1960’s and 1970’s

In the first two or three years of Deaf Camp Picnics everything was done on a “shoestring” budget.  The school needed every dime it could get to
buy land and build world class facilities, or facilities of some sort to begin with.  As time went the picnic got a meager budget but relied on its volunteer army of locals to get the job done.

My mom not only recruited every friend she had, she also recruited their kids, cousins and even in-laws.  There was work to be done and any willing hand was always appreciated.  One of the annual event’s biggest attractions was the raffle.  Local businesses of all sizes were asked to
pitch in with raffle items and the list quickly grew.  Everything from skis to season passes was up for winning.  By the 3^rd year the Chevrolet Dealership in Glenwood even offered up a new Pick-up Truck (won by Francis Kalmes).  Raffle tickets went faster than we could make them, yes, make them.

My mom had a couple of rubber stamps made that were about two inches by four inches which included a description and year of the picnic.  She also purchased a couple of the stamps of the time that had adjustable dates.  Added to that she purchased a stamp that had roiling numbers that could go from zero to 9999.  With a bunch of red pieces of paper cut to the perfect size, thanks to the local office supply store we proceeded to make raffle tickets one at a time. As we ran low, we just made more with no limit to how many could be made.  Night after night we stamped, dated and numbered raffle tickets.  We could not keep them in stock thanks to the efforts of about a dozen local kids and a few adults willing to accost every person that even approached the local post office.  This was well before local home delivery had arrived in the valley.  If you got mail you had to go the local “PO” to get it.

Every evening after school the kids lined up at our house to get more tickets.  Then off to The Elk’s, The Eagles, The Pub, The “Onion” and even local restaurants the kids went, tickets in hand.  No saloon, Bar, restaurant or hotel lobby was safe from the marauding kids.  By nightfall each of us returned to my parent’s house with wads of dollar bills and stubs where whole tickets once existed.

My mother never shared with the kids how much they sold from a dollar value but it is a safe bet that it exceeded the five figure range.  We
had a blast doing it and the Deaf Camp benefited from pour efforts.  So many things happened in the valley as a result of the picnics and my mom loved the work.  For her the adventures and stories were worth the journey.

1960’s and 1970’s

In order to host the best picnic of the year it took a lot of volunteers and a little bit of luck.  The Deaf Camp Picnic of 1971 was no exception.  The task of preparing enough food for 1,000 plus guests, paying guests, fell on a small team of local cooks, laborers and housewives not to mention a number of Aspen’s restaurant kitchens.  By 1970 the picnics were in their third year and attendance had exceeded the 1,000 guest mark and rapidly heading to 2,000.

This year’s picnic was being held up at the Cattleman’s Association property up Castle Creek just past the end of the pavement.  To be more
specific, just past the old Four Season’s Resort (Aspen Country Day School Campus) about two miles from Aspen’s downtown.  This was the second year for the picnic to be hosted in this location.

To name all of the volunteers by name would be a task in itself especially for a then ten year old busy little boy.  I wish I could name them all as they deserve the recognition but alas, I am unable.  To name a few the ranks included my aunt and uncle, Shirley and Nelson “Jr” Smith as well as their numerous brothers and sisters.  There were Zordel’s, Clapper’s, Nicholson’s, Tacker’s, Guy’s, Smiths too numerous to name, Caparella’s,
Stapleton’s, Thorpe’s, and of course Beck’s and many more.  Temple Allen, then owner of the hickoryHouse, offered up his smoke oven for the 1,000’s of pounds of Barbeque Ribs as well as his kitchen for what amounted to two hundred pounds of his special coleslaw.  Bin after bin of cabbage, mayo and spices were trucked up to the picnic the morning of the big event.

Off in a corner of the field the “field Kitchen” was a bustling place while we all enjoyed the sweet sounds of Sandy Monroe and his band warming up as the opening and closing acts.  The sweet sound of his mandolin echoed through the valley.  Guests were only beginning to arrive and there was an excitement in the air.  My mom and her minion of volunteers were busy putting the final touches on everything from the raffle tickets sold and yet to be sold as well as making arrangements for the music, parking and places for everyone to sit.

Back in the kitchen a number of us were assigned the task of mixing up the bins of coleslaw.  More than 12 ten gallon bins were filled with
cabbage and there was mixing to do.  No able hands went un-used regardless of age.  On a day like today, child labor was not a bad thing.  My brother and sisters were all in the mix helping out where they could.  My sister Cindy was our moral support after an accident the day before while jeeping, she was a bit scarred up but her spirit was undiminished and we were glad to have her.

One of the adultvolunteers that took the lead on the “Great Coleslaw Mix” was a black local man by the name of Earl Wyatt who had a cleaning service in town.  He was very expressive and loved kids and kids loved him to, that was why we all flocked to help him in the coleslaw pits.  About an hour into the mixing he discovered his wedding ring was missing.  At first he thought he had taken it off only to be reminded by his
nearby wife that he never takes it off and was not about to today.  We quickly realized the ring was in one of the 12 plus bins of now “mixed” slaw.  The team of “slaw cooks” proceeded to dig through all of the bins, looking for a small gold band.  It is safe to say the air was filled with wisecracks of all kinds, “Maybe we should sell raffle tickets to east the slaw”, or “Does the guests who finds the ring get the owner as their husband?” assuming it would be a female guest.  After about 20 minutes of looking the ring was located, in his pocket.

This was only one of many great stories that came out of the annual Deaf Camp Picnics and my mom’s effort to host the best parties Aspen had ever seen.

Aspen
Summer Camp for the Deaf, Inc. on October 6, 1967

In 1967 Reed Harris, a close family friend, came to my Mother to see if she would help him start a camp for children with hearing disabilities or total deafness.  Reed had a son who was deaf and he was very passionate about helping the deaf community.  The foundation was based out of Reed’s El Jebel home with most of the administrative tasks performed by my mom from our home office.  They immediately set out to establish the foundation with the necessary funds to make it successful.

In the early years Summer Picnics were established to raise the money to operate the camp.  Local businesses donated items for raffles and the tickets were sold all over town, mainly by family members and friends.   In the second year of Picnic a GMC Truck was the main raffle attraction which was donated by the local Glenwood Springs GMC dealership.

Each year the picnics doubled in size.  The first picnic was held in the back yard of one of the volunteers.  By the second year, the picnic already
needed a new home.  The Cattleman’s Association offered up their picnic area up Castle Creek where it remained for the next few years.

Over the years my father had done work for John Denver and he had become a family friend.  Wwaterhen my mom approached John to see if he and his band would volunteer to play at the picnic, he was more than enthusiastic and offered to invite other bands to play as well.  With John headlining, a larger place for the picnic was needed.  There was a large track of land at the base of the Campground Chair Lift in the Snowmass Valley made available.  This new location had a lot of room for the picnic as well as plenty of parking.  John secured a band stand which was large enough to accommodate plenty of musicians and their required equipment.

By John’s second year he started inviting members of The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Jimmy Buffett and some of the Eagles as well as other big names.  The crowds grew exponentially each year and the “Camp” was in good hands financially.  These picnics were my mom’s contribution to the camp and they eventually took their toll.  The work required her full time and she still had a family to take care of and a home based business that she and my father ran.  By the mid-1970 my mother had to step down and pass the picnic on to others to manage.

These picnics provided a lot of entertaining stories to tell but those will have to wait for now.  Reed and my mother are both gone from the camp and each has passed away.  They started something wonderful and their legacy lives on today.

1943 Willys Jeep “Army Surplus”

1974 – 1977

 As the four kids in our family all came of age to drive my parents did their best to provide decent transportation for us.  That was not to say we all got shiny new cars on our 16^th birthday, but we did get a “shared” vehicle that provided round-trip transportation to and from school.  If we wanted something nicer it was up to us to get it ourselves.  Over the years shared an old Chevy Pickup, a 1943 Willys Jeep, an International Harvester Scout complete with a snowplow and hydraulic controls to name a few.  Of them all my favorite was the Jeep.  It was not very fast but it could climb a tree.

In the winter the Jeep did not provide much protection from the elements and its heater did nothing to bring comfort to its occupants.  On the cold, snowy days when we showered before school we would arrive to school with frozen locks of hair pointing in all directions, the girls looked more like Medusa than school girls.  As for me, I always wore a ball cap and when I removed in as I was required to do my hair looked as if it was still on.  The first class of the day always included wet paper as our hair slowly thawed.

Another unintended consequence of owning a used vehicle was that no all of its gauges or accessories worked.  For the Jeep the gas gauge was the most obvious.  None of us were real good about keeping the Jeep full of fuel and my oldest sister, Cindy was the worst.  I think she believed it filled itself and as long as the engine started it must have gas.  On more than one occasion we fell victim to running out of gas at the most inopportune times.  One morning on the day it was Cindy’s turn to drive we headed off to school.  About
half way across the Castle Creek Bridge the Jeep rolled to a stop, it was out of gas.  Without hesitation Cindy jumped out of the Jeep and proceeded to hitch-hike.  In what seemed like seconds a friend of hers drove by and picked her up as the other three of us sat there in the Jeep wondering what had just transpired.  This would turn out in later years to be something she was prone to do.

On that day, with snow falling and sub-zero temperatures, we pushed the Jeep to the far end of the bridge and walked a few blocks to my father’s “shop” where he kept his construction equipment and retrieved a couple gallons of gas.

Over the years we used the Jeep for school transportation as well as recreational four-wheeling.  I am not sure at what point it was sold off but my very first car was certainly an upgrade.  In 1977 I purchased a 1952 Jeep “Civilian Jeep” CJ-3B.  It was not very fast but it too could climb a tree.

Winter 1970

The Learjet 25 came from out of know where, 100 feet above the sundeck and heading down the ridge over Ruthie’s and eventually turning sharp towards the northwest as Shadow Mountain dropped off below them to the valley floor.  The film crew applauded themselves for a job well done but the lead photographer wanted
to a “do over.”

A brief conversation over a two-way radio and the jet climbed vertically as it crossed over the mid-field of Sardy Field, Aspen’s local airport.  Still a bit surprised and excited about its first pass over the top of Aspen Mountain, just a mere 100 feet or less above us, I could now look forward for a second pass and this time I knew it was coming.

Painted a light brown on the bottom and the customary white on top, this Learjet was a beautiful sight.  The logo on the tail was un-familiar and the words down the side of the jet left more questions than answers, Elk Horn at Sun Valley.  What was this plane doing in Aspen and why was there a film crew in tow?

The Next day I was out visiting my friends in the tower out at the airport and much to my surprise the Jet was parked nearby.  Again the aircraft was surrounded by photographers as the plane started its engines and taxied out.  The film crew proceeded out to the taxi way and set up their cameras.  As the plane passed them during its take-off roll all the cameras were abuzz.  Once again, this was not the plane’s last appearance.  Moments later as radio transmission, played on the ramp’s loudspeakers, was a conversation between the tower and the Learjet’s pilots, they were requesting permission to make a high speed, low altitude pass over
the runway.

With all the other aircraft traffic cleared from the vicinity of the airport permission was granted for the pass.  By this time everyone on the ramp knew what was about to happen and we were all lined up along the edge of the ramp as close to the runway as possible.

The fly-by was over with a blink of an eye and before you knew it the jet was climbing out nearly vertical over Shale Bluff.  A second request was made by the pilots for another pass which was quickly granted as the plane came back around over Buttermilk Mountain and headed straight in for runway 15.  This time we were in for an even bigger treat.  As the plane approached the end of the runway the landing gear was retracted and the jet dropped to about 50 feet off the ground.  It sped up as it approached mid-field and began a vertical climb just as it passed the film crew and spectators.  It climbed so steep and so fast that you could see the top of the jet as it went skyward.

Within minutes the film crew packed up and left and the jet was never seen again.  I later learned that a new resort just outside of Sun Valley, Idaho was about to open and the developers needed some good photos of the area for the clientele they were hoping to attract there.  Since the resort was not yet complete, Aspen was used as a “stand in” for the marketing department.  As a ten year old aviation enthusiast who spent considerable time hanging out at the airport, this was a pretty exciting weekend and memorable to say the least.

Until the 1960’s & 70’s

As an adult I love to tell my “city slicker” friends how I grew up on a dirt street.  They struggle with that concept knowing that I grew up in Aspen.  Almost everyone who has ever heard of Aspen think its streets are paved with gold or at least a thick layer of asphalt.  They cannot fathom that Aspen ever had dirt streets.
Not only did it have dirt streets but the fact of the matter is that was not that long ago.

For my first eleven years we lived at the intersection of Garmisch and Hopkins.  Back then many of the “side streets” were dirt and they were quite a bit wider than they are now.  Every year the city would pick a few of the streets to either pave or just spray oil and spread small gravel which gave it a semi-paved look and feel.  Still you could drive down any of those streets and put up a pretty big dust cloud behind you.  When it rained it was hard telling where the streets ended and the yards started.  There was no storm drains either.  One summer Aspen experienced a 10 day rain and water collected everywhere.  One of the lowest spots in
my neighborhood was at Garmisch and just south of Main Street.  During and after that particular storm there was a puddle that was over 3 feet deep in the middle of the street and half of the park was flooded as well.  All of the kids had blast playing in the water until it finally drained away.

In the 1960’s the Castle Creek Road pavement ended just past the Country Day school campus which at that time had a very nice restaurant, tennis and swimming club.    Just past the Highlands the pavement on Maroon Creek Road ended which was later extended just past the T Lazy 7 Ranch.  The fact of the matter was, the Red Mountain Road was paved to the top long before most of the other area roads.

For kids, our primary form of transportation was bicycles and we went everywhere.  On any given weekend kids would ride to the Maroon Bells, up Red Mountain or out to the Difficult Campground choking on the dust clouds every step of the way.  As for Garmisch and Main, that intersection as well as many others like it throughout town have been upgraded with storm drains, re-contoured to eliminate low spots and paved from curb to curb.  Gone are the days of dirt roads and mud puddles.

1970’s

During my high school years I hung out with a number of good friends, most notably Mark Menscher and his younger brother Steve.  They lived down on Meadows Lane which was a short walk from my house.  We spent a good amount of time at each other’s homes after school, on weekends and during the summers.

During that time the Menschers had a number of pets including Grey, which was an Australian Sheepdog or a similar breed.  Grey was a fun dog and always loved to hang out with us.  She rarely left the confines of their yard, preferring to stay close to home.  That was with one exception.

Somewhere along in Grey’s early years she had somehow convinced herself that the only way to stay alive during a thunder storm was to run and keep running as long at the lightning continued to strike and the thunder continued to boom.  She would also spend the entire time on the run barking as if to scare the storm away. If she were locked in the house she would find a way out even if it meant breaking down a screen door or running through a pane of glass.  If you stood in her way she would bark and jump at you until you let her out.  Over time the Menschers learned it was easier to let her out than to fight her to stay in the house.

The close proximity to their house also meant our house was on her usual lightning route and we could count on a hasty visit through our neighborhood and the entire “West End” during every summer storm.  You could never catch her during her lightning evasion and as soon as the storm was over she would return to the safety of her yard as if nothing ever happened.

Grey was still on the run every summer up to the year I graduated high school in 1979 as I went off to college.  I am not sure how long she continued her lightning runs but by the grace of god it never struck her down.

Until the early 1970’s

If you ever went anywhere near a ski area, they did not call them resorts back then, from
the beginning of the sport until the early 1970’s you knew the best skis available were made of wood.  Ski poles started out as bamboo or a good straight twig from your back yard with some sort of basket or stopper on one end.

By the 1960’s a number of companies in the United States and Europe we making names of
themselves as ski equipment manufacturers.  Disappearing were the twelve foot long wooden skis, bamboo poles and U.S. Army surplus winter wear originally issued to the men of the 10^th Mountain Division.  Dynastar, Fisher, Head, Solomon, Heart and Bogner skis were taking to the slopes to name just a few.  I for one had my Fisher “Reds” and boy were they fast!

A little slower to the show were the binding and boots.  Ski Boots back then had an inner boot which you had to lace up and tie as tightly as possibly only to be surrounded by an outer boot that also required a certain amount of dexterity to properly tie, that was what moms were good for.  Once the dexterity test was
passed the next challenge was to get your boots attached to your skis.

Bindings were comprised of long cables, metal guides along the skis and finger pinching latches in front of your boot.  You had to lean so far forward to latch the binding that you often fell out of the ski before the task was completed.  To ensure safety the skis also had long leather thongs that were wrapped about 4 times
around the boot and then cinched onto the bindings.  At 8,000 feet you were exhausted before you took your first ride up the ski lift.

Having snow on your skis was just not permitted and the easiest was to get it off was to bang your skis together while riding of the lift.  This often resulted in the bindings coming undone and your ski plummeted to the earth.  If you were lucky enough the leather thong keep the ski with you, albeit hanging about 4 feet below you.  As you approached to top of the lift humiliation set in as the lift was brought to a slow crawl while everyone watch the operator assist you and your malfunction gear to safety.  At that point you wished the thong had failed and the ski was somewhere back behind you.

The other advantage to cable bindings and thong safety straps was in the case of a crash.  In almost every occurrence the bindings would release and “safety Straps” would keep the skis attached only to have them fly about like a kite out of control at the end of its rope eventually hitting the skier somewhere on their torso of face.  In the event that the strap failed to keep the ski with the skier during the melee you always count on the ski to head down the hill, skier-less only to take out some other unsuspecting skier below you.  It is amazing how fast a ski could go with no one attached.

Now days the boots are plastic, skies are made of all kinds of synthetic materials and the safety straps have been replaced by breaks.  Skiing is just not the same any more.