Saddle Sore: The ski patrol strike of 1971

Note: It was the Aspen Ski Corporation until 1978, when the name was changed to Aspen Skiing Company. Additionally, there were no women on the patrol until 1978, so it was always “patrolmen.”

Not that long ago, we were having an early brainstorming session about what and how we might want to present information in the future ski history museum (over by Willoughby Park). After listening to comments from the public, yours truly made the intemperate remark that not all of the history is good or exemplary and that we needed to include some of the underbelly of the beast to maintain credibility. To which a member of the group, gobsmacked by my comment, loudly replied that there couldn’t possibly be anything untoward in Aspen’s ski history.

For one, there was the ski patrol strike of 1971, which got national attention. I had worked the trail crew the previous winter (The crew that got laid off) — the same winter that both the patrol and trail crew voted to unionize. Getting laid off was water under the bridge, so to speak, and I was, in the fall of 1971, a newly-minted, official ski patrolman on Aspen Mountain, my dream job. Hardly dry behind the ears.  

Almost immediately, the pressure was on us, as members of the Teamster’s Union, to go on strike against the Aspen Ski Corporation. The prevailing wage at the time, was capped at $2.97 per hour, a ridiculous-sounding number today, although most labor jobs in the summer were paying $2.75-3.00/hour. And patrol members were required to work six days a week. Pay was one of the grievances, the layoff of the trail crew another, but there were others such as a meager equipment allowance and costs of outside education, such as advanced first aid. 

Being a new guy, this writer was not impressed with the arguments to strike and tried to avoid the issue by taking a leave of absence, an impossibility it was learned. The Aspen Mountain patrol was a tight-knit group, of which, out of about 18, only one or two members refused to honor the strike. 

It was, of course, a personal decision for everyone, either way. It seemed clear to me that, agreed or not, we must stick together with the overwhelming majority. Our compadres were skilled men who, usually working in pairs, safely hauled injured skiers off the mountain, sometimes performed life-saving procedures, threw dynamite (bombs) into hazardous avalanche zones; men whom we trusted to be our eyes and ears when we skied avalanche-prone areas together, zig-zagging the slopes. In these and all cases, we trusted each other with our safety but, more importantly, our lives. To me, as a fellow patrolman, it was impossible to cross the picket line of such men.

On Dec. 22, 1971, both the Snowmass and Aspen Mountain Ski Patrols went on strike. Negotiations up to that point had been difficult, and being led by the Teamster’ Union, the patrol was basically relying on the union for good advice. All but one on Aspen Mountain went out on strike; about ½ the patrol at Snowmass participated. 

It was a losing proposition; the town had little sympathy for our position; many tourists, who’d spent a fortune to get here for Christmas and lodging, declared sympathy but declined to honor the picket line. The Ski Corp., with good foresight, had lined up replacements, so that there was no interruption of mountain services. The ski world moved on; we beat the pavement in front of Little Nell, including some below zero days, until Jan. 24, 1972, when we gave it up. 

The idea, as presented to us, was that we could shut down Aspen Mountain by going on strike. After a day or two of that, management would capitulate to our demands, we’d go back to work and life would be better. It just didn’t work out that way. All strikers had been replaced and, as such, were not rehired, although it was left (by the NLRB) that as the patrol needed new hires, replaced workers would be asked to return in order of seniority. 

We were paid $10.00 per week for walking the picket line, cash at the Red Onion each week. Unemployed, that ten bucks was not good for much except beer money. The Red Onion and Pub were our offices.  

Personally, it was a lean winter. We all took a beating, no doubt. Ski racing became my bag, and I got my Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) certification, one of the first in Aspen to do so. Surely though, I missed the patrol. Drove for Mountain Ambulance a few days each week. Volunteered at the hospital emergency room. 

Some good changes did come forth. Wages were increased through the implementation of a merit system. Starting wages might have been ten or twelve bucks an hour; EMTs were getting fourteen. My rehire happened fairly quickly, although in the end, the whole thing was a chapter I’d like to forget. 

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.