Heads I win, fails I lose: Tales from Sun Valley days

Back in the late 1950s, every Christmas my mother and I used to spend our winters up in Ketchum, Idaho, at my 'Uncle ‘Charlie’s’ log cabin that fronted a beautiful stretch of the idyllic Big Wood River, directly across from the base of the famous Sun Valley Ski Resort’s ‘serious’ mountain, Bald Mountain (known to locals as ‘Mt. Baldy’).

Uncle Charlie, a reputable and well-known physician & surgeon in the Twin Falls/Burley area in Southern Idaho, had returned from the war as a Lt. Colonel in the US Army Medical Corp, eager to get back to a civilian medical routine after all the blood & gore he had been exposed to in field hospitals. His experiences in Europe introduced him to the sport of snow skiing when he followed General Mark Clark’s divisions up from North Africa on their way up the boot of Italy, towards Germany and what better way to forget the horrors of war than to sweep down a ski run in a beautiful mountain wilderness setting?

After mustering out of the army and returning to his successful practice in Southern Idaho, Charlie learned of the Sun Valley Resort development, situated only about 79 miles north, that had been established in 1936. It was at that time a serenely wild and beautiful natural environment and parcels of riverfront property along the Big Wood River there were relatively cheap, which prompted him and another colleague in medical practice to each purchase a cabin site directly on the river.

Charlie’s cabin was constructed of logs and stood about two stories tall, with a lower floor plan containing two large bedrooms (with toilets) and a combined living/kitchen/dining area. A spacious sleeping loft that held three large beds was built on the second floor, joined to the lower level by a connecting staircase also constructed of logs. Featuring large, scenic glass windows and a magnificent central fireplace staircase built from hydrodynamically rounded rocks that had been quarried in the river out front, it was about as close to being a simple ‘cabin’ as the Taj Mahal and commanded a spectacular view of both the river and Mt. Baldy’s broad lower base. Not far away and also along the riverfront, Dr. Kelly, Charlie’s partner in Burley, Idaho’s pioneering ‘cottage hospital’ had constructed another sprawling ‘log cabin’, both of these magnificent structures having been designed by well-known resident architect associated with the Sun Valley Report complex.

In the early 50s this level of relative luxury was roughly comparable to what many movie stars today enjoy in Aspen & Vail, Colorado. And of course, Ketchum is almost contiguous with the Sun Valley Resort…so much so that when one refers to Sun Valley most people include the formerly rustic, ex-mining camp of Ketchum as part of it. For all practical purposes they are virtually one and the same.

The Sun Valley Resort was the brainchild of Union Pacific Railroad executive W. Averell Harriman, who hit upon the idea of creating a luxury winter ski venue in the scenic Blane County (Idaho) region just north of the quaint, rustic old communities of Hailey and Bellevue. The Ketchum/Sun Valley site is located very near the southern Sawtooth National Recreation Area and comprises a spectacular Alpine-like backdrop, making it the ideal setting for a winter sports resort of the sort Harriman envisioned.

Bald Mountain, standing at an altitude of about 9150 feet, is characterised by its convenient protection from prevailing northerly winds and a relatively uniform pitch to its slopes that offers high quality intermediate and advanced skiers with a variety of difficulty ratings, whereas nearby ‘Dollar Mountain’, with moderate, treeless slopes offers excellent skiing for beginners and intermediates and families. In creating the Sun Valley Resort, Harriman thus established the first Winter ‘destination’ in America and it set the style and served as the model for all the large succeeding and well known Western US ski resorts that followed (such as Vail, Aspen, Snowmass, et al).

Harriman, who was a lifelong ski enthusiast well versed in the delights of Swiss ski resorts, wished to develop a winter ski resort of his own to rival those found in the European Alps and hired an Austrian named Count Felix von Schaffgotsch to canvas the Western United States for a site suitable to meet Harriman’s concepts.

After much relatively fruitless searching that took him through Montana, Colorado and Utah, Schaffgotsch finally determined that the site of the present Sun Valley acreage in the Big Wood River valley was ideal as a resort venue. Bald Mountain itself was the near-perfect ski mountain in Schaffgotsch’s expert estimation, with excellent snowfall, sunlight, elevation and wind protection to assure complete satisfaction on the part of the most demanding skiers.

Since a railroad spur of the Union Pacific Railway already extended to Ketchum (originally constructed as rail transport access for shipment of mining materials), which by then had ceased to be a major source of silver, lead and galena ores, comfortable year-round transportation to and from the resort was assured.

Schaffgotch quickly reported back to Harriman that he had found his ideal resort site and Harriman himself soon made a visit to confirm Schaffgotch’s findings. Concurring completely, the old Brass Ranch, a 4000 acre cattle holding near Ketchum was acquired cheaply and soon construction began that resulted in the opening of Sun Valley Resort in 1936 for about 1.5 million dollars. A mere 7 months after construction was begun, the resort was ready to receive guests and Harriman cannily invited the most famous and well-known of Hollywood’s movie stars to experience the new vacation site as winter visitors, running special Union Pacific Railway excursion trains for that purpose from Hollywood in California.

Word spread rapidly about Harriman’s exclusive new playground for the famous and wealthy and such well known A-level movie stars as Gary Cooper, Clark Gable and Lana Turner queued to be the first to book passage on the train. Thus, the resort became an instant ‘in-place’ for the well-heeled, the famous and the wealthy of that era as word of its unique ‘wilderness’ setting spread, its fame as a premier ski resort soon extending all the way to the European Alps that had inspired its creation. Before long, the entire world (thanks to a massive national promotion coordinated by the Union Pacific Railway) regarded Sun Valley as ‘the’ place to see and be seen at and it quickly gained an international reputation. It wasn’t long before national magazines of prominence (Look, Life & the Saturday Evening Post foremost among them) were carrying glitzy pictorial articles on the resort, showing America’s celebrity darlings carving up the snow slopes there, or apres-skiing in notoriously swank, adult watering holes as the ‘Boiler Room’, in the basement of the resort’s famed Challenger Inn.

Meanwhile, my Uncle Charlie had managed to establish for himself a unique and spectacular vacation cabin almost in the very heart of the new Ketchum/Sun Valley development, paying a mere pittance for his efforts. Quickly becoming known for his excellent medical reputation, it wasn't long before Charlie was signed up to provide medical services to some of the more well-known stars at the resort.

It was to this beautiful cabin of his that mother and I travelled during Christmas holidays, to share the seasonal joys and special holiday atmosphere that prevailed at Sun Valley. Since Ma was a school teacher, she had quite liberal vacation entitlements (despite relative low pay levels for school teachers back then) and we thus were able to avail my Uncle’s hospitality for another magical winter holiday at Sun Valley.

My memories of this period in my early life are still fresh, etched in my recollections as brilliantly white visions of feathery snowfall drifting down upon the native pines outside the picture windows, as the play of spotlights out front captured that splendid seasonal setting. Inside, with a blazing fire stoked in the walk-in hearth and strains of then very popular George Gershwin’s captivating music (An American in Paris, Rhapsody in Blue, etc.) playing on the phonograph over in the corner of the main room, to say it was magical is considerably understating the case. Especially considering the relatively poverty and somewhat desperate lives being eked out, back in the post-dustbowl San Joaquin Valley towns where Ma taught basic subjects to semi-illiterate ‘Oakie’, ‘Arkie’, and ‘Ozarkie’ children in her 6th grade classes.

If I never have another fond memory penetrate my depressive awareness of the increasingly crass, banal and dumbed down life we Californicans (sic) are forced to live these days (thanks to the unending, relentless barrage of insidious commercial marketing hype that strives to reduce public awareness to that of a banana slug…apologies to UC Santa Cruz, of course, whose mascot is a specimen of the ubiquitous Ariolimax Californix genus), I shall die content.

Arriving at the cabin, which necessitated forging a path from Ketchum to the frontage of the densely wooded Big Wood River, we would park the family Oldsmobile (Da’s prized, high-powered 1936 Coupe that Ma had inherited upon his demise) in the snow, out behind the cabin, trek out the 50 feet or so to the auxiliary power house (containing a generator and pumps for the plumbing in the house) to power everything up, and lug our few things into the cabin to restore life to it. Chances were good that Charlie’s family had already arrived, it being Christmas, and so the place usually had a warm, cozy and welcoming snugness that belied the isolation of its then relatively remote site along this wild stretch of the river.

I can never forget that one of the first sights that greeted us, when we entered the cabin, was the facing entryway wall on which were arrayed several pairs of skis. Originally these were old fashioned wooden skis fitted with vintage ‘Kandahar’ bindings, also and perhaps more commonly known as ‘beartrap’ bindings (and also ‘cable bindings’). These bindings (named for the archetypal Kandehar Ski Club, back East) were notorious for causing extensive lower extremity bone injuries (spiral fractures of the tibia & fibula, especially, but also many an acute compound ankle fracture) during falls, because they only released at the rear and in the event of a sideways motion put extreme lateral torsional pressure on the bones of the calf.

Those of you who’ve been skiing since the 50s are undoubtedly familiar with the old Kandahar binding and how unforgiving they can be during a fall. The toe-piece, shaped like a broad U-clamp, was secured firmly to the toe of one’s leather ski boots with a cross strap made of leather and did not release at all. Securing the heel of the boot was a bilateral cable that for downhill applications was modestly secured to the ski via a small clamp on both side of the boot. Only in the event of a forward fall would the cable snap free, thus releasing the foot to some extent, but still having an absolutely catastrophic effect on the foot, if the direction of the fall was anything except straight forward.

The skis themselves back then were often surplus US Army 10th Mountain Division skis made of strong hickory wood in white camouflage paint, with the wood tones exposed only after the paint had been chipped off through repetative use. Sturdy enough as they might have been and also quite flexible, the old wooden skis were notorious for causing emergency rooms across the nation near ski resorts to regularly be overburdened by floods of injured skiers dropping in from a hard day of downhill skiing, all suffering predominantly from lower leg fractures.

The classic old wooden Nordic ski, complete with its archaic Kandahar binding, had been standard equipment for decades, little changed at all from the original long skis introduced to the world by Norwegian Vikings. Except for the clamp-toe binding, they might as well have been used by Eric the Red! While the Kandahar binding was certainly a worthwhile improvement over snow-shoe type, leather-secured foot-fastening systems, it was clear that something had to be done to improve a skier’s chances of emerging from a run on the slopes intact and in one piece!

At any rate, everyone in my Uncle’s family (auntie, Charlie and my three cousins) had their own pair of these old skis there on that rack and I must admit that I, as a somewhat poorer member of the family, was wracked with envy every time I passed by that display of ski equipment.

Fast forward two years or so (to about 1958) and there we were once again, at the cabin during the holidays. This time, as we entered, try to imagine my surprise to be confronted by five pairs of brand-new black skis, each strangely smooth and anthracite in color, made of (so it seemed) plastic, with modified cable bindings and a Marker swivel toe release. These were, I soon came to find out, a radical new design called Heads, made of a unique metal sandwich material and the product of an aerospace engineer genius by the name of Howard Head.

The toe sections of these radical new skis that Charlie had bought for his family featured an early swivel-release binding pioneered by the Maerker (latter Anglicised to simply 'Marker') Company of Germany, while the rest of the binding was conventionally cable equipped. Apparently, one of the first places these new Head Skis had been introduced was the Sun Valley Ski Shop at Harriman’s new resort and their story is, I feel, an interesting one.

Howard Head was an engineer at the Glenn L. Martin Aircraft Company, based in Baltimore, Maryland. In addition to being a keen (if reportedly terrible) tennis player, Head was also a passionate skier, having long frequented the small local ski resorts found back in those days in Maryland and New Hampshire.

Head was resolved, in his spare time, and when not helping design military aircraft, to come up with a much more modern, less clumsy and far lighter recreational ski. With the war over with and drawing on his WW2 experience experimenting with aircraft skin construction, he soon rented part of an old warehouse where he could work on putting together something along the above lines. Eventually, he quit his job with Glenn Martin and dedicated himself entirely to this new enterprise.

Using a technique termed ‘metal sandwich construction’, a technique that had seen experimental aircraft structural applications during the war, Head’s new ski sandwiched a thermoplastic honeycomb core between upper and lower aluminum panels, complemented with plywood sidewalls.

Despite their refreshingly light weight, the new skis quickly broke apart when he had tried them out on local slopes. With that, Head readdressed his concept, fabricating subsequent versions of his ski and getting several professional skiers to agree to try out his revised design. Unfortunately, they also broke, requiring several redesigns that eventually (1947) not only withstood the rigors of expert use but proved that they were very likely commercially viable for sale to the post-war public.

Thus in 1950, Head founded his own company, the Head Ski Company. The final product, which head designated his ‘Standard’ ski, had a plywood core (instead of thermoplastic honeycomb material) and a Polyethylene base that would resist the snow clumping tendencies his original model had demonstrated, allowing a smooth and fast, wax-free run. Poor skiers and beginning skiers were amazed at how well they could now ski...so much so that the new ski quickly gained the name 'the cheater'.

The new Head Standard ski quickly became the world benchmark’ in ski design, taking its place as the fastest selling and most popular commercial ski ever made. It was about 1951 that my Uncle Charlie, who was already an avid skier on the old wood skis, took note of the Head Standard the Sun Valley ski shop was selling and purchased a pair for himself. He was so impressed that he soon purchased a few more pairs for my auntie & his three kids, since as a prominent physician & surgeon, he was a bit wealthier than most in this part of Idaho and easily able to afford expenditures like that.

[For the record, Chuck Helm, in 1940 had started the Sun Valley ski shop under the banner of ‘Helms of Sun Valley’, which had become the trendy ‘go-to’ place for anything ski back in those early days, and was largely responsible for the sport of recreational skiing spreading throughout the American West. Helm eventually sold his Sun Valley business to another party and in 1970 relocated to San Jose, California where he still operates a specialty ski business under the Helms of Sun Valley name.]

As for Howard Head, in 1969 Head sold his ski company to a new recreational equipment conglomerate (AMF) and thereafter dedicated himself to the development of a radical new tennis racket with a substantially larger ‘sweet spot’ (his first commercial product was named ‘The Arthur Ashe Model’) which, just like his innovative ski design, quickly took off as a commercial success (Head also later pioneered the even more radical ‘graphite’ tennis racquet). (Head himself was known by all his contemporaries to be a rather mediocre tennis player and is reputed to have developed his new racquet so as to allow him to become a better player.)

But to return to my story (and probably to everyone's relief), for several subsequent years it was my unhappy fate, as a wannabe novice skier to lust after a pair of the fantastic new Head Standards. Especially after my somewhat older cousins began skiing the more difficult Bald Mountain runs on their new skis, frequently ending up ‘off piste’ at the Warm Springs Ranch (a short distance from Ernest Hemingway’s vacation home on Big Wood River), after a prolonged semi cross-country ski adventure.

Uncle Charlie seems to have indirectly overheard some of my enthusiasms over the amazing Heads, since one year, at the same holiday gathering at his Sun Valley cabin, he took me aside and made a proposition: If I would make straight-A grades for one semester at high school, he would let me have a pair of the now pretty much discarded old Hickory skis everyone else had replaced with their new Head wonder skis! And if I maintained straight-As for a whole year, he’d spring for a pair of my very own new Head skis!

I was, needless to say, profoundly underwhelmed and also gravely disappointed by this offer, since unbeknownst to everyone (including my own mother), I suffered from a substantial case of ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder…without the ‘hyperactivity’ component that today, according to the current DMS-5 Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, characterises ‘ADHD’) and making a perfect 4.0 grade point average was for me about as possible for me as flying to the moon without a rocket or a life support system! [I should remark here that back in the 60s there was no such thing as a 4+ GPA, since extra GPA points were not awarded for optional studies and activities beyond those required to complete a standard core curriculum.]

To this day I remain somewhat annoyed by the naive arrogance of that ‘magnanimous’ offer, since Charlie could have easily gotten his poor nephew a pair of Head metal skis without batting an eye, financially speaking. It took many years to figure out that, as a sternly patriarchal, old fashioned Presbyterian, Uncle Charlie, while a guiding light to his community and admired by everyone in town, was to his own family an autocratic and somewhat parsimonious skinflint in most circumstances.

His own kids, my three cousins, each got their Heads the same way he had offered them to me…by being paragons of academic virtue in school. Of course, they all went on to become what most would consider highly successful professionals (one became a medical doctor of infectious diseases, the second a high-ranking vice-president in charge of the Honeywell Corporation’s entire Asian Operations Division, and the third became a PhD). But, naturally enough, none of them had to cope with ADD, either.

As for me, I was regarded merely as a ‘bright underachiever’ by the school psychologist (and nearly everyone else), on the basis of my mediocre school grades, and relegated to the academic recycle bin (much to my mother’s disappointment). Back in the 60s, ADD (and ADHD) was not yet recognized for the severely disabling condition it is today, so there was no ready explanation for a child with a high IQ who failed to make equally high marks academically.

Having thus failed to get my very own Head skis, that tantalisingly unachievable dream must have remained lodged firmly lodged in my head somewhere, for very recently I came across of pair of beautiful and lightly used Head ‘360s’ (one of the first new models introduced after the Head Standard and Professional models had been in use for a couple of years) and snapped them up for a pittance on EvilBay. They still had their original Look Nevada N17 bindings on them, in fact, so now, some 63 years after all the foregoing took place, I finally got my Head skis!

Last week I managed to make a pretty decent run on them up at the Boreal Ski Resort (near Donner Summit) wearing a pair of old 70s vintage Lange boots I still had, and they were amazingly slick on typically heavy, wet Sierra snow for their age. I’m sure everyone around me, outfitted with their new state-of-the-art skis (and snowboards), were wondering about the old geezer schussing about on a pair of black vintage Heads but by my reckoning, one of my most cherished (if heretofore unrealized) dreams had finally been fulfilled (albeit 6 decades after that precipitating event).

I have to wonder a bit about what my high school psychologist would have to say about all this, were he even still alive to speculate, but I guess the best thing I can say is this…never stop dreaming, no matter how old you are.Impossible dreams are what our human lives are all about, after all.

Ski Heil!

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PS: The absolute height of my wintertime ski experiences at Sun Valley, back in the late 50s and early 60s, was probably when John F. Kennedy, little 'John-John', Caroline and Jacqueline, along with the ENTIRE Hollywood 'Rat Pack' (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammie Davis, Jr., Peter Lawford & Joey Bishop, etc.), and probably 20 or so ersatz 'ski instructors' (all wearing dark glasses and trying to hide underarm bulges...JFK's personal squad of Secret Service bodyguards) all trooped into the confines of Mt. Baldy's 'Round House' to warm up after a morning of fabulous runs on the mountain.

I was in there myself, along with my uncle and several of my cousins, when this occurred and we sat awe-struck in one corner of the hut as this tableaux unfolded before our incredulous eyes. Camelot! And so close we could bump elbows with the King and his entire retinue!

After a bit, Caroline, who was seated behind us, said to one of my cousins, "Are you a secret Service man?" [He was wearing a red ski parka, like all the bogus instructors accompanying the Kenndys.]

Barely able to keep from swallowing his tongue, my cousin assured her that he most assuredly was NOT! At which point she turned, and in a loud, shrill voice declared "Well, all of those men ARE!", pointing to all the highly embarrassed G-Men, whose cover had now been thoroughly blown!

Out of the mouths of babes, eh? True story!