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| The Chisolm Junior Ski Team (Rumford, ME) in the 60's. |
STORY No. 73
BOB ZINCK
Age 55
Groton, MA
Chisholm Ski Club, Dartmouth Outing Club, U.S. Ski Team [cup
of coffee]
I have so many memories it’s tough to pick one. So I’ll send two.
As high school seniors in 1975 some Chisholm Ski Club guys
from Rumford, ME were in Mont Ste. Anne, Quebec, in March with some of the
world’s best also there. It was a 50m
jump, good for us, fluff for the big boys.
After the weekend we decided to beg, borrow, or steal our way to Thunder
Bay, ONT for the next weekend’s tournament on the new 70m and 90m hills. Once out there the extreme cold prevented
early morning skiing. One morning,
sitting around the hotel, Gerry Austin, our coach, found the biggest star on
the FIS circuit, Walter Steiner, in the lobby.
He had entertained Walter with his stories and they became
friendly. He “encouraged” Walter to
accompany him to a hotel room of bored Eastern guys, myself, Steve Mickeriz,
Michel Voboril, Bernie Wells, et al.
Gerry knocked and was told to buzz off.
Second and third attempts to enter were met with derision and
mockery. Finally, after saying he had
the World’s Champeen and he wanted to talk some jumping we opened the door and
stared up at all 6’5” of the man. Walter
graciously ran a clinic, answered questions, and laughed with us for an
hour. An unexpected bonus and a lasting
memory. It is hard to believe his
legend could grow any more, but it surely did after that.
The second also involves Gerry Austin. It was late season following the Berlin, NH
meet. The in-run tower didn’t hold snow
the week after the meet, so we decided to build a jump on the knuckle of the
knoll and get some air for those of us who hadn’t jumped anything bigger than a
50m. Gerry planned to drive from Rumford
to Berlin with as many flyers as could fit in his GTO. We put 5 or 6 pairs of jumping skis on the
rack, and fastened a piece of 4x8’ plywood underneath to use for a take-off
platform. About 3 miles west of Rumford,
ME, at 50 mph, the air tore off the ski rack.
We heard a loud crash and looked back on Rte. 2 to see skis and plywood
flying through the air before crashing down on the highway. At least two of the pairs were new
end-of-season acquisitions and were now splintered beyond recognition. That ended our trip for that day, but gave us
all a good laugh [some of us took years to laugh]. Our parents were not pleased with the extra
cost of replacing skis, but all ended well.
Just another day in a sport and “family” which has influenced and
inspired me for life.
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