I roomed in Starr Hall my Freshman and Sophomore years and Sig Ep (Sigma Phi Epsilon) in my Junior year. Local building materials of blue limestone and marble made for a stunning collage of buildings throughout the campus. Middlebury has always been known for its language schools, and Le Chateau was the centerpiece of the French school and one of the main tourist attractions on campus. The Old Chapel (then serving as campus administration), and Meade Chapel were two other buildings of note on the main campus. The Sig Ep house was utilized in the summer by the Italian language school and other buildings used for other languages such as Spanish. Originally the college had a 43,000 (+/-) acre mountain campus. Some 30,000 acres was made available to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service to be included as part of the Green Mountain National Forest. In return, the Government built Forest Hall, and enhanced access to the remaining 13,000 acres, which included the Bread Loaf School of English as well as the Middlebury Snow bowl, its lodge, ski trails and ski jump (50 meters) then one of the largest college facilities in the country (DII-6).
I wasn’t invited to pledge a fraternity until my sophomore year where I basically walked in with no hazing or ridiculous pledge quests, which was OK by me. It just so happened I roomed with a lot of members my first and second years in Starr Hall, and made some good friends along the way. Back then, SigEp was really the “jock” fraternity on campus. Many of the top skiers and football players were members. Of course it didn;’t hurt that I was a member of the football team and while not good enough to be on the ski team, I did manage to become an active member of the Ski Patrol (the folks that brought bodies down the mountain on toboggans). My football was played as a backup fullback (DII-7).
Yep, there I was in the second row # 43 right next to Ralph Loveys #47, A Little All American End. He was something to watch in action. He too was a member of Sig Ep and voted to the Little All American football team. Two pieces of related action I remember were: 1. Me when I came closest to injury on the field. During a big game, I was occupying my usual position at the end of the bench (just because the bench was full). All of a sudden, a big play and we all jumped up to see and cheer. While we were up a big lineman squeezed into the middle of the bench someplace and he had more than the average sized butt. Since he didn’t replace anyone, when we sat down, something had to give. Being on the end and not knowing he was added to the mix, it was me that was pushed off the end into the water bucket. Now that did stir up a sideline furor. I mean the water bucket had to be refilled quickly with all the cups picked up, etc. Of course my dad and mom were in the stands that particular weekend. I remember his comment after the game that he at least saw me make one play, and that was a beaut.
The other piece of action involved Ralph, and it was off the field. In fact it was one Sat. night and he was about 3 sheets to the wind, when a cute little gal, “Peanuts’ ‘ Commiskey came calling looking for her boyfriend. Ralph answered the door and seeing her blurted out “hello pretty little thing, what is your name?” She of course responded “Peanuts’ ‘, and Ralph not quite understanding responded, “Penis” what a strange name for a girl”. Like a cat, she leapt up and connected with a roundhouse to the side of his head, where he carried a “mouse” for several days to the absolute delight of the brothers. Don’t think he got hit that hard all football season.
Now skiing and ski jumping. In 1951 the camera sequence shown in DII-8, was almost unheard of back then, but it shows an almost perfect jump by Chris Mohn, a Norwegian exchange student we were happy to have compete for our side, At the time this was the largest jump (50 meters) on any college campus in the United States. Jump classes were determined by the length of the landing hill. I include the jump sequence because as my role on the Ski Patrol, one of the tasks was to be a judge in measuring the length of the jumps. I did this along with 4 other judges (5 in all, 2 on side and 3 on the other). We were all equipped with a super long bamboo pole which would reach to almost the center of the landing hill. We would position ourselves as close to the estimated landing zone as we could. As the jumper landed we would note where we thought the rear heel of his boot came down. Most of the time we were pretty well clustered around the same spot, and we would together call the distance down the 50 meter landing hill. The odd number of judges assured there would be no tie in calling the distance. During full length as performed at Winter Carnival, or other national or international meet, jumpers would sit on a bench at the top and launch off down the steep jump that had a slope of 36 to 40 degrees, build up speed (up to 95 mph on the larger jumps). That first part of the jump is known as the run-up and concludes through the transition to the take-off point. Jumping competitions falling below the champion level mentioned (high schools, ski clubs, etc) would be accommodated by moving the bench down the jump structure. This would reduce the speed and distance of jump. The landing hill is pitched to coordinate with the jump structure, so jumpers stay relatively close to the ground. The “hill size” point of the hill is the bottom at which point the hill size (length) is measured, in this case 50 meters. Here the hill transitions abruptly to flat or slightly up, to allow the jumper to slow down and stop (crash),
While seemingly easy enough, there were some serious spills taken over a given year. The worse I witnessed was while I was on measurement duty. Some guy came barreling through the transition toward the take off when his ski binding broke. The ski flew one way while the jumper took off but in a pinwheel landing about where we were but on his back and then tumbled all the way to the bottom, where he lay quite still. Stretcher and ambulance showed up and transported him to the hospital (badly broken femur and concussion). Standing out on that landing hill for an entire jumping competition could be brutally cold. With no trees around, the wind was usually a contributing factor. One weekend we had a state highschool meet. The actual temperature did not rise above -15 degrees. I maintained the boys had such great form simply because they were frozen that way.
Winter Carnival was held in February, and what a weekend that was. From Thurs. thru Sun. where every day was filled with events. While hockey and basketball had games, the main events were on the ski slopes and jumps. Colleges and Universities from all over the country (upper tier only) and parts of Canada having a ski team showed up. My first year (1948) I was simply a spectator, having been on campus only a couple of months. By the winter of ’49 I was a SigEp member and a full fledged member of the Middlebury Ski Patrol (part of the National Ski Patrol System). I still didn’t have a date for Carnival, so I was heavily involved in ski patrol and hill management activities. Part of those activities was to monitor and repair bare spots on the downhill racing trail.
Another job involved presence on slalom courses during the race. Any slalom course is composed of gates, open and closed. In giant slalom, simple open and closed gates are used, which makes for a rapid transverse. In a regular slalom, gates are open, closed and are paired in a row (hairpin) forcing the skier to make a fast shallow turn to get skis and both boots through both gates. Sometimes, more than two closed gates are arranged in a line (flush). To negotiate such an arrangement, the approach had to be slowed to make sure skis and boots got through each of the gates (DII-8).
It really didn’t matter where the body, legs and arms go so long as the boots (feet) and skis go through the gates. In theory, a course could be run with every flag knocked down with no penalties assessed. If the skis or boots miss a gate, or straddle a gate post, then there is a penalty assessed which is in terms of time added to skier’s time through the course. Because of this there has to be gate-keepers to assess penalties if they occur and to pick up and replace flags knocked over. In addition, most of these so-called open slopes are treacherous and cause some serious falls, thus a toboggan or two are always available (and the folks to man them). In a so-called Giant Slalom, only single open and closed gates are used and the course is widened and lengthened. In a regular slalom, open, closed and combinations thereof are used in a much tighter and shorter course (more arduous).
At this carnival, two of us Ski Patrol types were stationed in the middle of the slalom course by a 3 gate flush. With us was a pretty, strapping girl by the name of Joan McAlear. While she sure wasn’t petite, she didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on her, and a person who looked and was in great shape. Along with being a gate attendant, she was the captain of the women’s ski team, considered one of the best downhill and slalom skiers in the country. Down the course toward our gate came a competitor traveling far too fast to handle the flush, and his ski caught the uppermost flag throwing his leg and foot outside the gate. He somehow recovered, made it through the second gate and totally missed the last gate. Well, Joan properly applied the penalty required for such transgressions. A while later the guy came skiing down shouting obscenities at being docked for missing the flush and when he finally finished his tirade, he was right next to Joan, who so far was doing great. He crossed the line when he shouted it was terrible the college had no more sense than having the gates monitored by a mindless female who clearly knew nothing about skiing in general and the slalom in particular, This was all done in a particularly annoying French accent. Regardless of accent however, Joan who held up pretty well to this point, simply hauled off and delivered a resounding roundhouse right to his face and set him squarely on his sitter. Where he sat nose bleeding and a swelling beginning around his eye. As if on cue, my partner said “Oh my, did you fall? I didn’t see anything, did you?” “Not a thing” I said, and to the fallen idiot, “do you need transport down the mountain”? Whereupon (understanding the situation) he scrambled up and shuffled off muttering in a language I didn’t recognize. Joan thanked us profusely to which we replied, what for, we didn’t do anything and didn’t see anything either. She just smiled, rubbed her hand and we were off down the mountain.
Skiing events were more than just the jump and slalom, but also included the downhill races which were carried out on narrow trails sliced through the woods, and cross country, which were miles long marathons requiring narrow, short and light skis (vs. the long, thick and heavy skis of the jumpers). Except at the finish line, the ski patrol was seldom needed for the cross country events. These events, much like the running cross country events in track, usually finished in a stadium where there were bleachers for spectators to watch the sometimes remarkably tight finishes.
The ski patrol was needed on the downhill races, where the width of the trail was about that of a two-lane road, wider in some places, narrower in others. One day I was on duty with two fellow patrol members during an intercollegiate meet. I don’t remember if it was the Winter Carnival or not. We had several meets during the year. The 3 man toboggan crew worked as a team. The lead guy was in front (bow) of the toboggan with his feet pigeon toed such that the tips of his skis touched forming a “snow plow”. The two other guys were on each corner of the back (right and left flank) of the toboggan side slipping. The bow man steered and the flanks controlled the speed, and controlled much of their weight. The Ski trails were not smooth, and were made to be tough to navigate with any consistent great speed. The Green Mountains, like most other forested lands in the East, had been subject over the years to extensive logging. Most of the existing woods were composed of 2nd or even 3rd growth trees. Clear cutting was seldom done, and so the practice of selective logging left a residual forest containing trees of many sizes and ages, suppressed or dominant. Many years ago a tram (a narrow gauge railroad) was built to move logs off the mountain to loading docks where they would be trucked to various mills or processing facilities, While it no longer contained the tracks, this tram right-of-way cut across the trail at almost right angles. The hill was steep, so the right-of-way looked like a dam, narrow and flat on the top-hill side, and sharp drop-off on the down-hill side. About 100 yds., up the trail was a hair-pin curve, so banked that when the skier came out of it they were almost on the “dam” (as it was known), and they better have control of their speed.
The hair-pin itself was a challenge. The way the turn was banked, coming through too “hot” could throw a competitor off course and into the woods very quickly. Because of this, my two cohorts with the toboggan stationed themselves at that point. The “dam” was down a trail some 100 yards, perhaps less, but I chose to pick that spot simply because it was more fun to see the skiers confront and deal with the dam. Of course we were on station ahead of time and while there were phone connections between the starting gate and the finish line, there was none in between. When we needed to know something, like the race is beginning in two minutes, for example, a skier would ski down and tell us and others that needed to know along the trail. It was a beautiful day after several days of snow and cold. A cobalt blue ski and a deep cover of fresh powder snow (the kind from which you can’t make snowballs). Conditions were similar to what you see at Meade Chapel (DII-6). It was just a delight to be outside.
Before long, a skier came around the hairpin, not racing but leisurely and in control, and stopped and chatted with my two buddy’s. The skier left them, headed my way and slid up next to me as pretty as you please, literally. There next to me stood a “drop dead ” beautiful Nordic blonde young lady with deep sparkling blue eyes with a stocking hat on her head. She was sent down the trail to alert us to the first skier to take off in 3 or 4 minutes. I thanked her, of course and she wondered why I was where I was while the other guys were at the hairpin, and I explained it was more exciting and in many ways instructive to watch the action at the “dam” and how the skiers handled it. We continued to talk, and she was so easy to converse with you almost forgot how beautiful she was and what the heck were you doing talking to her in the first place. Well, while she had to go to the bottom, I was the last person she had to give the message to. She had to meet her team at the lodge below, since she was a coach of the University of Utah’s women’s ski team. We introduced ourselves and I mentioned that I was a Sig Ep fraternity member and served on the Middlebury Ski Patrol. She must have stayed 15 or 20 minutes before she said she needed to get down the mountain. She sincerely said she enjoyed our meeting and perhaps we will see each other later on, and off she went following the last racer down.
See her again? In my dreams. I was so far out of her league, I just considered it lucky I had a few moments to chat with her. It sort of made my day. About that time I heard my guys shouting and I looked up and saw a racer flying out of the hairpin, barely in control, and barreling my way. He was not aware, or at least prepared for the “dam” which he flew over with flailing arms and legs. He landed awkwardly and flew off the trail and crashed amongst a coppice of small trees. By the time the clouds of snow settled, my colleagues were there with the toboggan and we eased down to the fallen skier, who was strangely quiet, but not out. Broken ankle it looked like. In those days, binders holding ski boots to the skis were not that reliable and many racers would increase the stability by wrapping the boot to the binder, or harness with a longthong (a long rawhide lace) they would wrap in figure 8 style (like an ace bandage, sort of). Well, when rawhide becomes wet and frozen, you might as well try to untie steel strands. So we literally had to cut him out of his skis, leaving his boots on, which served as a weak (but serviceable) splint until we could get him down the mountain. Well, we managed to get him down, but we were pretty pooped out when we finished, which luckily was late afternoon, and the skiing competition was done for the day.
It was Saturday, the big night of Winter Carnival at the fraternity house. Already guys were entertaining their gals in the front room. I was able to sneak in to my room (fortunately it was not yet occupied by some over exuberant brothers and their dates), changed, grabbed a bite to eat and with a couple of other dateless guys, went to town to down a beer or two and spend some time with Steve Baker who had a room right on the edge of town. When I got back to the house about 10:00 or so, I was greeted at the door by a brother who asked where the heck I had been all night. I told him and asked why he wanted to know. He said in effect, a beautiful blond chick was here looking for you, if you can believe it. “You have to be kidding”, I said. “No, and the saddest part of it all was she stopped by 3 times. I was beyond belief devastated, but upon later reflection, it may have been just as well. Lesson #6: Never underestimate your attraction or value to others. Strong self confidence, genuine congeniality and sunny disposition can work like a magnet on others.
Of course skiing was not the only feature of my college life. The town of Middlebury was located in an idyllic location in the first place. Right in the center of the Lake Champlain basin, it was framed between two mountain ranges, the Green Mt’s East and the Adirondack Mts. West, just beyond the Lake. Agriculture and apple orchards in the valley and mink farms and forest operations (including maple syrup) in the foothills and mountains just east of us. During the winter and spring, the folks loved to come and visit. In the winter it was skiing, not at Breadloaf, but locally cross country. All around the Dog Team Tavern, where they stayed, were farm fields deep in snow. We would spend all afternoon just skiing cross country, careful not to be tripped up by a strand of barbed wire just above the snow line, which happened to me once (that smarted!). Ma loved the Dog Team, and back then in the early ‘50’s, it was indeed an arduous drive from Fairfield to Middlebury, and when they would arrive on a cold late afternoon, Mrs. Joy (Place was run by Eben Joy and his wife) would greet her at the front door with a hot cup of tea, and with a roaring fire in the big stone fireplace, it was quite a welcome. I loved it when they were there too because the meals were great, especially breakfast where “sticky” rolls were prominent on the menu (DII-7)
Now Middlebury itself had good accommodations in the form of the Middlebury Inn, which included a nice bar, which we took advantage of in our later years. Middlebury also had a major river running through it, Otter Creek. Flowing northwest out of Middlebury, this river flowed into Lake Champlain. This was the exact site where Benedict Arnold built a rag-tag “navy” that defeated the British at Crown Point, just across the Lake in New York during the early days of the Revolutionary War. The area was just steeped in American History.
As far as Pop was concerned, all this was fine and dandy, but his main interest was in a tributary to Otter Creek, the New Haven River that sprung up within the Bristol Wilderness in the Green Mts. Here the spring fly fishing was superb, especially dry fly. Dry flies are designed to float on top of the water, just like the real ones laying eggs, and (with luck) a hungry fish will rise to snatch them. After a few casts, it is necessary to dry the cast several times to dry the fly so it won’t get water logged and sink. They really need to look authentic. Many fly fishermen will spend considerable time trying to “match the hatch”, that is the prevailing insect currently landing on the water. While Pop was dry casting back and forth, dang if a bird didn’t swoop down and snatch the fly. Of course, birds (fly catchers for example) coveted the bugs as much as the fish did. Now I have forgotten if we caught any fish on that day, but I sure do remember the expression on Pop’s face when he caught that bird (too bad we didn’t have iPhone camera’s back then). Fortunately the bird didn’t swallow the fly, and was able to dislodge it on his own and scurry away. God knows what we would have done had he not done that.
As I have indicated, the big annual event at Middlebury was the Winter Carnival held in February each year. As mentioned, I had no date my freshman year, but as a sophomore, I invited Shirley Thompson (Toby little sister), who all of a sudden transformed from a skinny, bony annoying typical little sister to a most attractive young lady with the most beautiful dark red hair I have ever seen. Her personality transformed with her, and she was a sheer delight to be around. Our relationship was strictly platonic at that point, I guess because we had known each other so long that any other thought was too foreign to consider (on both sides I suspect). After attending a performance of the glee club up in Meade Chapel, a friend in the glee club came up to me and commented on my date. Oh, I said, how so? Her beautiful red hair. When we were in the chapel, the sun was shining through a side window and landed right on that hair, and it really shimmered in the light and every guy in the club noticed, and smiled. Shirley arrived on the “Rutland Rocket ”, our name for the passenger train that served Middlebury and points north to the Canadian border, at least. It is the same train that traveled the Housatonic river valley by our family camp. Originating in New York, it turned north in South Norwalk CT. I took it several times. It was most uncomfortable, but my Mom was insistent that I be dressed properly with a coat and tie. (If the train was wrecked, she didn’t want me to be found looking like a bum). Coat and tie didn’t stay on long after departure. But man, talk about a slow and rough ride! One could almost swear that we were traveling on square wheels. And slow? You bet. The story was told about a guy asking the conductor if he could go faster, whereupon the conductor answered: “Certainly, but I am required to stay with the train”. Another story was told about a person asking the conductor if the railroad would accept any suggestions, and the conductor responded: “yes, of course”, and the person opined that: “perhaps you should remove the cow catcher from the front of the engine and reaffix it to the caboose, for there is little danger of overtaking a cow, but what would prevent one from getting on the back of the train and biting one of the passengers?” Well you get the picture. In spite of all of that, Shirley made it up in one piece, and we had one heck of a weekend. She left for home that Sunday to finish her senior year in secondary school before heading off for college the following fall, the Rhode Island School of Design as I remember. Haven’t seen her since. I have heard she has done well, married a guy named Kane and has raised a great family, which is a good thing.
The rest of my sophomore year was uneventful, except for one more event that was to change my life. Middlebury was located in Addison County, and one day the county forester came to give us a little talk on what he really did. His name was Art Heitman, and we sort of hit it off, and he said if I was interested I could go out with him during the week and Saturdays as my schedule permitted. So it was that I spent many afternoons with him and learned the art and science of cruising timber. I learned how to use a Biltmore Stick (a metered stick when held horizontally at arm’s length at a certain distance from the tree, the diameter could be determined, and likewise the height when held vertically at a given distance – usually a chain (66’). Even more important, I learned the impact of topography and tree species locations (pine and hemlock on north-facing slopes, hardwoods on south-facing slopes, etc). I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and was surprised that they actually paid folks to spend their lives in and around trees and forests. Middlebury didn’t have a forestry school, but through my geography minor there was a vector we could pursue. At that point, geography became the major at least in my mind. Geography has two major divisions: physical which is akin to geology but more oriented toward physical land structure rather than the more complex subsurface rocks and minerals. There was also economic geography which together with the physical explained where people settled and made a livelihood. My geography professor (Roland Illick) received his doctorate degree in forest products and his dad was dean of the Syracuse University School of Forestry. Something to focus on. While initially disappointed, if I had been accepted to Wesleyan, I would have missed the whole fantastic Middlebury experience.
Lesson #7: Never miss the opportunity to capitalize on disappointment (or failure). If addressed properly (positive, upbeat and forward driven), it can be one of life’s most important directional signs. This has proven true in my case many times. If you are successful, it is probably due to what you learned from failure. What (you might ask) was Joyce doing all this time? Well she matriculated out of Cushing Academy and was attending Beaver College located just outside Philadelphia PA. The college (now renamed Arcadia University) occupied two campuses, one in Jenkintown and the other in Glenside PA.