear tore, was the only time though that younf Steven every let his bunkmates see him cry.  It’s just that the tearing of the underwear had burned the underside of his scrotum quite bad.  Luckily the Russian Jewish nurse in the infirmary was more then gentle while applying the vaseline salve to his young balls. 

         But what young Steven was most “famous” for at Camp Chickawah was for his way of borrowing something from a bunkmate or a friend and never returning it.  For this was young Steven dubbed the nickname Steven “The Mooch” Mnuchin.  Whenever another child received a care package from their parents or grandparents, The Mooch was the first one to be their bunk side as the child opened the package.  The Mooch would lean in over the box, eyeing everything inside.  “Oh, you don’t want that,” he would say. “You definetely don’t like that,” he would insist.  Just to get rid of him, his bunkmates would through some candy across the bunk for him to run after.  And that he did, scrambling across the floor for a few jelly beans, calling out, “that’s mine, mine all mine.”  During mealtimes The Mooch would make sure that the biggest portions were served to him by his counselors by saying “you know who my father is.”  The other kids would just role their eyes, for all their fathers were well known by everyone who was anyone at the camp.

And when that moment came when a care package would arrive for him and Allen, well one can imagine what happened.  The Mooch would pay off the biggest campers in the camp to guard his stash.  Offering them one all day gobstopper each and a peak at the nudie photos his father would sneak in the box for him and his brother, The Mooch had his security force well in hand.  But usually most of the other kids wanted nothing to do with The Mooch, especially when he received a package.  They would just leave him alone to horde his Tootsie Rolls and Hershey Kisses for himself.

         Yet the only persons The Mooch was known to share his hordes with were the young women who worked in the laundry house.  These were local girls from the area.  None were Jewish of course and all had flowing flaxen aryan hair, goyishe princesses.  From an early age Mnuchin always had a hard-on for the non-jewish women he encountered.  Only here at summer camp was he ever able to get up relatively close to one.  In the middle of the night he would sneak down to the laundry house, jimmy open the door with the swiss army knife that his Uncle Bernard had given his for his Bar Mitzvah and leave little chocolate suprises for the blonde laundry girls.  Too shy to ever talk to them, The Mooch prayed often on Saturdays that one day God would deliver him one for his own.  Years latte rafter becoming a powerful hedge fund manipulator and producer of some of Hollywoods shiitiest films he was able to buy two.  After his first divorce, The Mooch decided that he would take another, trade in a Heather for a Louise, for The Mooch there was little difference. One was just a little less worn around the edges.  For The Mooch loved the freshness of the forbidden fruit more than wrinkled up kosher dates.  And a blonde goyish trophy wife, is something every Jewish boy has dreamed of since after the end of WWII.