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.

Summer 1974

It was a brand new, candy apple red 1974 Kawasaki G5 100cc enduro and it was the first motorcycle I ever owned, bought and paid for from my own savings.  At the age of 14 I was convinced I had just purchased the only motorcycle I would ever want or need.  It could do anything on or off road.  With the flip of a lever the bike went from a road bike to an off-road, hill climbing monster.

To say I was proud of my motorcycle would be an understatement.  I cleaned it after every use, checked the oil every day whether I drove it or not and kept it safely parked by our back door where I could keep an eye on it.  About a month after getting my new toy, tragedy struck. 

I went out early one  Saturday morning to get the bike ready for my first real motorcycle trip.  Our family along with a bunch of friends were headed to Grand Junction to go riding out by the airport for the weekend.  As I exited the back door I was horrified to see that the bike was missing.  At first I thought my dad had already loaded it onto one of the trailers but I soon learned he had not.  I ran back into the house, “Where’s my Kawasaki?”  Like most questions of that type I was greeted by the standard response, “Where did you put it the last time you used it?  Did you put it away where it belongs?”  “Yes, and now it is missing!”

A brief scan of the neighborhood turned up nothing, unfortunately it had been stolen, right from our back yard.  I was devastated.  A call to the police resulted in more questions than answers.  They promised to keep an eye out for it which was no comfort to me what so ever. 

Amazingly enough we received a call a few hours later indicating that the police had in fact found my motorcycle.  The wheels of justice were in high gear that day.  I was asked by the police to come to the station to look at the motorcycle and verify if it was in fact mine.

A quick inspection revealed that this was my missing motorcycle.  I learned who the perpetrators of this horrible crime were.  They were well known by the local law enforcement and were actually classmates of mine.  “Larry” took it to his house along with “Doug’s” help only to be questioned by Larry’s older brother.  In no time the two were reported to the police and my bike was returned to me.  We chose not to press charges and asked that their respective parents dole out the punishment.  This was largely because I would be confronted by them the following fall when we all returned to school.   (The benefit of living in a small town.)

Over the years we all attended school together and although snide comments were made on occasion, we learned to get along although that was hardly their last brush with the law.

I sold the Kawasaki a few years later and purchased “the only motorcycle I would ever want or need.”

Circa 1965

Little boys have a way of doing things that defy all logic, leaving their parents to wonder where on earth they came from.  “He looks like me but, he didn’t get that from me” is often heard from the mouths of their parents.  I was no different in many ways.  You might say I perfected the art of questioning my origin.

There were many things I did as a little boy.  Some defied logic and others actually went beyond that to the point of irritation.  One such activity was my proclivity to put all manner of spices and condiments on my food without even tasting it first.  My parents tried a verbal assault on me first by saying such things as, “You insult the chef by not tasting it first!” 

Their next approach was to load my food up with spices by hiding them inside or underneath to see if I would flinch on my first bite after adding my usual amounts once served.  Nope! That did not work either.

After exhausting all other efforts without success, the frustration mounting, my father decided to take extreme measures in hopes of stopping my bad habit in its tracks.  Preparation took no effort on his part beyond a little white lie and a small bottle of spice.

In my usual fashion I came to breakfast as it was being served.  As I reached for the condiments a new one caught my eye.  “What is this stuff daddy?” I asked.  “Kid’s Catsup” was his reply.  That sounded good to me and I proceeded to put a bunch of it on my eggs.  Within seconds I was convinced I had just eaten hot lava!  It burned and continued to burn for what seemed like a lifetime.  Water only made it worse, and eating more of the eggs that were already coated with the stuff was not an option either.  Only time would ease my pain.  It did not help that both my parents were enjoying watching me during my time of need.  My siblings were no help either as they relished in my getting whatever it was that “I deserved!”

It was on that fateful day that my eating habits were forever changed.  I did not eat spicy foods for nearly 40 years before finally allowing them back onto my food and only then in moderation.  Anything that contains peppers of any kind is still considered a banned substance.  I know I have missed out on a lot of great meals over the years, but that was a small price to pay in my quest to avoid that kind of oral pain ever again.

By the way, if anyone ever tells you to eat “Kid’s Catsup” run away as fast as you can.  In reality Kid’s Catsup is nothing more than Tabasco Sauce.  A little “dab” of it on a child’s thumb will cure a “thumb sucking” habit instantly!

Lesson learned, message received!

1970’s & 80’s

The entrance was a rather non-descript flight of stairs to the lower level.  This location had been a restaurant or bar for years.  Some of the earlier tenants included The Woodlander, once owned by Jim Blanning.  Alice’s Alley and Jake’s Alley were both former establishments as well.  Now it was “The Slope” not to be confused with the ski hills. “The Slope” bar was also located in Vail and Breckenridge over the years or maybe at the same time.

The Slope had a long bar down the left side of the room with more seating beyond that.  The rest of The Slope included five or six carpeted tiers with lots of pillows.  From the tiers you could comfortably lie down and watch whatever movie or show was on the big screen at the far end of the room.   The local teenagers were permitted to come watch the movies or cartoons during the day but had to leave around 5:00PM when the skiers were coming off the hills.  During the summers they were permitted to stay a little longer.  There was always fresh popcorn in the “Trolley.” 

I remember well watching the old Gulliver’s Travels movies, Road Runner cartoons and the infamous and hilariously funny, Bambi Meets Godzilla.  The first time I ever saw “The Golden Voyage of Sinbad” was with friends at The Slope.  This was also the place which provided Warren Miller’s early films extensive local viewings.   I think one or two of his premiers were held at The Slope as well.

By the time I was old enough to drink The Slope’s run was nearly over; but, I do remember a few trips home from college, meeting up with my old high school friends for a chance to catch up.  The place is long gone now but if you ask anyone who lived in Aspen in the 1970’s they will have a story to tell about time spent at “The Slope.”