Circa 1974

The Hotel Jerome spent a number of years as an office building awaiting an investor willing to invest enough to bring her back to her old glory.  In the early 1970’s while still in the service of providing office space for local businesses, the Hotel Jerome’s second floor overlooking Main Street was home to Thomas Wells Associates (Architects).  In the summer of 1974 I was offered a chance to work for Thomas Wells and his associates as an office assistant and “architect in training.”  Tom was a very successful local architect and his staff included the likes of Gerry McCarthy and a young, up-and-coming architect by the name of Greg Otto.

Greg was one of those people every young man wanted to be like. He was boyishly handsome, had a beautiful wife and always knew exactly what to say for every conversation.  He was an avid outdoorsman with a passion for fly fishing.  He was still in the service of our country as a member of the Colorado National Guard when I first got to know him.  Once a month he would report for duty and was assigned to a post near Boulder, Colorado.  As an architect he was still honing his skills under the direction of Messer’s Wells and McCarthy.

His childhood dream was to someday own a Porsche 911, and in 1974 he realized that dream.  He was very proud of his new car and loved to give me rides home after work to share in the fun.  

During the summer months Greg invited me to join him on numerous outings to the various rivers in the valley despite our 10 year age difference.  He loved to teach me the art of fly fishing.  He also got me interested in tying my own flies and selling the extras to “Chuck Fothergill’s Outdoor Sportsman” store which was located in an old building that was once a local bowling alley.  It was eventually replaced by the building that is now Boogie’s Diner.  Years later, Katie Stratford continued to teach me fly tying techniques and I became pretty good at it.  Chuck as well as Jim Ward were hard to impress; but, as I got better they ended up selling more of my flies.

Nearing the end of that summer Greg headed off to his “weekend warrior” duties.  Prior to Greg’s departure, he gave me the gift of my own rod and reel.  I was a dinner guest at his house that night and little did I know it would be the last time I would ever see him.   Two days later, I was awaken early that morning by my mother with very sad news.  Greg had been killed in a car accident near Boulder.  As the story goes, he broadsided a vehicle when it failed to stop at a stop sign on a backcountry road.  Greg and the passenger in the other car were killed instantly.  The driver of the other vehicle walked away from the accident with barely more than a scratch.

Greg’s wife remained in the valley for many years following Greg’s death.  She eventually remarried to one of Greg’s best friends and the last I heard they were living in Carbondale.  Greg would have been pleased to see her so happy.

35 years later I still think of Greg often, especially whenever I go over the Castle Creek Bridge, it was one of his favorite places to stop and watch the river below.