Christmas vacation when you were a cadet at West Point was all about how you got there. You could fly space available in uniform for half price, but even that was too much if you had to fly halfway across the country, so it was pretty common for cadets to look for "hops," a free ride on an Air Force cargo plane that was going your way.
Same here. Wonderful to read and also to think of those times where everything so fell into place that not one thing could be substituted in the memory to make it better.
Christmas vacation, 1967. Mine couldn't have been more different. My parents’ apartment in NYC, listening to “Blonde on Blonde” over and over as I typed all night on my Hermes 3000, because Viking Press was going to publish my book and it was due. That was the start of a good run for my last few months of college, but your story makes me wish I had two simultaneous lives, and one of them was yours.
that was EXACTLY when I first allowed myself to get lost in "Blonde on Blonde."
and don't even get me started on the profound love I still feel for, first, the Olympia SM9 I schlepped through Europe in '69 and, later (and more permanently) MY HERMES 3000! it might actually still be on my storage unit. if I allowed it to get lost, I don't deserve to have the thing, probably the typewriter with the sexiest touch of all time...
during the pandemic, I did manage to find a delightful old Rocket from (I'd say) the late '50s.
then there's the Olivetti that needs work. and the gorgeous Adler (garage sale) with the Lithuanian keyboard but the sticky --e key. and the sort of mistake, which is the Olympia SM4, which requires bionic knuckles...
two typewriter guys get crazy real quick, right?
and I'm not prepared to get STARTED on "Blonde on Blonde," which is now one long meditation...
The morning after my high school prom, I boarded a 727 for Denver, then a bus to Aspen. I was a serious oboe student and my teacher had invited me to the Aspen music festival for intensive study. It was the summer of 1966 and Johnson had just mined Haiphong harbor. Robert McNamara was relaxing in his summer home there, and a few students organized a small protest outside his house. He came out dressed in pressed khaki pants and blue shirt, politely requesting we go away, as his wife was ailing, and politely we did. Later that summer on a full moon night, somewhat against my better judgement, a group of us headed up the mountain in a jeep driven by a beer guzzling guy who managed to navigate the twisting road despite being inebriated. It was a very cool night of adventure for an 18 year old kid from Long Island.
Skiing was certainly good for relationships, be they long term or overnight - no social media, no cell phones ("call collect" they said) - life was cleaner.
I was a tad later ('74) - after a drunken night off in Innsbruck (on a grueling Kinks tour) 9 of us, of the 15 who promised to "learn to ski" the next day gathered at 6AM (!!! uncivilized !!!), wearing our jeans and some gloves we bought at midnight in the hotel lobby, boarded a minivan and were deposited at the base of the Innsbrucker Nordkettenbahnen - the tram to the North clouds. After a morning of "lessons mit Franz" (75 if a day) and a serious lunch at the Restaurant Seegrube - unlimited wurst, kartoffelspalten and a pitcher of beer in front of each chair, Franz announced "OK! Now you are Skiers!!" -- he hands each of us a booklet of lift tickets and said with great gusto "Auf Wiedersehen!" and skied off as quickly as he could back to town. Nobody died. Was hooked. Of course at the time I had Seven Springs and Ski Liberty! in PA to hone my skills - home of the Master's class in defensive ski ice edging. Still at it. Or I will again - may give the 50th season a pass as I get my new left knee this month...
Sweet story. Your new school teacher friend must have had some tales of her own to tell when your name went national. … It snowed where I grew up—sledding snow. Not ski country, and I never thought about skiing till my first NYC job, at a big, prestigious ad agency in the Mad Men era. In winter, most coworkers my age who weren't limping around on crutches had an arm in a sling. I decided to waste away my weekends in West Village bars and Macdougal Street coffee houses. That's how I happened to know Hunter Thompson before his Aspen, even his RS, days. His best friend broke my heart, but I never broke a bone. …
I would take Hunter Thompson over a mogul any day of the year. My own ski career is worse than checkered. All my kids were great skiers, so when their wonderful stepfather asked what they wanted to do for a Xmas vacation they said, "Ski!" I'd never done it, so I was booked into a lesson. When we were all dressed up in the snowsuits and clunky boots my elder daughter asked if I wanted to go the T-bar. (I heard "tea bar.") I thought I would get cocoa. Well, I got going, couldn't stop, and threw myself down and broke a nail. I never did take that lesson.
A wonderful Christmas story! It triggered so many memories of skiing in the 60s and 70s...in old wooden skis with impossible bindings, baggy stirrup ski pants and ten pounds of heavy, sweaty wool by the time you got down the hill. Falling off those darn rope and T-bar tows. The way the inside of your nose got stuck together in the dry cold. Fun times.
That was a magical era in Aspen. I'm lucky enough to have experienced it also. I still live in the valley, and love it, but that particular kind of magic is much harder to come by, now.
"... not a relationship It was magic." Had a few of those. Nice way to put it, Lucian. 1968 Aspen. Eloped with a banker's daughter from Chestnut Hill named Annie Wister. When we got back to Philadelphia (I had a broken ankle... long thongs on 213 HEAD GSs, the ones with with the P-tex yellow bases) in deep powder under a hidden fence rail the day after the Roch Cup) the banker sat me down in his study, caressed his fancy engraved shotgun and asked me what my intentions were...
You've painted a wondrous picture of what was a last glisten of the sparkle of what we now routinely slap the "60's" label on. In Soderbergh's 1998 "The Limey" (if your readers haven't seen it, they must), the famous-in-the-'60s L.A. rock producer (Peter Fonda perfect casting) tells his latest 35-years-younger-than-he-is, adoring blonde lover, who wants to know about that she calls, "a golden moment, huh,"
"Have you ever dreamed of a place ... you don't really recall ever having been to ... a place that probably doesn't even exist except in your imagination ... somewhere far away, half-remembered when you wake up ... but when you were there you spoke the language, you knew your way around ... (significant pause) That was the 60's." (Another pause) No, it wasn't that, either. It was '66 ... early '67. That's all it was." In the L.A. record business -- and Christmas '67 in Aspen.
Walking arm and arm in the rain with Ariana last night on MacDougal and Bleeker in search of the perfect falafel and shawarma. My daughter recently returned from nearly two decades of West Coast studies and work-play continuum.
Even in the city, the smell of pine trees being hacked and readied for sale, pervades.
I love your Snowmass story. It sure does sound like magic. Here's a Snowmass story for you:
In my substack essay "'One Crowded Hour' on the road to Telluride"[1] I wrote about my brother Paul, one of the founders of the sport of snowboarding, and a trip I made with him from Colorado Springs to Telluride in 2007, when Paul was dying of ALS and his wife Jennifer was in a life-and-death fight with leukemia (which she won, yay).
Paul met Jake Burton Carpenter, founder of Burton Snowboards, when Paul was 15 and Jake was about 21. Starting when he was a senior in high school and all through college, Paul spent his summer vacations working with Jake to create Burton Snowboards. This was at a time when the company was basically just a dream in Jake's head, and snowboarding was not allowed at a single ski resort, anywhere. Snowboards were only used like 'snurfers' in back yards and golf courses, places where kids went sledding. When Paul graduated college he went to work full time for Burton Snowboards. His employee # was 2. Jake was #1.
Shortly after Paul joined as a full-time employee, Carpenter left to spend a year in Austria studying ski-making, and Paul, at the age of 22, became Burton's Vice President for North American Operations. When Jake came back to the states he told Paul, "I will buy you a season pass at any ski area in the USA. You go, meet the safety director, and convince him or her that snowboarding is as safe as skiing." I think Paul visited about 30 slopes that winter. In 1980 or 81 he was featured in both Playgirl and Penthouse magazines during the same month. I remember that because my sister Muggs brought both magazines to the dinner table at Easter at my parent's house, saying 'Who knew my baby brother was such a hunk?', and, (opening to a nudie picture in Penthouse), 'Mom, this doesn't look like Paul, does it?' And the story goes on from there. . .
Below, a video of Paul at Snowmass around 2005 or '06. At this point he could no longer walk, but still had good control of his upper body. The sit-ski that he rides was made by an outfit whose name I forget that was developing devices like this for people with conditions such as Paul's. Burton Snowboards and Jake Burton Carpenter himself were big financial supporters. This sit-ski was custom-built for Paul.
The video was made by Paul's best friend from childhood, Rob Burnett, who was (obviously) a skilled skier himself. Rob also knew a thing or two about video production, as he was David Letterman's partner, and producer of Late Night and a half-dozen TV shows. For the last 15 years or so Rob has been deeply involved with Project ALS[2], working on a cure. I believe that he is still on the board of directors. Jake Burton Carpenter was also involved, until the time of his death in 2019.
Love this. Brings back memories of student standby adventures and a particular snowstorm my senior year of high school (1969) when I, in my father's VW, couldn't make it all the way home from a yearbook meeting because once you got off the state routes the plows weren't keeping up with the snow. I got rescued by the couple in the car behind me, who turned out to be the aunt and uncle of a classmate; they'd recognized the school parking sticker on my rear window. My father and I rescued the VW the next day. The metro Boston area was pretty well shut down for days, and school didn't reopen for a week.
Magic is the word. When life manages to achieve perfection.
Thank you. What a great read.
Magic. That is the first word that came to mind after reading this wonderful memory.
Same here. Wonderful to read and also to think of those times where everything so fell into place that not one thing could be substituted in the memory to make it better.
Christmas vacation, 1967. Mine couldn't have been more different. My parents’ apartment in NYC, listening to “Blonde on Blonde” over and over as I typed all night on my Hermes 3000, because Viking Press was going to publish my book and it was due. That was the start of a good run for my last few months of college, but your story makes me wish I had two simultaneous lives, and one of them was yours.
that was EXACTLY when I first allowed myself to get lost in "Blonde on Blonde."
and don't even get me started on the profound love I still feel for, first, the Olympia SM9 I schlepped through Europe in '69 and, later (and more permanently) MY HERMES 3000! it might actually still be on my storage unit. if I allowed it to get lost, I don't deserve to have the thing, probably the typewriter with the sexiest touch of all time...
during the pandemic, I did manage to find a delightful old Rocket from (I'd say) the late '50s.
then there's the Olivetti that needs work. and the gorgeous Adler (garage sale) with the Lithuanian keyboard but the sticky --e key. and the sort of mistake, which is the Olympia SM4, which requires bionic knuckles...
two typewriter guys get crazy real quick, right?
and I'm not prepared to get STARTED on "Blonde on Blonde," which is now one long meditation...
Totally loved this. Like making a friend in a typewriter repair shop.
right??? same here.
The morning after my high school prom, I boarded a 727 for Denver, then a bus to Aspen. I was a serious oboe student and my teacher had invited me to the Aspen music festival for intensive study. It was the summer of 1966 and Johnson had just mined Haiphong harbor. Robert McNamara was relaxing in his summer home there, and a few students organized a small protest outside his house. He came out dressed in pressed khaki pants and blue shirt, politely requesting we go away, as his wife was ailing, and politely we did. Later that summer on a full moon night, somewhat against my better judgement, a group of us headed up the mountain in a jeep driven by a beer guzzling guy who managed to navigate the twisting road despite being inebriated. It was a very cool night of adventure for an 18 year old kid from Long Island.
did you happen to encounter an arrogant horn player named Steve Richman?
Nope. I met John Cerminaro who went on to the NY Phil.
that's crazy...a year after MY summer there.
I assume you spent time hanging out in Ivan's bookstore, right?
and where in Long Island?...I'm a Flushing boy myself.
Idyllic.
Skiing was certainly good for relationships, be they long term or overnight - no social media, no cell phones ("call collect" they said) - life was cleaner.
I was a tad later ('74) - after a drunken night off in Innsbruck (on a grueling Kinks tour) 9 of us, of the 15 who promised to "learn to ski" the next day gathered at 6AM (!!! uncivilized !!!), wearing our jeans and some gloves we bought at midnight in the hotel lobby, boarded a minivan and were deposited at the base of the Innsbrucker Nordkettenbahnen - the tram to the North clouds. After a morning of "lessons mit Franz" (75 if a day) and a serious lunch at the Restaurant Seegrube - unlimited wurst, kartoffelspalten and a pitcher of beer in front of each chair, Franz announced "OK! Now you are Skiers!!" -- he hands each of us a booklet of lift tickets and said with great gusto "Auf Wiedersehen!" and skied off as quickly as he could back to town. Nobody died. Was hooked. Of course at the time I had Seven Springs and Ski Liberty! in PA to hone my skills - home of the Master's class in defensive ski ice edging. Still at it. Or I will again - may give the 50th season a pass as I get my new left knee this month...
Sweet story. Your new school teacher friend must have had some tales of her own to tell when your name went national. … It snowed where I grew up—sledding snow. Not ski country, and I never thought about skiing till my first NYC job, at a big, prestigious ad agency in the Mad Men era. In winter, most coworkers my age who weren't limping around on crutches had an arm in a sling. I decided to waste away my weekends in West Village bars and Macdougal Street coffee houses. That's how I happened to know Hunter Thompson before his Aspen, even his RS, days. His best friend broke my heart, but I never broke a bone. …
I would take Hunter Thompson over a mogul any day of the year. My own ski career is worse than checkered. All my kids were great skiers, so when their wonderful stepfather asked what they wanted to do for a Xmas vacation they said, "Ski!" I'd never done it, so I was booked into a lesson. When we were all dressed up in the snowsuits and clunky boots my elder daughter asked if I wanted to go the T-bar. (I heard "tea bar.") I thought I would get cocoa. Well, I got going, couldn't stop, and threw myself down and broke a nail. I never did take that lesson.
A wonderful Christmas story! It triggered so many memories of skiing in the 60s and 70s...in old wooden skis with impossible bindings, baggy stirrup ski pants and ten pounds of heavy, sweaty wool by the time you got down the hill. Falling off those darn rope and T-bar tows. The way the inside of your nose got stuck together in the dry cold. Fun times.
That was a magical era in Aspen. I'm lucky enough to have experienced it also. I still live in the valley, and love it, but that particular kind of magic is much harder to come by, now.
"... not a relationship It was magic." Had a few of those. Nice way to put it, Lucian. 1968 Aspen. Eloped with a banker's daughter from Chestnut Hill named Annie Wister. When we got back to Philadelphia (I had a broken ankle... long thongs on 213 HEAD GSs, the ones with with the P-tex yellow bases) in deep powder under a hidden fence rail the day after the Roch Cup) the banker sat me down in his study, caressed his fancy engraved shotgun and asked me what my intentions were...
You've painted a wondrous picture of what was a last glisten of the sparkle of what we now routinely slap the "60's" label on. In Soderbergh's 1998 "The Limey" (if your readers haven't seen it, they must), the famous-in-the-'60s L.A. rock producer (Peter Fonda perfect casting) tells his latest 35-years-younger-than-he-is, adoring blonde lover, who wants to know about that she calls, "a golden moment, huh,"
"Have you ever dreamed of a place ... you don't really recall ever having been to ... a place that probably doesn't even exist except in your imagination ... somewhere far away, half-remembered when you wake up ... but when you were there you spoke the language, you knew your way around ... (significant pause) That was the 60's." (Another pause) No, it wasn't that, either. It was '66 ... early '67. That's all it was." In the L.A. record business -- and Christmas '67 in Aspen.
Thanks for the memories.
Love your story.
It smelled like pinion pine, felt like heaven.
Thank you for bringing it all back.
Walking arm and arm in the rain with Ariana last night on MacDougal and Bleeker in search of the perfect falafel and shawarma. My daughter recently returned from nearly two decades of West Coast studies and work-play continuum.
Even in the city, the smell of pine trees being hacked and readied for sale, pervades.
A great Christmas tale! Thanks for sharing it, I'll read it again on Christmas.
The snow sounds like Massachusetts in 1978.
I love your Snowmass story. It sure does sound like magic. Here's a Snowmass story for you:
In my substack essay "'One Crowded Hour' on the road to Telluride"[1] I wrote about my brother Paul, one of the founders of the sport of snowboarding, and a trip I made with him from Colorado Springs to Telluride in 2007, when Paul was dying of ALS and his wife Jennifer was in a life-and-death fight with leukemia (which she won, yay).
Paul met Jake Burton Carpenter, founder of Burton Snowboards, when Paul was 15 and Jake was about 21. Starting when he was a senior in high school and all through college, Paul spent his summer vacations working with Jake to create Burton Snowboards. This was at a time when the company was basically just a dream in Jake's head, and snowboarding was not allowed at a single ski resort, anywhere. Snowboards were only used like 'snurfers' in back yards and golf courses, places where kids went sledding. When Paul graduated college he went to work full time for Burton Snowboards. His employee # was 2. Jake was #1.
Shortly after Paul joined as a full-time employee, Carpenter left to spend a year in Austria studying ski-making, and Paul, at the age of 22, became Burton's Vice President for North American Operations. When Jake came back to the states he told Paul, "I will buy you a season pass at any ski area in the USA. You go, meet the safety director, and convince him or her that snowboarding is as safe as skiing." I think Paul visited about 30 slopes that winter. In 1980 or 81 he was featured in both Playgirl and Penthouse magazines during the same month. I remember that because my sister Muggs brought both magazines to the dinner table at Easter at my parent's house, saying 'Who knew my baby brother was such a hunk?', and, (opening to a nudie picture in Penthouse), 'Mom, this doesn't look like Paul, does it?' And the story goes on from there. . .
Below, a video of Paul at Snowmass around 2005 or '06. At this point he could no longer walk, but still had good control of his upper body. The sit-ski that he rides was made by an outfit whose name I forget that was developing devices like this for people with conditions such as Paul's. Burton Snowboards and Jake Burton Carpenter himself were big financial supporters. This sit-ski was custom-built for Paul.
Paul doing the half-pipe at Snowmass: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MspwZy0gHG4
The video was made by Paul's best friend from childhood, Rob Burnett, who was (obviously) a skilled skier himself. Rob also knew a thing or two about video production, as he was David Letterman's partner, and producer of Late Night and a half-dozen TV shows. For the last 15 years or so Rob has been deeply involved with Project ALS[2], working on a cure. I believe that he is still on the board of directors. Jake Burton Carpenter was also involved, until the time of his death in 2019.
1. One Crowded Hour on the road to Telluride: https://open.substack.com/pub/johnsundman/p/one-crowded-hour-on-the-road-to-telluride-e87
2. ProjectALS: https://projectals.org/
A very nice tribute to your brother. Many improvements to that particular skateboard have been made since. He made that happen too. My best to you.
OMG, what a beautiful piece. Thank you.
ahh yes
,beartrap bindings with cable latches up front.
best thing was watching ski bunnies in stretch skipants working at trying to throw the latches.
Love this. Brings back memories of student standby adventures and a particular snowstorm my senior year of high school (1969) when I, in my father's VW, couldn't make it all the way home from a yearbook meeting because once you got off the state routes the plows weren't keeping up with the snow. I got rescued by the couple in the car behind me, who turned out to be the aunt and uncle of a classmate; they'd recognized the school parking sticker on my rear window. My father and I rescued the VW the next day. The metro Boston area was pretty well shut down for days, and school didn't reopen for a week.