1960’s

The Outhouse

The town was slowly putting its past behind it.  Modern conveniences were replacing the modern conveniences of the past and the residents were accepting a new modern age.  Gone were the ice boxes, replaced by refrigerators.  Washbasins became antiques and washing machines became necessities.  Aspen was beginning to be a real town with a modern feel about it.  This was not the first time as changes seemed to happen with the arrival of every new generation.  That brings us to the first half of our adventure.

Although most of the homes in town had full utilities including plumbing for decades by now, there were still some remnants of the past in every neighborhood and it was time for many of them to go.  One such remnant was an old outhouse in the backyard of a home on Hyman Avenue between Aspen Street and Monarch Street.  It was not Francis Herron’s old house on the corner, the white Victorian that was always picture perfect.  It was her neighbor’s house on the east side of hers where the Snowflake Lodge eventually sat.  One summer day in the late 1960’s my father was asked to haul this old relic away; but, this was not the end of the story.  My father came by with the Michigan Loader and scooped it up. 

A short time later the outhouse arrived on the deck of Peter and Barbara Guy’s new home on Warren Creek Lane about three miles from town up towards Independence Pass.   The Guys were not home at the time, in fact they were out of town and the house sitter did not know what to make of the new arrival.  The outhouse remained on the deck long after Peter and Barbara returned home.   Eventually it had to be removed once they learned that their two boys had been using the outhouse for its intended purpose right there on the deck.

From there the Outhouse was moved to Arthur’s Restaurant on Main Street where it remained for many years serving as a decoration and later as a phone booth.  Soon after its arrival at Arthur’s it received a guest that stood watch for some time before finally succumbing to the elements, but that is the second half of my story.

The Minuteman

The curtain dropped for the final time and the High School play had completed a successful run.  I do not remember specifically what the play was about but it did include life sized Minutemen as props.

Late one evening while at home with the rest of my siblings and some friends from the neighborhood there was a commotion on our front porch.  We could see some people on the porch, but none of us had the courage to see what was going on.  As the noise calmed down one of the occupants on our porch remained, staring in through the closed drapes, never moving, just watching us.  When my parents came home they discovered one of the Minutemen from the play stationed on our porch.  Not long after we discovered that one of my cousin’s was to blame for our unwanted guest.

Like many things back then, this Minuteman’s own adventure was just beginning.  Late one evening my father took the statue out to the Guy’s home; yes, once again they would fall victim to one of my father’s many pranks.  The Minuteman was strategically placed on their deck just outside of their bedroom window.  Unknown to my father at the time, the Guys had experienced some recent bouts with unwanted prowlers; so, this prank would take on a much bigger level of success than ever expected.  When the Guys arrived home that evening, preparing to turn in for the night, Barbara noticed a “man” standing on her deck.  The details of what happened next are known only to the Guys but word did get back to my father of the success of his prank.   Once again, the occupant of the Guy’s deck was headed to Arthur’s.  For years after he stood guard in the outhouse.  Over time the elements eventually took their toll on the Minuteman and he was relieved of his duties and disappeared from his post.

Gone but not forgotten

Eventually Arthur decided the outhouse had to go.  He was doing some renovation and the newly upgraded restaurant did not include plans for the outhouse.  By now the Minuteman was long gone and the Outhouse needed a new home.  Once again my father was called upon to move this relic of the past to a new location on Aspen Mountain, Little Nell to be specific.  It was to serve as part of the “Ski Coral” at the base of Little Nell.  From there no one can recall where it went or what happened to it.

Summer 1964

When the streets were originally plotted in the downtown area their location was more of a concern than how level they were or where the water would go after a good storm.  Back then the residents would either wade through the mud or take an alternate, dryer route.  As Aspen became “civilized” the city fathers were quick to put in a good sewer and water system.  The main streets were surfaced or paved while the side streets remained pretty much as they had been for decades.  By the mid-1960’s there were still many streets that remained unpaved or were without any sort of drainage system to remove the water from the summer rains or the spring run-off from the hills above.

At the time, we were living at Garmisch and Hopkins, just across the street from Paepcke Park.  I remember in 1964 Aspen went through a very wet summer with one rain storm right after another.  That year things would just get dried out only to be drenched once again.  At the time neither Garmisch nor Hopkins were paved, and there were no storm drains.  The lowest spot in our neighborhood was on Garmisch, next to Main Street, as well as out into Paepcke Park.  That year the water would collect in that location covering the street with three feet of water at the deepest part.  One third of the park was also flooded.  With the rains still falling the puddle looked more like a pond or lake. 

All the kids in the neighborhood showed up to play in the water.  We watched with amazement as a person approached in their car and attempted to cross the expanse of water.  With the exception of a few trucks most had to be pushed or pulled out of the abyss.  The water stayed for about a week before draining off naturally, all the while the kids played in the muddy waters until summoned home for dinner each day.

The following year the city hired my father to add a storm drain to the intersection and re-contour Garmisch to eliminate the low spot and make the intersection a little more gradual when turning on or off Main Street.  For the kids, we were sorry to see the improvements as they called them.  Over time all of the streets were paved, storm drains were added and the steep approaches to Main Street from the side streets were filled in.  Luckily enough, the following summer the Smuggler Lodge, next door to our house, added a swimming pool and we were allowed to use it in exchange for my father helping to maintain it.  But, it was still not the same as the giant mud puddle we all enjoyed the previous year.

Circa 1966

Summers were quiet in Aspen back in the 1960’s and 70’s compared to the busy winter months, but that is not to say the town was “dead.”  Back then as it is now most of the construction work had to be packed in just a few months between spring and fall.  People worked hard in order to get everything done before the first snowfall of the year.  With hard work came the need to play just as hard.  Sometimes the playfulness was ferocious but not necessarily filled with common sense.

My father knew how to make the most of things.  He could find fun in everything he did, and does to this day.  From my earliest years I do not remember a time when my father did not have a keg of beer tapped and ready in his garage refrigerator.  By age 6 I was very accomplished at tapping a new keg and that was back when you had to drive a long stainless steel spear down into the keg with the oxygen and dispensing hoses attached.  Every time I drove that spear in I would get a face full of beer, Coors of course.

Many afternoons after the work was done my father and a group of friends would show up to unwind over a couple of beers.  Often that led to other activities which in today’s society would be very much frowned upon, but back then it was all in good fun.  My father’s friends used to tell me that by age seven I could fill a pitcher from the tap better than any bartender in town.  I wear that badge with honor to this day.

A “Kegerator” was not all that was installed in my father’s garage.  For a number of years he also had a shooting range which consisted of a wooden box mounted to a steel plate attached to the far end of the garage.  The back of the box had a steel plate angled down so that the bullets would pass through the targets, hit the metal plate and ricochet into a 50 gallon drum of sand below.  As far as I knew back then all men’s garages had these amenities.  These afternoon parties did not stop there; these intrepid men were always coming up with new ideas.  I remember one Friday afternoon “get together” led to the planning of a party that to this day is still brought up as one of those “good ol’ days” events.

The following weekend our house was in full swing by 6:00am.  Mom was working on a Mexican feast big enough to feed 200 people.  This feast was to include all manner of Mexican cuisine, most of which my mother had learned to cook during our many vacations in Mexico.  By 9:00am our driveway was filled with an old car or two which my father had just picked up at the dump.  With a few extra kegs, 10 I think, which had arrived earlier in the week the preparations were nearly complete.  By 2:00pm the party was going strong, I was filling pitchers and delivering them to our guests as fast as I could with no end in sight.  With a few hours of beer consumption behind them the real activity began in earnest.  Those cars in the driveway were about to be the object of attention.  Each person took their swings with a sledgehammer at the cars, slowing reducing them to rubble.  At some point in the evening even the local police stopped by to see what was up, but the party went on.  By the end of the night the cars were completely destroyed with parts and pieces all over the driveway.  The kegs were empty as was the liquor cabinet in the house.  With the exception of a few sopapillas, none of the food remained as the crowd dwindled down to just a few last guests.  I am not sure what time the last guest left, but one thing I am sure of was that my father had gone to bed long before the end of the party.  My father was known for sneaking off to bed well before the last guest left any of his parties.  He even resorted to going a few blocks away in his car if he needed to in order to ensure that he was not discovered and expected to return to the party.

The next morning my father showed up with his loader and scrapped up all the pieces and parts of the cars.  He loaded them into one of his trucks and took them back to the dump.  The house was clean and the back yard all picked up by noon.  Then life returned to normal, at least until the next Friday.

1972 – 1976

The Battle lines drawn, ships at sea and the battle was moments away.  No victory was guaranteed and total destruction was a more likely outcome.  Weeks of preparation had gone into planning for this fateful day.   The battle commanders were all smiling and looking forward to a quick and decisive outcome.  Similar battles in the past had all resulted in the same outcome, no winners, only losers.  Fleets of ships and squadrons of aircraft had been lost.  The sea bed was littered with the wreckages of the ships and planes from previous battles.

These battles played out all summer long.  As soon as the stream in the West End began to flow, the pond in the front yard filled to an astonishing two foot depth.  Just deep enough to float the model ships we had built in the weeks and months prior.  Laden with Sterno, firecrackers and even some black powder we had liberated from my dad’s reloading kits, the battle began.  First the firecrackers blew, barley separating the decks from their hulls, followed by the acrid smoke from the burning black powder.  The carnage started off too slowly for these battle weary commanders and more needed to be thrust upon the fleet lest they escape total destruction.  As the Sterno burned, the plastic buckled but all the damage remained above the water line.  Would these combatants escape to fight another day?  That would be unacceptable.

The rocks along the edge of the pond must be deployed.  The rocks did not have to hit the ships as the waves they created should be enough to finish them off.  One rock, then two, then three, the fleet slowly succumbed to the barrage of granite.  Out of the blue, the combatants learned of their only chance of survival…

Without warning, the biggest of the ships was swept from the water.  He had actually gone for the rock that landed just starboard of the carrier, but in his haste the ship itself was now in his clutches.  The battle commanders took after their new adversary only to chase it around the yard much to his delight.

The events of this day provided a different outcome for the battle weary fleet, total destruction was avoided.  The commanders knew their duty before the next epic battle, “put the dog on his leash!”