Aspen in the 1960’s

As a little boy growing up in Aspen, having a fishing license was as common as a set of Lincoln Logs.  Every little boy had both.  Before Aspen became the epicenter of “Catch & Release” we actually ate those little critters for breakfast straight from the Roaring Fork River through the bowl of beaten eggs, a couple of flips in Corn Meal and into the frying pan.  The entire trip took less than 30 minutes.

I remember being rudely awakened by my father more often than I want to remember, “Boys, why don’t you go catch us breakfast?”  It was really not a request and “No” was really not an option.  Into yesterdays clothes, and off to the river, my brother and I headed.  Back then it was more difficult to get out of bed then it was to actually catch something.  We would be back home in less than an hour including walking across town to and from the river.  We only needed six or so fish to feed the family and it took little or no time to catch that many.  My mom always cooked them with the heads still attached which meant not only could we eat our breakfast, but we could have some fun with it too.

My sisters joined us on the fishing expeditions sometimes as well; if they were already out of bed.  Back then it was not uncommon to see some of our friends out catching their breakfast at the same time.  Looking back, I actually enjoyed the fact that we could go fishing any time and without requiring permission from a local land owner or being limited to just a few spots along the river.  Access to the rivers in the valley was always open and easy to get to.  We even had our favorite fishing holes that no one else knew about.  We were able to keep what we caught, and each year it seemed like the rivers had more fish in them than the prior year, not less.  Brooks, Rainbows and Brown Trout, we caught them all, and I could never tell them apart once they were cooked, but I am sure someone could.

In the 1960’s, on cool mornings you could actually hear the roar of the river from just about anywhere in town.  That sound is gone, not only due to the fact that less water flows in the river, but because of all the houses, fences, brick walls, berms and cement retaining walls that now line the river.

I would be curious to know if anyone today ever wonders why they call that river “The Roaring Fork,” but if you lived in the valley in the 1960’s or earlier, you would know why.  I miss the sound of the river and the taste of fresh trout for breakfast.

Summer 1977

My days working at Hertz Rent-A-Car are filled with many fond and funny memories.   People from all walks of life rent cars and those same people come to visit Aspen.  These visitors have their reasons for being there, some come for vacation, others come to see if they might live there someday and still others come because their jobs sent them there.

On this particular day two middle aged gentlemen showed up at our rental counter without a reservation.  They needed a car, the least expensive one we had and they only needed it for a couple of hours.  The completed rental agreement showed that it was being billed to their employer, a company known as Oxford-Anschutz Corp. 

At their request, really their boss’s request, they needed the cheapest thing we had on the lot and we had just the car, a four year old Ford Pinto.  This car had seen better days and was rarely rented out, but they seemed OK with their transportation.  They told us they had to go look at some ranch property and would be back in a few hours.  Now these guys were not big by any stretch but in that car they looked like circus clowns as they drove off.

Four hours later the two gentlemen showed back up at our counter and they looked like that had gone to battle and lost.  They pulled out the rental contract which had been bunched up in a ball and was coated in mud.  When we asked them what had happened they just about died laughing and so the story goes….

When they got to the ranch they went through a gate and parked in the middle of a field.  There were a number of horses nearby but they paid them little attention as they went off to inspect the wells, property features and other aspects of the ranch.  Their employer was interested in purchasing the property and wanted someone to take a look at it.  Off in the distance they heard some “odd” noises but did not think much of it, that was until they returned to the car.  The Pinto that had been parked there an hour or so earlier now looked like an abandoned hunk of junk.  In their absence, one of the horses decided he did not like this new Pinto in his field and went about destroying it.  All the windows were broken, not a single side panel remained undamaged and there was blood and mud all over the car.  The roof was even slightly caved in.

Bleeding and muddy, the perpetrator stood nearby, looking like he was ready to take on these two men next.  The two of them stated that they climbed into what was left of the Pinto, luckily enough it started, and they got the “hell outta there!”

Their boss may have been cheap but, on this day the two men did spring for the insurance even though it added a dollar to the cost of their rental.  Good thing!

The lesson learned here was never to leave a four year old Pinto in a corral with a two year old Quarter Horse.  By the way, the Anschutz family purchased that ranch in addition to the one in they have owned in Carbondale for the past century.

Summer – 1974?

Our summer breaks from school and college were filled with work and time to get outside and play.  This meant jeeping, hiking, camping, flying and playing golf to name a few of the many activities.  Did I mention golf?

In the 1960’s and 70’s the public golf course was home to a “Pro Shop,” hotel and a pretty decent restaurant.  My friends and I would often spend our days off hanging around the golf course, hitting buckets of balls, snacking in the restaurant and being general nuisances to the golf pros.  We even worked stints as caddies or sales associates in the pro shop.  The golf course manager back then was Yvonne Tache’.  He was a strict individual who ran things his way and did a good job at it.  We always knew where we stood with him and it was not always a good thing.

Yvonne always watched out for us and if a foursome came available he would let us know.  Looking back, I think he tried to get us out of his hair for awhile by sending us out for a round.  On this particular day I do not remember who I was playing golf with.  I have a good idea, but they will remain nameless just in case I am wrong. 

The beauty of playing golf in Aspen is that you are at a higher altitude to begin with so your drives go further and fly higher.  It is a real ego boost for a substandard player such as me.   The golf course has been redesigned many times since the 1970’s but back then Fairway Seven was along the back of the course just off of Cemetery Lane and Bonita Drive.  It was a long hole with relatively few hazards, except on this day.

The four of us had just teed off and were headed in the direction of our respective golf balls.  Just after leaving the Tee Box a golfer from behind us yelled, “Heads!”  As we turned to see what was up a glider flew about 12 feet over our heads and landed in the middle of the fairway.   We started to run in the direction of the downed plane as the occupants exited the aircraft.  They were fine and the glider sustained no visible damage.

In no time the fairway filled up with Police SAABs, fire trucks and Deiter Bibbig’s jeep (he owned the Glider).  We picked up our golf balls and headed for the next hole.  Later that day, the landing was the talk of the town.  As suspected, the glider had encountered a downdraft that prevented it from making it safely back to the airport.

Spring – 1976

As soon as I got my driver’s license my first stop was to go see Dale over at the Hertz Rent-A-Car agency.  At the time, the local Hertz office was owned and operated by Reid Miller Enterprises out of Grand Junction, Colorado.  The local manager was Dale Wilson and he was just about the nicest man on earth.  I had met him even before I learned to drive as my older brother had worked for him one summer.  He always said, “As soon as you get your license, come see me.”  That is just what I did.

The Hertz office was located in the Holiday Inn lobby just west of town.  The Avis office was there as well.  When I showed up, Dale knew exactly why I was there and he put me to work on the spot.  At first my job was to “shag” cars, which meant cleaning and filling them up with gas.  We had our own tanks at the time and kept a power wash out by them.  As soon as I “prepped” the cars I would put them back on the line and available for rent.  I loved this job as I was able to drive all kinds of cars and go out on the “ramp” at the airport.

Ramp duty included driving around all the parked aircraft and pulling up to the jets and Turbo-Props before the pilots even turned off their engines.  As someone who grew up loving all things “aviation” this was a great job.

Over time I picked up or dropped off a lot of famous people at the airport.  Now when I say famous, I am not only speaking of the “Hollywood types” although there were plenty of them.  I have always admired successful entrepreneurs and business titans which Aspen hosted plenty of as well, some of which were certainly famous in their own right.  So who is Frank Stanton?

One rainy day, an older couple came in to turn in their car and requested a ride to “Monarch Aviation” which at the time was the fixed based operator for private aircraft.  I volunteered the duty as I was glad to go do something.  This was a quiet time of the year and there was not much going on.

We arrived at the ramp only to learn that their jet was in a “holding pattern” above the field due to poor visibility and rain.  With nothing to do back at the office, I volunteered to wait with them.  We sat on the bench out in front of the Monarch Aviation office.  Our conversation quickly covered their visit to Aspen, their journey home to New York City and what kind of plane was coming to pick them up.  I learned that they were being picked up in a Rockwell Sabreliner 65 owned by one of the Television Networks.  Their names were Frank and Sarah Stanton (I had never heard of them.)

As time passed they asked me what I was studying in school and what other interests I had.  I promptly told them of my love of aviation and my hopes to get my pilots license some day.  After 30 or 40 minutes of waiting with the plane still stranded in the skies above, I reluctantly bid my new friends farewell and a safe journey home.  I needed to get back to the rental office.  As I got up to leave, Mr. Stanton handed me a check and said, “Thanks.”  Sarah politely informed me that they wanted to help me learn to fly.  I put the check in my pocket without looking at it and waved goodbye.

When I got back to the office I looked at the check and noticed it was made out for $350.00.  The memo line said, “10 hours of flying.”  I showed it to Dale and although he did not know who Sarah and Frank Stanton were either, he did offer to help me spend my new found wealth.

At home that night I asked my parents who Frank Stanton was.  My dad told me about how he had basically built the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) and really brought television “sitcoms” to the masses.  By the time I met him he had had been retired for about three years from the network.  The two of them were very active with the American Red Cross.

During his years with CBS he was credited with the careers of many successful performers including Jackie Gleason and Lucy.  I was disappointed to learn that he was behind the cancellation of “The Wild Wild West” show in 1970 as he deemed it too violent.

My chance encounter with Sarah and Frank Stanton is still one of my fondest memories from my years working at Hertz.

“Frank passed away in December 2006 at the age of 97”

 

Summer – 1981

During the summer of 1981 I worked for the Hertz Rent-a-Car agency in their Aspen office.  I had worked there over the years and always enjoyed the job.  Over time the branch had resided at different locations including Monarch Aviation’s “On Field” location, the lobby of the old Holiday Inn at the base of Buttermilk and finally in the main terminal building.  For executives and private aircraft owners we provided a service to drop them off at their aircraft after returning their cars.  I made many trips that summer out onto the airport ramp to deliver passengers to their aircraft or pick them up.  In mid-June while delivering an executive of Atlantic Richfield (ARCO) to his Gulfstream II, I observed two Lockheed Jetstars (N530G and N540G) as well as a Gulfstream II (N830G) parked at the far end of the ramp.  There was also an additional Gulfstream II parked nearby.  It caught my attention as one of the Jetstars had been in on numerous occasions over the years.  I knew it belonged to Continental Oil (Conoco).  Since the other Jetstar as well as the Gulfstream II had the same paint scheme and similar registration numbers it was safe to assume they belonged to Conoco as well.  I did not recognize the other Gulfstream and did not think I had seen it on the ramp in the past.

I gave it little thought, assuming it was just another oil company retreat.  Aspen had hosted many such retreats for Atlantic Richfield, Standard Oil of Ohio (Amoco) and other large oil companies.  Later that day I found out it belonged to E. I. du Pont de Nemours and Company.  Even that did not cause me to give it much more thought.

At the time I was unaware that Conoco was the object of a rather hostile bidding war between Dome Petroleum, Joseph E. Seagram & Sons Inc. and other lesser known entities.  These companies were attempting to take over Conoco and none of the suitors were of great interest to Conoco’s board.  They were hoping to be acquired by a financially stable, strong company that would not acquire Conoco only to dismantle it out of existence.

Although I have never been able to confirm the nature of the meeting in Aspen between the two companies, it is a fact that Conoco’s board did approach duPont in an attempt to be acquired by them.  The meeting in Aspen must have been one of the earliest of their merger talks as Aspen provided a good airport for executive jets, excellent meeting facilities and it was an “out of the way” location where their meeting would not attract much attention.

Less than three months later, on Sept. 30, 1981, Conoco became a wholly owned DuPont subsidiary.

There is some speculation that ARCO’s ultimate fate to be acquired by British Petroleum (BP) may have been decided in Aspen as well.  Back then aircraft ownership was not a very well kept secret; it was easy to figure out who the owners or operators were.  In today’s security conscious world, aircraft ownership is usually hidden within a series of entities that do not point back to the actual owner or operator of the aircraft.

 

1971 (4^th 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.

 

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.