Day: May 12, 2009

Aspen, Then and Now – The Elk’s Lodge (Club)

Circa 1960’s

In the 1960’s the Aspen Elk’s Lodge was a different animal from the 3rd Floor gem that it is today.  Back then the lodge was located on the first floor of its current location, where the Hard Rock Café was located.

The entrance was about a half dozen steps up from the sidewalk.  It was a non-descript black door with some small windows that only a giant could look through, or at least not the children.  Getting in was just a “buzzer” away.  Once inside the place would remind you of any “Gin Joint” or “Speak Easy” that Hollywood had ever depicted.  It was in a cramped quarters for sure.  The old bar ran half the length of the club with the pool tables located in the basement and the lodge  and bar were on the second floor until Eddie’s moved out.   The first floor of the building was home to Eddie’s Restaurant originally.  The front half of the building had been home to the Post Office for decades and after it moved out, Tom’s Market, owned by Kurt and Trudy Baar took over that space.  Also in the building on the first floor, closer to the alley where the elevators are now was Page’s Market.

Above the bar was a collection of “half burned out” neon signs, blinking to the cadence of the surrounding conversations.  Much like any small town bar, stories of loss, tales of epic adventures and life’s little challenges were told and retold to anyone willing to listen.  This was the place to go to unwind, visit with friends and forget your troubles.  Kids were rarely welcome and those that did make it in were relegated to the tables, never at the bar.

The place was always filled with smoke almost like it was put there on purpose.  This was the place for locals and no Hollywood riff-raff dared cross the threshold.  The Lodge was one of two clubs in Aspen at the time, the other being the Eagles.  During the 60’s, the Eagles were located in the building later purchased by Andre for his nightclub as well as the ill-fated Planet Hollywood.  Their close proximity made it easy to hit one or both clubs in the same evening.  From the inside it would be easy to forget which one you had entered.  If you were looking for your parents back then or a missing spouse, it made the search pretty easy.

As it is today, the lodge was very active in the local community and gave out scholarships every year.  Their summer picnic up Castle Creek was the highlight of each summer.  Friends and family members who had moved “down valley” and beyond never missed this opportunity to get together and reminisce.  Over time the location of the picnic moved to other locations but the gathering was always a hit.

The Elks have moved upstairs now and the lodge is still a favorite gathering spot for the local workers and their guests as is the Eagles Aerie which is now located down behind the Concept 600 Building on Spring Street.  Both clubs have successfully purchased the buildings they are located within.  For the Elks members’ parking remains an issue today like it has for decades.

I am a 4th generation member of the Elk’s Lodge in Aspen which is something I am quite proud.

Cannon Fodder

The cannon was constructed of Galvanized Pipe with a plug screwed on to one end.  A spark plug was added to the capped end as an igniter and a small hole just in front of that in order to put in the “blasting agent.”  The whole device was no longer than 30 inches in length and was built with one purpose in mind – to have some fun!

How it worked

The fuel was acetylene which in a controlled environment packed a punch.  After lighting the acetylene torch and getting the gas and air mixture just right, my father would extinguish the flame and fill the lower end of the cannon with the mixture.  The more you put in the bigger the bang, too much and the cannon would self destruct.  As for the ammunition, a plastic bottle or tennis ball worked perfectly.  Other items were tried and even more were considered.  Once the correct amount of “blasting agent” was added the cannon was fired.  First, the spark plug firing mechanism was utilized; later it was determined that a lit flame to the hole where the gas was added worked just fine.

Initial Firings

From the open door of the garage the cannon could be safely aimed out into Peapke Park.  Empty water bottles were fired and went a good distance with little effort.  Other items such as cans of beer or glass bottles were considered but deemed too dangerous for obvious reasons

The Ultimate Test – a “not so good idea”

Years later, the cannon was taken out of retirement.  By this time my father ran his business out of a shop under the Castle Creek Bridge down by the City Street Department shops.  This was an ideal location as it provided plenty of parking, was not in a residential neighborhood and provided better coverage for the antics of my father and his friends. 

Now one rule reigned supreme and that was never to leave my dad’s friends unsupervised.  One unfortunate day my father broke that rule.  Having left the shop for only a minute or two his friends concocted a plan to shoot cans and bottles at the bridge to see if they could hit the underside of it.  As more beer was consumed their creativity expanded and soon they were trying to shoot items over the bridge.  Let’s not forget that this bridge was the main entrance into town from the west and there was always plenty of traffic over it.  As an unsuspecting driver you can imagine what went through their minds as cans of beer flew over their heads and back off the other side.  In fact, these projectiles were going far enough to clear the bridge and land on the metal roof of the City Shops on the other side, a good 200 yards away.

Upon my father’s return, the cannon was promptly put away and never pulled out again.  He still has the cannon stored somewhere in his garage.  I am sure his plans were to destroy the thing someday, but he has not gotten around to it yet.

Should I resurrect the cannon?  Probably not!

Margaritas Anyone?

1971 (4th Grade)

I know that some of my stories need to present the seedier side of life and expose me for the child I was and this is one such story. 

As more and more family vacations were spent in Mexico my parents themed their dinner parties and gatherings with a Mexican flair.  That meant the food was Mexican, the drinks were Mexican and the music, well, it remained the same.  You could never get enough of The Carpenters, The Kingston Trio or Herb Albert back then.

My mother spent days preparing the food for each of these gatherings.  The food was authentic to its very core and that meant the house would smell of deep fat fried food for days after the party.  As my mom was putting the finishing touches on the evening’s fare, my father made what seemed like gallons of Margaritas.  I had grown to like these drinks from the many “sips” my father permitted me to have, and I was determined to have more.  When my father was not looking I took the many aluminum film canisters I had collected and filled each one up with this tasty beverage.  By the time I was finished I had a dozen or so of the canisters filled and stashed away in my backpack.

The next day, with a pack full of Margaritas, I headed off to school.  At the time the forth grade was still in the “Old Red Brick Building” on East Hallam Street between North Garmisch Street and North Monarch Street.  Back then it was still known as the Middle School and later referred to as “the Upper Elementary School.”  During a break between classes a couple of friends met me in the hall and I happily shared my bounty with them.

Now, I have not always made the right choices when given a chance and this was one of those times.  Not because I brought Margaritas to school, I was OK with that.   The mistake was made when my older sister, Debbie, came by and asked me what we were drinking.  Without hesitation I told her exactly what was in the canisters.  That was the mistake.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister very much; but, what she did next was not cool!  After seeing the expression on her face I expected to incur the wrath of my father when I got home, but instead, she headed directly to the principal’s office.  I was doomed!  In a matter of minutes the principal was doling out my punishment.

I enjoyed the rest of the week off from school and had a lot of time to clean my room, mow the lawn, wash dishes and fold laundry.  Being grounded had its upside as all the projects you had never finished finally got done; and, with time off for good behavior life slowly returned to normal.

 

Run for Your Life!

1963 – 1977

With four kids in the family there was always some sort of strife going on.  I would say we got along as well as any family with four very strong willed kids.  Since all our family vacations were by car or camper there was a lot of time spent cramped up together in a rather confined space.  As tolerant as my parents were, there were times when the constant battles between us got the best of them and something had to be done.  I am not sure whose idea it was, and I am sure that in today’s world it would be highly frowned upon, but back then it seemed that the only way to get peace among the ranks was to burn off excess energy.

The solution was to make the offending individuals “get out and run a mile!”  Not only was this good exercise and a sure way to burn off energy, it had another desired effect.  When the “runners” got back into the car they were in no mood to talk to anyone; and thus, peace reigned over the land, for awhile at any rate.

Hermosillo, Mexico

While traveling north towards the United States border in Nogales after a week in Guaymas, the usual battles began to ensue.  The main road from Guaymas is Mexico Highway 15D, and it runs right through the middle of Hermosillo.  On this particular occasion, Cindy, my oldest sister, and I had been going at it long enough.  Dad pulled over.  “This cannot be happening, we were in the middle of the city and he was actually going to make us run?”  Sure enough, Cindy and I exited the camper and started running along the highway, past homes, businesses, hotels and even government buildings.  One building we ran past had armed guards with machine guns standing outside.  I was terrified and I am sure the locals we confused by what they were witnessing.  They must have thought we were nuts.   I am sure we did not run a full mile as expected, but this particular running left a very lasting memory.  Cindy did not utter another word for two hours, long enough to enter back into the United States.

Colorado Highway 24 at Balltown (Hwy 82)

Parents make mistakes, and on this occasion they made a big one.  I was told to get out and run; I was the only one.  Now, we all know it takes two to fight but somehow the other “perps” were allowed to miss this particular “running.”  I know who else was involved,  but they will remain nameless.  Let’s suffice to say that I was not guilty!  Like 100% of the people in America’s prisons, I was wrongly accused of the crime and the real perpetrator was still running free.  None-the-less, I did my time.

No one else ever had to run!

Most of our family trips included other family members and friends.  We traveled in loosely packed caravans everywhere we went.  I remember my Aunt Shirley laughing as she told the stories of her coming over a hill on a long highway only to see one or more of the kids in our family running along behind our camper.  She always got a good laugh out of that one, but I do not remember any of her kids running.  They must have been “angels.” 

There were no limits as to when we were told to run.  If we fought then we ran, even if it was the middle of the winter, in the middle of a hot desert or through town.  You would think it would not take long to figure out how to get along but we never learned, and we paid the price for it every time.