Our local newspaper, the Stowe Reporter, celebrates its 50th anniversary this week with a look back at outstanding and not-so outstanding events that have taken place over the years in this town. When I arrived, the paper was just 8 years old. Now, reading again about the high jinks of the late sixties, stories that fortunately did not make the paper, come flooding back to mind. Some I can't tell in this public forum but there are a couple that may be worth sharing.
The true definition of a Ski Bum is one who works only enough to allow for 120+ days of skiing per season and a healthy social life. In 1966 and 1967 I was one of those.
I arrived in Stowe to work and live at a charming inn known as Ten Acres. It was just 6 days before Christmas and not one flake of snow had fallen that year. The temperatures were well below zero so the ground was frozen solid and frosted white but without snow-making the lifts were yet to open and the tourists yet to arrive. Two others moved in on the same day and we shared staff quarters behind the kitchen. One of these fellow 'bums' was to become a friend for life. The other vanished midway through the season for reasons that were only whispered under one's breath.
Locals were nervous. No snow, no guests, no money! Some were happily imbibing no matter the time of day or night while others paced, watching the grey skies for the first snowflake. We strapped on some old skates, grabbed brooms and a ball and flopped our way around the backyard pond until we were so sore that a drop of the Yuletide grog was prescribed for purely medicinal reasons.
Our innkeeper, a very colorful lady over 6 feet tall and just about as wide, ran the show while her husband, the self professed table tennis champion of the world, lubricated himself from morning to night. He was a very happy drunk and quite harmless and would soundly beat us at ping pong regularly, with a glass of Johnie Walker in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Our jobs were to serve breakfast and dinner, seven days a week and clean up afterwards. During the day we were free to ski and a pass was provided in lieu of pay. Those first few days were rough with not much to do but on Christmas Eve the snow began to fall coating the trees and blanketing the trails. It was the most beautiful sight. By morning 16 inches had fallen and it was still coming down. Our first guests were not due for another day allowing for an early start on the mountain.
I may have neglected to mention that to this point my skiing experience was negligible. A school trip to Austria at 15 and a weekend on the ice at Canon Mountain did not a skier make. But unfazed and believing, as we all did at that age, that I was invincible, I strapped on my skis and jumped onto the T-bar that would take me to the top. Now that first hill was not exactly a black diamond but as I gathered speed it might just as well have been. I was quickly to realize that slowing down required turns and stem christies were not part of my repertoire. I was sure I had heard that in deep powder one must lean back but that was not working in a foot and a half of fairly heavy snow. I adopted the gorilla stance and tried to muscle my way out of the fall line and for a split second I thought I had it. Then my edge caught and I was airborne. Wow, that was exhilarating...but as we all know, it is not the falling that hurts, its the landing. When I finally came to rest my skis were still firmly attached to my laced boots but every other piece of equipment and loose clothing was shed over a 1000 square foot area. Many falls were to follow but none quite as demoralizing as that first. Day after day for two winters I fearlessly and determinedly flung myself down trails, far too advanced for my ability, until finally my errant limbs became conditioned and trained enough to slow my speed. Many years of ski instructing followed and even though I wouldn't go back to punishing my body like that again, it sure was a blast at the time.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Great Auntie Do
My grandmother on my father's side had a younger sister Doris, known to most as Do (pronounced doe). By the time I came on the scene Auntie Do was a confirmed spinster, living with her widowed sister as her self appointed caretaker. So the story goes, she had loved and lost an American soldier stationed in England during the 1st world war and no man ever proved worthy after that.
Her main purpose in life was to clean and cook for her ailing sister, my grandmother. Even in her twenties, grandmother was known to have a weak heart and for the remainder of her life was instructed by doctors to avoid any undue stress. This included childbirth, walking upstairs more than once a day or any domestic duties. She did give birth to my father well into her thirties and survived that but for the rest of her 83 years was pampered by her sister and everyone else around her. Fortunately she was a much beloved lady.
Auntie Do, on the other hand, had a sharp tongue and could give you a look that would drop you to your knees, when she was displeased. Many feared her, most avoided her but I always rather enjoyed her. She was straight and told it the way it was. Her diminutive size was misleading, barely 5 feet 2 inches even with her ever-present 3 inch heeled court shoes. Her hair was always perfectly permed, coiffed and held in place with a very fine hairnet. She was never seen without makeup including a blacked-in beauty spot just below her lower lip, highly colored rouge and bright red lipstick. To me as a child this was all absolutely fascinating but the best part was her legs. She never wore stockings, summer or winter but applied liquid make-up to her movie-star gams. During the war, nylons were not to be had so the habit begun and continued for her entire life.
My grandmother was grateful for her sister’s care and was quick to praise her publicly and only a couple of times did she let her frustration show. Auntie was heavy handed and moved quickly often knocking over priceless ornaments and breaking dishes. But the occasion that sticks in my mind, although happily I was not there to witness it, concerned a certain budgie named Mickey. This little bird came to my grandmother right from the nest and was lovingly cared for and encouraged to fly free in the house. Every evening the two sisters would sit in a darkened room watching television (at this time, quite a new invention) and Mickey would sit on one shoulder or the other. On this evening, Auntie left her seat briefly to make a cup of tea and on her return resumed her position, sitting heavily into her chair. It was not until many minutes later when Mickey was missing that one flattened little bird body was discovered under Auntie’s ample derriere.
Great Auntie Do lived into her eighties until she decided she was quite old enough. She stated that she would stay around long enough to see me married but after that she would only become a nuisance. She attended our wedding in all her finery - pale blue, matching dress and coat, large upswept hat, high heels and, of course, make-up. Even before we returned from our honeymoon she was dead of pneumonia. Now there was a strong-willed woman!
Her main purpose in life was to clean and cook for her ailing sister, my grandmother. Even in her twenties, grandmother was known to have a weak heart and for the remainder of her life was instructed by doctors to avoid any undue stress. This included childbirth, walking upstairs more than once a day or any domestic duties. She did give birth to my father well into her thirties and survived that but for the rest of her 83 years was pampered by her sister and everyone else around her. Fortunately she was a much beloved lady.
Auntie Do, on the other hand, had a sharp tongue and could give you a look that would drop you to your knees, when she was displeased. Many feared her, most avoided her but I always rather enjoyed her. She was straight and told it the way it was. Her diminutive size was misleading, barely 5 feet 2 inches even with her ever-present 3 inch heeled court shoes. Her hair was always perfectly permed, coiffed and held in place with a very fine hairnet. She was never seen without makeup including a blacked-in beauty spot just below her lower lip, highly colored rouge and bright red lipstick. To me as a child this was all absolutely fascinating but the best part was her legs. She never wore stockings, summer or winter but applied liquid make-up to her movie-star gams. During the war, nylons were not to be had so the habit begun and continued for her entire life.
My grandmother was grateful for her sister’s care and was quick to praise her publicly and only a couple of times did she let her frustration show. Auntie was heavy handed and moved quickly often knocking over priceless ornaments and breaking dishes. But the occasion that sticks in my mind, although happily I was not there to witness it, concerned a certain budgie named Mickey. This little bird came to my grandmother right from the nest and was lovingly cared for and encouraged to fly free in the house. Every evening the two sisters would sit in a darkened room watching television (at this time, quite a new invention) and Mickey would sit on one shoulder or the other. On this evening, Auntie left her seat briefly to make a cup of tea and on her return resumed her position, sitting heavily into her chair. It was not until many minutes later when Mickey was missing that one flattened little bird body was discovered under Auntie’s ample derriere.
Great Auntie Do lived into her eighties until she decided she was quite old enough. She stated that she would stay around long enough to see me married but after that she would only become a nuisance. She attended our wedding in all her finery - pale blue, matching dress and coat, large upswept hat, high heels and, of course, make-up. Even before we returned from our honeymoon she was dead of pneumonia. Now there was a strong-willed woman!
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