Starting in 1971

I have always been fascinated by technology, hence my chosen career.  As far back as I can remember technology was more than just a fascination, it became a compulsion.  As a child I stared in a couple of television commercials which gave me the means to dabble in toys and technologies.

In 1971 Bowmar/Ali Inc. (USA) was marketing a new technology.  It was the first electronic calculator and although its functions were limited to add, subtract, multiply and divide it was still the most revolutionary product on the market at that time.  I had to have and I knew someone who had already purchased one.  Temple Allen was the owner of The Hickory House at the time and he had picked one up during a trip home to Texas.  As soon as I saw it I immediately began the process to convince Temple to sell it to me.  Resistance was futile and in just a few weeks I became to new owner of my very own “Bowmar Brain.” 

I took my new toy to school and was immediately the center of the known universe.  Everyone wanted to check it out including the teachers.  Unfortunately, being able to use it in class was immediately banned and the toy was no longer a welcome guest.  Within 6 months calculators began to flood the market and with them the prices plummeted.  I paid nearly $250.00 for my Bowmar brain and a year later you could get a Casio Electronics calculator that did a lot more for less than $75.00.  Today you can get one by simply signing up for Sports Illustrated.

Not to sit back and let the technology world pass me by, I was on the hunt for the next great gadget and I did not have to wait long.  It happened in February 1973 when I went to visit my friend, Cary Guy.  His father, Peter had a business partner in a restaurant and he was in town visiting.  George Randall was a fan of all things new and different and on his wrist he was sporting a new watch.  It was called the Pulsar stainless steel P2 and it was the first LED watch ever made.  To make it even cooler, you set it by holding a small magnet next to it.  This was the watch James Bond wore in the first half of “Live and Let Die” until he replaced it with a magnet Rolex.

Again, I had to have it and when George told me what it would cost I went directly to The Bank of Aspen and got the cash.  Once again I was the center of attention at school the next day, only this time there was no reason for the teachers to ban my toy as it did not help me do anything but tell the time.  This watch was only able to display hours, minutes and seconds so the technology was soon to be replaced by more functional timepieces. 

I still own this watch and recently ordered an adapter for the batteries since the size of batteries it was originally designed to use are no longer manufactured.  As a matter of fact, I still have my “Bowmar Brain” as well.

In time, if you will pardon the pun, I purchased a number of LCD watches over the years as they progressed through the technology curve.  At one point I even had a solar powered LCD watch.  Ironically, in about 1985 I started wearing analog watches and have done so ever since. 

If you were to look back into my past you would know that my proclivity to get new technologies has never abated.  In computers I have owned 8088, 8086, XT, AT, 286, 386, 486 and Pentium models and even a Mac at one point.  I have owned 8-track tapes, saw the arrival of cassette tape players and was an early adopter of music compact discs.  I am not attempting to gloat about this, in fact if you think about the time and effort I have invested to stay ahead of the curve, many might think of it as a psychosis.

March 1969

The day had gone well for me.  I had just finished first in a ski race and I was heading down for the day.  My friend, T.K. Rowhan, who was not in the day’s race decided to join me on my last run down.  In late March, nearing the end of the season, a number of runs were already showing bare dirt; so, we had to pick the best runs to get us down without tearing our skis up in the process.

 As we cleared the midway chairlift station we headed straight down Baby Doe.  Near the bottom of Baby Doe someone had spread some straw to cover rocks and dirt right where the stream crossed the run.  This time of year, every year, the stream began to run melting the snow in the process.  Seeing the straw, I did not give it much thought as I sped up.  When I hit the bottom my skies stopped dead in their tracks and my momentum carried me on.      

In an instant I was thrown out of my skies as I continued to summersault down the run and out onto Homestead Road.  When I came to rest I knew something was wrong.  Although I could move my toes, my leg was laying there in a position that was not normal.  My right foot was bent back with my toes pointed straight at my face, just inches away.  I knew then that I had broken my leg.

Laying there, waiting for the patrol to come get me, I asked T.K. to loosen my boot as it was really starting to hurt.  As he bent over he could see a large bump in my ski pants just above my boot. “What’s that?” as he bent down to touch it. “Oh, that can’t be good!” as he went to unbuckle my boot.  A man standing near by shouted, “Stop! It looks broken and you could make it worse.”

I am not sure how long it took for the Ski Patrol to show up.  It seemed like forever, but in reality I am sure it was only a few minutes as their lower patrol shack was only a couple hundred feet back up the mountain.  They carefully bundled me up and placed me in the toboggan for my journey to Aspen Valley Hospital.  The hospital was located at the base of Red Mountain and the time it took to get me there was plenty long enough for my mother and Doctor Baxter to arrive before me.

Doctor Baxter had x-rays taken and quickly determined that I had a compound fracture of the Tibia and a spiral break of the fibula.  The Tibia had just broken the skin but was not clearly sticking out.  Heavily sedated, Doctor Baxter put a large plaster cast on my leg that ran from just above my toes all the way up to just under my butt. 

I spent the night in the hospital sharing a room with Ollie Westerland.  As it turned out he had suffered the same fate as me while skiing at Highlands.  My break was good enough that I had to wear casts for the next seven months.  They did not slow me down much during the summer as I broke a number of them while riding my bicycle or climbing the crab apple tree in our front yard. 

Still sporting a cast the following fall when I returned to school, I was immediately harassed as if I was wearing the cast for sympathy from my classmates.  When I finally got the last cast removed everyone knew just how bad it was.  The bone had healed slightly crooked and you could still see where it almost came out of my skin.   Needless to say, I was back skiing and racing that following season.

Winter 1976 – Snowmass Ski Area

Paul Wirth and I both spotted them from a distance.  We were on the prowl and looking for dates to go listen to Twerp Anderson and his band at the Stonebridge that evening.  My plan was to impress the blond one while Paul had his sights on the brunette.  They were definitely “out of towners” which was important for our plan to work as the local girls knew us and in most cases already had dates.  Besides, they were our friends and it was more fun to go meet the tourist girls.    Paul Wirth and I used to ski together a lot and we tried all kinds of ways to impress the girls.  We had resorted to acting like we could not ski, tried fake foreign accents and even pretended to be from out of town ourselves.  Sometimes these antics worked and sometimes not.  But on this day we could actually show off our real abilities and “get the girls.”

We both headed down the run named, “Moonshine” in pursuit of our prey.  We were already impressed that the girls skied well enough to go down the blue runs as it would be much harder to show off on the green trails.  As we headed down, we were looking good and carving perfect turns.  We made sure we passed in front of them close enough to get noticed.  We knew we were good enough to impress them and felt sure our evening dates were all but assured.  Nearing the bottom of the run, with our future dates trailing behind, it happened.

Paul went left and I went right, with big carving turns and a high rate of speed we collided at a closing rate of 30 plus miles per hour.  I am sure once the powder settled back to earth it looked like a train wreck had just occurred.  Skis and poles were strewn all over the bottom of the run.  I came to rest about 30 feet from Paul and we were both dazed from the impact.  As we laid there collecting our thoughts the two girls skied up and asked us if we were ok.  Seconds later they skied off, thoroughly impressed I am sure.   

Later that night we ran into the young ladies at the Stonebridge.  By then they had found dates, worse than that, their dates were “out of towners” as well.  This kind of activity is normal in any sort of resort community where the local boys try to “pick up” the female visitors and then wonder why the female classmates won’t have anything to do with them the rest of the year.  I guess this is how it has always been and always will be.

Good luck boys, and don’t do anything stupid!

Summer 1972

The United Airlines Boeing 727 taxied up to the gate at Walker Field in Grand Junction having just arrived from Denver.  Our flight would take us to Los Angeles International with a brief stop-over in Las Vegas.  As we boarded the aircraft I asked if I could get a tour of the cockpit but due to the lateness of our flight I was turned down.

This was my first ride in a jet and I was excited to put it mildly.  Our trip was for the kids in my family to go to California and spend a week with the Cunninghams and Varians.  The four of us would be traveling without our parents on board. Our hosts had lots planned for us to do including a few nights in Newport Beach where they had rented a house on Lido Island.  We would even be going out on the Laura Scudder Family yacht.  The Scudder family was known for their potato chips, peanut butter and mayonnaise.  Her son was a friend of the Cunningham’s and offered to take us out for an evening cruise around the harbor.  We waved good-bye to our parents and were off to California.  The flight to Las Vegas was fun but uneventful. 

While we were at the gate in Las Vegas a flight attendant came and got me, asking if I wanted to see the cockpit now.  I sat in the cockpit the entire time we were on the ground.  This 727 was new to United’s fleet and it had all of the latest technology.  Having never been aboard a jet before, all of the dials, gauges and knobs seemed like too much for these three pilots to manage.  There were separate dials and knobs for each engine and the man at “the desk” in the back of the cockpit tried to explain what everything on his panel did. 

When it was time for us to push back I got up to leave and was offered the chance to ride up front as we taxied out.  As we moved away from the terminal a lot was going on in the cockpit so I just sat quietly (that was a real test for me) and watched.  We taxied out to the end of the runway and came to a stop.  At that point the captain asked me to go ahead and return to my seat.

Just a few steps from the cockpit, the aircraft began its take-off roll.  By the time I was halfway back to my seat the nose of the plane was already lifting off the ground as the center isle got steeper and steeper.  I practically fell into my sister’s lap as I got to our row near the rear of the plane. 

The week went by and soon we were returning back to Colorado.  The following winter we reciprocated by having the Varians and Cunninghams out for a week to ski with us.  My experience in the cockpit is something that my children will never experience; the world is a different place now. 

Spring/Summer 1964

There are so many stories that can be told about Aspen Airways and all of the successes and tragedies it went through during its years of operations.  Like the time the pilot was being so careful to go through the landing check list that he forgot to put the landing gear down.  How about the moment that Walter Paepcke knew that Bert Simons was running the airline so well he decided to make it a full-fledged airline?  Prior to that, Aspen Airways operated as the flight department for the Aspen Institute for Humanistic Studies. 

The airline owned a number of different aircraft over the years, starting with a small fleet of Used DC-3’s.  They proved so successful that they worked themselves out of a job.  The airline replaced the DC-3’s with Convairs, first the Model 240, then upgraded to the 340’s and eventually the modified 340’s known as JetProp 580’s.  These, too, would pass and eventually be replaced with BAe 146 4-engine jets.  Now that you know a bit more about the airline, we need to rewind back to the days when the airline operated the Douglas DC-3’s.

The summers were slow for the airline especially in the spring known as the “off season.”  Aspen Airways was an “unscheduled” airline at the time.  That meant it did not have to fly if there were no customers.  Often the schedule would be modified so they could make their flight to and from Denver only once there were enough people needing a ride.

In the spring of 1964 I remember going out to the airport to see a family friend, Richard J. “Dick” Bird, who flew for the airline.  He had promised to give us a tour of the DC-3 that was in the hangar.  On this particular day we were told not to go near the left engine.   With our tour underway, midsentence I could wait no longer, I had to know why we could not go near that engine.  Had Captain Bird not said anything about it at all, I would have never given the left engine a thought, but now it was off limits and I had to know why. 

Small airlines back then did things their way.  It was a “kinder, gentler” industry back in the 1960’s and Aspen Airways was no exception.  Captain Bird informed us all that a bird had nested in the left engine’s oil cooler intake.  Since the airline was not busy this time of year and they had other DC-3’s they could use.  They decided to hangar this bird until those birds had hatched and moved on.  In an emergency, they would simply move the nest for the duration of the flight and put it back.  But as luck would have it, the nest was never disturbed.

Now that’s a bird of another feather.

Summer 1977

The Rolls-Royce eased into its regular spot in front of the Inn at Aspen around 4:00pm like it does almost every day.  This was a 1958 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith and it was in mint condition.  The owner was well known and had lived in the valley for decades.  D.V. Edmundson was a former Navy officer and local coupon clipper.  He was well liked and also well known for his daily cocktails.  He preferred the Inn at Aspen, where the St. Regis (former Aspen Ritz Carlton) now sits, but also frequented the Chart House bar nearby.

His home was the Waterfall House up Castle Creek that was designed for him by Fritz Benedict in 1963.  Each afternoon he would head into town for drinks and sometimes dinner.  You could also catch him in his Rolls-Royce about town during the day running errands and making a rare social call.

On this day I happened to pull into the parking lot right behind him on my way to go visit my friend Susan Melville over at the Mountain Chalet.  D.V. and I had met on a number of occasions when I would be out for dinner or drinks with my grandmother.  He was always very friendly and a perfect gentleman.  As we both got out of our cars, he from his Rolls and me from my 1954 Willys Jeep, I asked if he minded if I took a look inside.  With a toss of the keys, “Take her for a spin and bring me the keys when you get back.”

There were a lot of firsts running through my mind as I climbed in: first time I have ever been inside a Rolls, first time I ever driven a Rolls, and if I was not careful it would also be the first time I ever wrecked a Rolls.  Needless to say, I was excited for the chance to drive this thing.  My first thought after I got seated was the size of the front hood.  How on God’s green earth did D.V. drive this after a drink or two?  The hood seemed to go on forever and there were more blind spots and hidden obstacles than I could count.  I had only been driving for just over a year at this point and was not about to tell D.V. that little “fun fact.”

I headed out of the parking lot and headed up South Mill Street.  I was going to pick a route that I knew well and that had very few obstacles for me to have to contend with.  When I reached the Fasching Haus condominiums I turned and headed down Galena Street and turned back towards the bar on Dean Street.  My entire trip was less than a half mile but worth every inch.

I walked in to the bar and spotted D.V. down at the far end.  As I approached he asked me if the car was still in one piece which of course it was, thankfully.  He also asked what I was doing back so soon.  He was willing to let me take it again for an hour or so but I respectfully declined.  I had cheated disaster and was not willing to chance it.

D.V. lived in Aspen the rest of his life, driving to and from the Waterfall House in his Rolls-Royce every day.  We visited a number of times over the years although I never again asked to drive his car.  I am not sure whatever became of the Rolls-Royce after D.V.’s passing, but as far as I know, it is no longer in the valley.  Little did D.V. know, the day he let me drive his car would make a lasting memory for me and it was just a passing moment for him. 

Thanks D.V.!

Steinway Parlor “M” Grand Piano (1915 – Present)

Elizabeth “Granny” Worden (1906 – 1993)

Elizabeth Stern was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on October 25th, 1906.  Her family was a part of the upper class society of the time with her father in the baking business, later to be acquired by Continental Baking.  He was the inspiration and creator of what is known today as “Wonder Bread.”  Elizabeth did not like the fluffy white bread and always insisted that her nanny make homemade bread instead.  Elizabeth loved the arts, especially classical music and operas.  She hoped to someday be an opera star and worked towards that goal from an early age.

On her 9th birthday her father gave her a Steinway Grand Piano.  At the time, the Steinway grand pianos were made in five different sizes starting with the Concert Grand at 12 feet and going down to the Baby Grand at only three feet in length.  Elizabeth’s was an “M” model of their Parlor Grand Pianos, at just over five feet in length.  Elizabeth loved this piano and although she never became completely proficient at it, it remained with her until her death at the age of 87.

Over the years the piano was played by many of the greatest pianists of that time especially after moving to Aspen in the early 1950’s.  Elizabeth played host to many of the visiting musicians that came to Aspen every summer for the Aspen Music Festival and School.  Her parties were legendary with the likes of Bert Bacharach, Glen Yarbrough, Yitzhak Pearlman, Ursula Oppens and even Micha & Cipa Dichter. 

As a young boy I always loved that Piano.  I played it every time I went up Red Mountain to visit her and as the years went by I had dreams of learning to play the piano.  To this day the dreams have gone un-fulfilled but there is still time.

Upon Elizabeth’s passing I was given the piano by my mother.  It is my hope to one day pass the piano on to one of my children.  In 2015, I plan to celebrate the Piano’s 100th birthday by having it completely reconditioned in preparation for its next 100 years.  It will be a big undertaking and costly but that is a small price to pay to have such a wonderful piano.

Read more about Elizabeth Stern “Granny” Worden

Summer 1978

In the early days of summer 1978 my life took a tragic turn, one that to this day I have been unable to correct.  Many attempts have been made to extract this horrible curse from my life only to see it dig deeper into my soul.  It is a way of life now and I have successfully dragged many friends and family members down the same “rat hole” with alarming success.  It all started on a Sunday morning back in 1978 while I was reading the Denver Post Classified Advertisements.  There it was and the desire to posses it consumed me, robbing me of all common sense or logic.

The advertisement had a phone number on it but no price for the item.  I called the number on the advertisement, “Tony speaking” crackled on the other end.  I explained my interest in the item and was pleased to learn that it had not yet been sold.  The price was set at three-hundred and fifty dollars, delivery included.  The seller, as it turned out had a big twin engine Cessna and was willing to fly from Denver to Aspen to deliver the product.  He had never flown into Aspen and welcomed the opportunity.

The Cessna 421 landed a few hours later with my package on board.  Antonio Salerno, who looked to be my age, and I made the exchange and we both went our separate ways.  I lingered long enough to watch him take off and then I was on a mission to get this thing setup and working.

The package lacked any sort of instructions but it seemed easy enough to figure out what went where.  In about an hour I was ready to turn it on.  “Click,” and then the “rat hole” opened up and sucked me in.  Within minutes my mother was standing over my shoulder asking me to do “this or that” which I did.  The little blinking box on the screen told me I had accomplished my goal.  A while later my father came to check it out but showed little to no interest, this contraption was not for him and never would be, so I thought.

Hours turned into days and yet I could not break the hold it had on me.  I ordered a catalog from the manufacturer to see what else could get added to make it even better.  By the end of the summer I had expanded the device’s capabilities, added external devices and burned through every spare dollar I had.

I was off to college that following fall with my toy in hand.  This device was so new that few colleges or students had one, so you can imagine how much wanted or unwanted attention it was getting.  Over time my life settled in with this device becoming more important every day until I could no longer survive without one.

The following year the college was in the process of eliminating computer mainframes and punch cards.  There was a new technology just around the corner and they planned to lead the students into that “new frontier.”  For me, the technology was getting better but it was hardly new.  By now you know what this story is all about.  My first computer, the one that I got from Antonio, was a Radio Shack TRS-80 Micro Computer System.  Over time I added two additional 16 kilobyte expansion chambers.  I had a cassette deck for storing my files and a modem to communicate with the school’s mainframes.

I went to work that summer in Greeley for a new store called ComputerLand selling and supporting a new line of products known as IBM PC-XT’s and a new operating system known as DOS.  These things eliminated the cassette decks for storage as they had 5 1/2 floppy disks.  They were also selling Osborne computers that had two floppy drives and a small screen all in a box that you could carry around like a suitcase.  It used a better operating system known as CP/M.  As soon as I could afford it, I used my discount and upgraded to the new technologies with an Osborne in tow.

Upgrades to the latest technologies have become a way of life for me.  My home has over a dozen computers in it, all communicating with one another and to the outside world.  In 1992 I heard rumblings of a way to communicate with other people as well as share programs and data.  Up to this point modems and BBS’s were the only way to extend your reach beyond your computer.  This new thing was known as The Internet and it was really cool!  There were no graphics but the amount of information out there was amazing.  I signed up for my own domain name as I was told you had to have one back then.  The process of getting a domain name was hard since it was so new to everyone but I prevailed. 

Twenty five years and running and there is no end in sight.  I keep getting new technology, sucking more people into the hole as deep as I can without remorse.  My children are now Internet and computer users and one even has a cell phone. 

I often think I would have had a family earlier in life had it not been for computers.  They take everything from you, your money – your time and even your desire to ever see the light of day ever again.  I recently gave my father a laptop computer.  I knew in time that we would get him too.  I am proud of him for resisting for nearly 25 years before succumbing to the pressure.

1892, 1968, 1986 & Today

The family all gathered around Henry, paying their last respects and talking of his many accomplishments.  The conversations went from his successes in business to the many funny stories of a lifetime filled with good humor and practical jokes.  The room seemed dark even though it was well lit, tears and laughter filled the gallery as the brief ceremony began.  30 minutes later Henry was off to his final resting place.  Life would soon return to normal, well as normal as you would expect in this small community.   This story would repeat itself over the many years, only the participants would change. 

The Mortuary was a beautiful home that served as a private residence as well as Aspen’s only mortuary at the time.  The proprietor was a local businessman, politician and family man by the name of Thomas “Tom” Sardy.  The house was originally built in 1892 by J.W. Atkinson, the local sheriff at the time.

Years later, in 1986, the house was converted to an exclusive hotel with a highly regarded restaurant.  An addition to the back of the property provided additional guest rooms and was referred to as the Carriage House.  It was during the years it operated as the Hotel that the staff did all that it could to distance itself from the home’s past as a mortuary.  For obvious reasons I am sure some of their guests would be uncomfortable knowing what had taken place in the house (hotel) in its past.  On one occasion while looking around in the lobby I made a passing comment about its past and was quickly told that the house was never a mortuary and was only a rumor.  I had heard that this was a common response and I wanted to hear it for myself.

With a small grimace on my face, I responded by asking why my grandfather was in a coffin on this very spot back in 1968.  My comment was met with an odd look on their face and if there had been a cricket nearby that would have been the only sound you could hear.  I smiled, thanked them for their time and left.  I must admit that I rather enjoyed doing that and it brings a smile to my face every time I think back to that day.  The house was later converted back into a single family residence as it remains today.

Throughout the years, the large pine tree in the front yard has been regarded as Aspen’s official Christmas tree and is lit each year to signal the start of the Christmas season.  This tradition has survived through all the changes of ownership and uses of the mansion.