We are getting used to Summit County, Colorado. Over the past 2 weeks we have skied Breckenridge, Keystone, Arapahoe Basin, and Vail. The idea is to get better, and today we were happily – well, maybe not happily, but with a modicum of attenuated terror – handling bumps and blacks. And minimal injuries! All I have is a slight boo-boo to the ulnar collateral ligament of my right thumb, called a skier’s thumb. Suffered during a fall on a steep run when I crossed the tips of my skis. Then my nephew, who lives in Denver and knows Vail well, took me to the back bowls (also known as The Legendary Back Bowls – Colorado does not seem to have a problem with poor self-esteem, does it!) and my left hallux (big toe) got all jammed up and developed a sub-ungual hematoma. Yah. My toenail is now purple. I know! Gross!
OK let’s move on.
So, after we had wings and Hefe Weisen at Pepe’s in Vail Village, we walked up the cobbled sidewalk and saw this enormous statue of a soldier. It was a 9-foot rendition of an infantryman of the 10th Mountain Division, clad in white, skis on the right shoulder, carbine slung across his back, dark books striding and a dark visage peering into the middle distance from under a helmet covered by a white hood. Children were pelting him with snowballs.
What is the Army doing in Vail Village? I am hopeful that most of the full-time residents know the answer, but the incongruity is hardly subtle. This is no bivouac area. Here you can visit the Patagonia store, Yeti’s Grind (coffee), and La Tour (haute cuisine, ooh la la) and see ladies and gents with snow parkas so exquisite the flurries refuse to fall on their lapels.
The 10th Mountain Division (LI), originally known as the 10th Light Division (Alpine), brutally fought in the mountains of Italy and Austria in the closing years of World War II. They are now based at Ft. Drum, NY and just happen to be exceptionally cool, in all senses of the word. They often go where there is no snow, but for training in the 1940s they had to go to California, Washington, Colorado, and there they returned after the war to open dozens of recreational ski areas, including Vail.
I stopped and looked at the kids. A boy and a girl, 8 or 9, were laughing and scooping up snow. The boy especially had a good arm and packed a firm snowball. He smacked SGT Leonard Wood in the left temple. He didn’t even flinch! Just stood there, taking it. And another snowball, right in the ol’ gizzard. And then the boy snuck up from behind and really let ‘im have it, left calf, right shoulder. It was a combination worthy of a prizefighter.
You might think this is an ideal occasion to pontificate on the disrespect these unruly children displayed in the presence of an icon, an American soldier who went in harms way, who sacrificed, who is a hero, who deserves respect from all generations, even worship.
I’m hanging back on this line of thinking.
I would bet that SGT Wood, were he somehow alive inside this immutable statue, would be laughing. He’d be happy as a clam.
But why?
For one, I think the sergeant would be sane enough to not take himself too seriously. This was not the Reschen Pass, this was not an artillery barrage. Just kids. Having fun. And playing with him! What a gift. He probably wished to get down on hands and knees and make a few snowballs himself and (gently) lob them at the children, careful to aim wide and long, finally scooping them both up with a bear hug of very sincere affection as they ended the winter game.
For two, I think the sergeant could sense, if not explicitly understand, that children who can play with glee and abandon are the product of strong women and men who have protected them, who have defended their homeland, who have thwarted enemies who sought to kidnap and rape and torture and mutilate and conquer. Men and women of the 10th Mountain Division, active duty and veterans, know that the world is a dangerous place. SGT Wood knows this too, first hand. Let them throw snowballs, run and laugh, sleep soundly. These are measures of success.
We could go on, as there is plenty to unravel about the pros and cons of the military life, but maybe it would just be better to play in the snow.
— — —
This week I plan to re-read Animal Farm by George Orwell, published in 1946. Sort of a 1940’s and WWII theme, perhaps. Tomorrow we drive to Crested Butte.
Winter is here; stay warm and well.
Scott D. McLean, MD 