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David Mitchell
I just thought of a kind of fun memory to share.
When my dad and I started skiing together (after he saw me glued to the TV set watching the 1960 Winter Olumpic games from Squaw Valley) it brought us closer together. We skied in western New York for the first time and then a week in Canada (at the grand old Mont Tremblant north of Montreal) foloowed by a couple family trips to Colorado. And he bought into the partnership that owned Snow Trails in Mansfield (where I taught Tom Litzinger, Dennis Wichester, and several girls to ski). But Dad and I always talked about what it would be like to go to Austria, which we likened to skiing heaven.
So I went off to the University of Denver (to ski, of course) but became bored and decided to get into another life-long passion. I wanted to join the university's "student flying club", where you could enroll for lessons and get a private pilot's license for a really cheap fee.
I called Dad and aksed if I could enroll in the club. He said "not until your grades come up". I got into the only argument that I ever had with my father, right there on the phone. I slammed the phone down and told my dorm room mate, "I'll show him". So I came up with this ingeniuous plan that only a 19 year old could think of. I decided to quit attending class, and they would flunk me out - putting me beyond dad's reach of control.
It worked!
But I had to come home that summer (1967) and try to appease my parents for my error and the wasted tuition. Then began my search through the various "recruiting offices" - first Air Force, then Navy, then Marines. All required 2 to 4 years of college to enter flight school. Jeez! What had I done?
When a friend asked, "Have you heard about the Army's Warrant Officer Rotary-Wing flight school program for guys with just a High School diploma?" My answer was, "No, but how fast can I sign up?"
I signed on a "deayed enlistment" program, meaning I was committed (Dec '67) but would not have to leave for boot camp until after January 1st. And what followed that January you have all heard plenty about.
But back to my story. Dad got a notion that it was time too go for the big dream. In early December, Dad and I flew to Vienna, where we visited an old friend for a few days, and then back to Munich, where we rented a car to drive over that god awful pass down to Innsbruck - at night, in a driving snow storm!
We spent two nights in Innsbruck and I called an old classmate who was a student there at the tme, to drop in and see him and take him to dinner. Over that dinner, he informed us that his roommates skiied, and that they said the snow was not good yet in Innsbruck, but to drive further west into the "Arlberg" region - St. Anton, and further west.
We did that and ended up going all the way over the pass to the little village of Lech ("Lech am Albererg"). We stumbled into a magic kingdonm of good snow and the most charming little 400 year-old Inn, the Alte (Old) Gasthof Post. We stayed about 10 days and had a fabulous time. The Ilittle Inn was a memory I will never forget - oozing with charm and at prices (when the "D-mark" was still cheap, my Dad could hardly believe it!)
I just found these photos of the very updated and greatly expanded old Inn that I would like to share with you.
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