Killington was in the town of Sherburne in 1965. I remember going to the Sherburne Town Meeting in March of 1966. The ski area shut down until noon as the men all attended the morning portion of the meeting. It was mainly devoted to the highway department. A lengthy debate occurred about whether the town should buy a gasoline-powered or diesel-powered plow truck.
Meanwhile, the women cooked the noon meal, which everyone enjoyed. After that, the men went back to work, and the women tended to the afternoon part of the meeting, which was devoted to the school. I remember a flatlander who had run for the school board and had an impressive educational background. The incumbent director was not nearly as qualified academically but looked after the school morning and night, making sure the heat was on and so forth. The incumbent was reelected.
Outside Operation
Operations engineer was a 24/7 job, and there was no handbook. To help figure out what we should be doing, a small group of us would ski at another ski area on a mid-weekday off. We would bring a letter of introduction and obtain complimentary day tickets. I would seek out the outside operations manager and get a tour of his operation. I would compare notes and bring back any information with which I could improve our operation.
It turns out my administrative military experience was more useful than I expected, as my first order of business was to reorganize the Outside Operation. I instituted lift preventive maintenance. I assigned each snowcat to a sole operator and instructed the operator that he was to be fully responsible for the care and operation of his snowcat. When the cats continued to experience drive failure and needed constant repair, I figured out that the Tucker snow cats ran on cleat-driven pontoons designed to “float” in deep western snow, not the hard frozen granules of the Northeast. Emmitt Tucker himself made a trip from Oregon to visit us. He was astonished at the way we were using his inventions. Unfortunately, there was no other option at the time, and we continued to make the best of it.
As I started to implement changes, it became clear that as a 25-year-old newcomer in charge of a crew of much older Vermonters, my ideas would need to work. The more outside operations improved, the more I gained their trust.
The key people running the outside operation were all local Vermonters who were significantly older than me. They were:
Ray Billings in charge of lift and vehicle maintenance, assisted by Paul Bessette.
Ed McDonald in charge of the upper lifts – Killington 1, Snowden, and the three Poma platter surface lifts.
Royal Biathrow in charge of the lower lifts — Snowshed 1 & 2 and Rams Head.
Henry Biathrow in charge of trail grooming.
Gardner Taylor, our electrician, assisted by Mel Harshberger.
Ray Tarleton (The plumber) in charge of the snowmaking operation. Ray and his son, Steve, also groomed trails at night.
George Wesson in charge of the ski patrol and summer construction.
Reorganization
I decided dividing the lift and vehicle maintenance operations would be essential. I put Paul Bessette in charge of lift maintenance and gave Ray Billings the motor pool. Billings was furious with me and didn’t speak to me for at least a month. Henry Biathrow asked Billings if I had cut his pay. Since I hadn’t, Biathrow asked him what he was complaining about.
Biathrow remained in charge of trail grooming and maintenance. I instituted a program requiring the ski patrol to submit a daily report indicating which trails needed grooming. These reports became the trail groomers’ nightly marching orders. Royal Biathrow remained in charge of the “lower lifts,” and Ed McDonald remained in charge of the “upper lifts.” George Wesson remained in charge of the ski patrol. These organizational measures had an immediate positive effect as the outside operation started to run more smoothly. These tough, older Vermonters began to accept their new, younger boss. Deep down, we all wanted Killington to operate smoothly, and we began to come together as a team.
Oren Bates
Helen and her husband, Oren Bates, owned 1,000 acres of hay fields and woodlands extending out from their farm. Oren Bates, who died in 1982, was a Sherburne selectman, State Legislature representative, and early ski resort supporter. He sold their farmhouse and 70 acres to Killington founder Preston Leete Smith in 1956 for $3,000, and the house is still there today, now the headquarters of Killington Valley Real Estate Inc. The fire station in Killington was named after Oren.
When I first moved to Killington, I rented a chalet from Hank Huntoon, a businessman from Rutland. It was a nice bachelor pad, but my living arrangements would change when I got a call from my father and his brother, Carnick, telling me that Carnick had a 10-foot-wide house trailer that I should buy (much nicer than the smaller, 8-foot-wide option). The house trailer had become available due to a tenant leaving my uncle’s trailer park in Salem, New Hampshire. I paid $2,000 for it. However, there was a slight problem: I had nowhere to put it. I figured Bates was the best guy to ask about finding a place for it. Bates said he could fix a spot to accommodate the trailer and that he had already driven a water well on the site. (I never did get an explanation as to why he had a driven well on an empty piece of land.) He said he didn’t know how much rent to charge but would see what “they” were getting in Rutland. He came up with $25 per month. Okay, deal.
We agreed on a date when the site would be ready, and I arranged to have the 10-wide trucked up to Killington. When the day arrived, Bates wasn’t ready for it, so I parked the trailer on the side of the road. Eventually, he instructed me to show up after work so we could set the trailer. Bates’ teenage son, Truman, operated the bulldozer while he and I placed concrete blocks under the trailer, precariously teetering on the lot’s downward part. To make matters worse, it started to pour rain. It was late in the fall, and soon, we were working in pitch dark as the temperature plunged toward freezing. As the rain poured off Bates’ wide-brimmed hat, he turned to me and said, “Be more comfortable if it wa’n’ rainin’.”
With that, I knew Bates had accepted me. Little did I know that the $25 per month included his nightly visits, snow plowing, and backblading the Roaring Brook Road during mud season. When I left Killington, Bates bought the trailer for $2,500. He said his daughter needed it.
Slippery Slopes is an ongoing series written by James Kachadorian about the early days of Killington. Look for future installments each week in the Mountain Times.
