7' 3" Wooden Skis, a 1935 Ford Phaeton V-8, and other gems from Roger Page's colorful life of skiing

In my last column I wrote about Hannes Schnieder, Austrian national and American immigrant before World War II, and ski school pioneer in the 1930s and '40s at historic Mount Cranmore, N.H. While doing a bit of research for that column, I sought out Rangeley's own skiing legend, Roger Page for some help. An inductee in the Maine Skiing Hall of Fame in 2004, Roger told me about meeting Mr. Schnieder at Stowe, Vt. in 1946, and working with Hannes' son, Herbie, as early ski instructor examiners in the '50s… among other reflections on his colorful life as a skiing pioneer.

I sat down with Roger in his classic Main Street ski and apparel shop on a Sunday afternoon to mine his encyclopedic memory about his life in skiing in general, and Hannes Schnieder in particular. Over two and a half hours of delightful conversation and 11 pages of hastily scribbled notes later, I got what I was looking for, and to my delight, much more.

As we settled into the conversation, Roger asked me, "Well, where should I start?" Reflexively, I replied, "How about telling me how you got into skiing in the first place?" From that point on, I think Roger sensed my sincere interest in his story. My questions were obliged with a string of anecdotes and memories that Roger wove into a tapestry of adventures, coincidences and influential characters that added up to a very worthy life story.

My challenge was to get it all into this column! I decided not to try to condense a life that should not be condensed. What follows is a series of vignettes of Roger's early days that seemed particularly pivotal in a life of skiing that started in 1924 in Lunenburg, Mass. and progressed to Rangeley, Maine via Colorado, California, Utah and back to New England.

The first key moment came with a diagnosis by the family physician, a Dr. Hitchcock in Fitchburg, Mass., who detected a heart murmur and advised that there shall be no "team" sports in Roger's future. Young sport that he was, Roger didn't let that dictum get in the way of his athletic interests. The Fitchburg Town Pond was nearby, and the individual sport of speed skating became his new passion. Roger also noted that Dr. Hitchcock is long dead, while his own heart, alleged murmur and all, is still ticking quite well, thank you.

Then his family moved to the other side of town where "all the Finns and Swedes lived." There was a good sized hill nearby where he and the other self-taught kids hiked up and skied down for hours on end on borrowed skis, or barrel staves, while risking life and limb during semicontrolled runs to the bottom.

In 1939, at the age of 14, he got his first pair of wooden skis and a pair of leather Chippewa ski boots at Sears & Roebuck. The skis were long, as dictated by the conventional wisdom of the day. Roger recalled he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach their tips.

When he was 16, he met a local Swedish skiing enthusiast named Roy Immanuelson who became an early mentor. He took Roger to Temple Mountain, N.H. where they had a rope tow and some instructors. It was there that he learned some controlled skiing techniques that undoubtedly contributed to his surviving the teenage years.

Borrowed rides to ski country was getting old, so while a senior in high school, he and his sister got jobs and saved enough money to buy a 1935 Ford Phaeton V-8 for $100.

At Christmastime in 1941, Roger, his sister, and friends drove up to historic Mount Cranmore, rode the "skimobile" up to the top and skied down the wellknown Rattlesnake Trail.

Ski instructor "Wild Bill" Currier of Ipswich, Mass. taught Roger further fine points of ski technique at Temple Mountain. The two of them soon headed to Tuckerman Ravine on Mount Washington. Hiking up with heavy packs and skis to the Harvard Hut, they skied the "Hillman Highway" first, and then the famous "headwall."

After high school, stories of Colorado and its 14,000- foot peaks were filling Roger's head, thanks to a coworker at the local DuPont nitrocellulose plant where the gunpowder component was being made for the war effort.

When the war ended, Roger's dad returned from his U.S. Navy tour in the Pacific on an attack/cargo ship. He could tell that skiing, and tales of Colorado, were stirring inside his son. Roger recalls his dad telling him "A rolling stone gathers no moss, but gets a nice polish." Armed with that paternal encouragement, Roger headed to Colorado behind the wheel of that '35 Ford Phaeton.

Alas, the handsome Phaeton died in McCook, Neb. He sold it for $100 and took the train the rest of the way to Denver. From there he hitchhiked to Leadville where the high peaks disappointed him. He then hitched further west to Aspen. He found that there "was nothing there" (how times have changed since then), so he made his

way north to Glenwood Springs and took the train to California… that westward itch was still at work. Perhaps the Sierras had something to offer.

To fund his continued roaming in quest of skiing opportunities, he worked for a time at Calman Electric in Los Angeles making components for Hoover Dam, then under construction on the Colorado River. Recurring thoughts of the New England hills and his skiing roots soon got the best of him. Roger got on the train for a return to the East coast. However, a couple days skiing at Alta, Utah with those 6'9" wooden skis proved an interesting interlude on the trip. Yet again, he wasn't impressed enough with the facilities and the skiing to cash in his train ticket to New England.

Upon his return, Roger still had the itch to teach skiing and actually get paid for it… Another hitch-hiking trip, this time to Stowe, Vt. where he had heard they had a thriving ski school, was soon on his agenda.

At Stowe, he met Sepp Ruschp, a fourevent Austrian Ski Champion, who ran the ski school there. Roger soon became one of Sepp's ski school staff but not before he obeyed his new mentor's dictate: "turn in those short (6'9") skis and get a pair that are 7' 3" long, or you won't teach in my school!"

Among Mr. Ruschp's admonitions to his talented young ski instructor regarding ski racing was, "If you are going to start a race, you finish it! If you lose a ski, you finish on one." Roger said he never forgot that advice.

Clearly he hasn't. His race through a life of skiing continued undeterred, teaching with the Austrians at Stowe for seven years. Among his students were two who later became U.S. Olympians. Roger later came to Sugarloaf in 1957 to participate in a downhill race, liked it here, and moved to Freeman Ridge outside of Farmington. He was soon the assistant ski school director at Sugarloaf under another Austrian whose name he couldn't recall.

In 1958, Roger and a number of acquaintances in Rangeley saw the potential for a fine ski area at Saddleback Mountain. Visions of that big mountain experience coupled with the many lakes offering so much in the summertime, turned his attention to the Rangeley area, and he never looked back. The post-1958 period, chronicling Roger's influence on the Rangeley, as well the state of Maine's skiing scene, is another column in itself. I think I will hold that discussion for next winta'.

I really don't know how to conclude other than simply stating that Roger Page is truly a living treasure in these skiing hills of Maine. Whenever you run into him or his lovely, and always smiling, wife Patsy…you can't help but feel a real sense of privilege to know such a warm, wonderful couple who have given much over the years to their community, and their chosen life's passion…alpine skiing.

By the way, Roger… I just saw on an antique car Web site that you can pick up a nice, restored 1935 Ford Phaeton V-8 for the bargain price of $52,000! (I'll have to go back and see if perhaps its history includes McCook, Neb.!)

Per usual, your comments are welcome. Write them on the back of an original $10 share (circa 1958) in the planned Saddleback Ski Area and drop it off inside the door of our mudroom on the west shore of Gull Pond… or simply send an email to allenwicken@yahoo.com.