More Turns
Of the New Millennium
When we got ready to reconvene for the last and final chapter of this book, Mr Heins walked me over to the far left corner of he compound, the highest point of his fenced rectangle. He had a good-sized telescope mounted on a fence-post, with a comfortable stool under it, aiming south/southwest. The dog was excited, wagging and smiling, and the cat came over to investigate as well, brushing up against our legs.
"Take a look, Mr Buntline."
I removed my spectacles and put my eye up to the lens. My eyes grew bigger: it was amazing, as I could see clearly . . . the ski runs of SunRise Ski Area. But then I scratched my head: "But won't you get frustrated, Mr Heins, to sit here watching everyone else ski while you are not?"
"Aw, Mr Buntline, you forget: I won't be sitting here just watching others ski; I'll be giving actual ski lessons! And I can be at home with the dog more often while I work more from home."
"Oh, that's right! You will be sitting here with your cellaphone on you ear . . . and this telescope at your eye--"
"And, when there's a skier in trouble, if they have a headset on their cellaphone, . . . they can simply call me on my 900-number Hot-Line, for a measly something like $9.99-a-minute, . . . and I'll instruct them down the ski slopes."
"Brilliant, Mr Heins, Brilliant! So you will, in the end, be the one who reaches the most skiers: . . . through your books, your public radios addresses, your videos, . . . and now this."
"Yeah, it doesn't mean I won't ever again be skiing with any of them; it just means I can teach one-on-one privates even when they least expect it."
"Even those with their 'hillier-than-thou attitude' won't be able to compete. Mr Heins, . . . you will be truly immortal. . . . And meanwhile now: . . . for your last charge."
"Okay, Mr Buntline, let's finish it."
If PROHIBITION doesn't work, ABOLITION!
Mr Heins and I know what many of you readers are thinking: that "PROHIBITION doesn't work." Well, we are sorry, but that's a cliché, and it's not even an original thought, as it is taken from the History Books. So, being good writers, we have prepared for this little obstacle. If PROHIBITION doesn't work, then how about ABOLITION!--that worked. The prohibition of booze all through the 1920s and into the '30s was declared to be an abysmal failure, as it turned out to be much too unpopular and much too expensive to enforce, just like the prohibition of the wedge in skiing; but the abolition of slavery by the end of the Civil War turned out to be declared a success. But Mr Heins doubts anyone will really have to continue the pursuit of prohibition or abolition, either one. Here's what Mr Heins says . . . regarding the future of snow-boarding:
"I expect snow-boarding to fizzle-out by itself in just a few more years: they're gonna get tired of not being able to stand up when standing still, their lack of self-respect making them always have to sit on their knees or their butt when the rest of us can stand over them; they're gonna get tired of not being able to climb or traverse across or get around on flat terrain, their own immobility; they're gonna get tired of the injuries or just the strain on their bodies being tweaked one way all the time, each boarder constantly tussling with his own personal Swivel War."
"'Swivel War,' Mr Heins? Could you please explain?"
"Sure, Mr Buntline: Remember, in the beginning, we talked about how snow-board bindings were originally mounted facing the front foot about forty-five degrees forward, so that a boarder might be able to look half-way where he's going? Then the basically necessary 'Riding Switch' phenomenon crept in to relieve the one-sided tension, but they slowly-but-surely found out that forward orientation was too awkward while boarding backwards, . . . so then the bindings gradually became mounted more ninety degrees to board the way most are today."
"Okay? Yes, I am with you: it was inevitable, both the 'Riding Switch' phenomenon . . . and the perpendicular binding orientation."
"Well, then, Mr Buntline, when Riding Switch became almost as comfortable as riding normal, a new monkey wrench presented itself: suddenly, with the binding orientation more perpendicular to the board, loading and unloading the chair-lift became a more difficult chore, scooting on an off the ramps with their lead foot twisted ninety degrees, and the increased likelihood of snow-boarders stepping on skiers' skis and other boarders' boards."
"Ah, precisely, Mr Heins--you can observe the may-hem at the top or bottom of any chair-lift that allows snow-boarders. Only the most acrobatic are less likely to cause a scene."
"So, if it isn't one thing, it is always another, . . . and they will always have their own personal Swivel War, with innocent skiers occasionally caught in the carnage."
"So, when they fix one problem, they tend to create another. It's the natural evolution of snow-boarding, if I may call it that."
"Yeah, the snow-board half-pipe will eventually be replaced by a drain-pipe. The reason it doesn't end right now is the most influential snow-boarders and snow-board rights activists are too embarrassed to admit it's all been a mistake: they spent all that time and energy winning equal rights for snow-boarders--snow-boarding became their main identity, like silly hair-do or a bad pair of shoes. The Terrain Park is nothing more than Handicap Access for snow-boarders and snow-board-sympathizers--isn't it interesting that snow-boarding's heyday, making it into the Olympics in 1998, is parallel with the chronology of events surrounding the ADA?"
"Oh, yes, the American Disabilities Act."
"Have you ever noticed there aren't many old-age snow-boarders? and there probably never will be-- I don't think we're going to need any bumper stickers saying, 'Spay and Neuter your Snow-Boarders.' There is no such thing as a pure back-country snow-boarder--not a live one anyway, unless they have a snow-cat or helicopter to shuttle them in-n-out. I suppose they could get in-n-out using a pair of high-strung tennis rackets for snow-shoes; but, because it's so unnatural, 'back-country snow-boarder' is pretty much an oxymo-ron. --Well, enough of the back-handed remarks."
"So, in the back-country, by themselves, they tend easily . . . to become a statistic."
"I'm not saying we should even outlaw snow-boarding. I can't control people's skiual orientation, and I don't want to be known for going around saying 'You can't do this! You can't do that!'"
"You mean, like Heteroskiual versus Homoskiual Behavior--I guess a few might be Biskual."
"Well, I don't know if we need to get into that, Mr Buntline--that's a whole 'nother fiasco: Gay Marriage and all that--the Rights of the Individual get totally lost in the shuffle!"
"Yes, yes, Mr Heins, we don't hear about Single People getting preferential treatment--and they don't see why the divorce rate is so high: one of the biggest causes of Divorce . . . is Marriage."
". . . I guess, if anal sex is all right, anal snow-sports should be okay too. . . . But, honestly, Mr Buntline, I do think that snow-boarding will pretty much fizzle out in the not too distant future--they themselves will get tired of it. Someday they'll notice: the Power Brokers of Snow-Boarding have persuaded tens of millions to kneel or sit on their butt like a Rogue Religion designed to control the Masses. They'll wake up one day, tired of kneeling and sitting on their butt and not being able to get around on the flat, not being as mobile as a skier."
"Then, Mr Heins, uh what will we do with all the obsolete snow-boards laying around?"
"Well, . . . I've always thought snow-boards would make nice tombstones: they're shaped just right, and sized just right."
"Oh, splendid. Just stick it in the ground, and write and epitaph on it."
"Yeah, I mean, it's better than trying to make a cross out of a pair of skis, . . . which hardly have room for an epitaph. Lord knows, we're probably going to need a bunch of cheap-n-easy tombstones before too long the way the world is going."
"You've always got an answer for everything."
"Well, maybe not everything, but I try to about recreational skiing and a couple of similar topics."
"Well, Mr Heins, all snow-boarding aside, . . . I think people will notice, upon reading this book, that your main goal . . . is just to help as many skiers as you can, and to promote skiing, which is more practical than snow-boarding."
"Yeah, I mean, and all I'm saying is, when you've got a guy who's paid his dues a thousand times over, picking up preschoolers, shoveling roofs, parking cars, as well as being the most dedicated guy to his students for twenty-some years at less than three-quarter pay, . . . you ought to let him have a place in the industry, where he can make a living, a modest living."
"Oh, yes, Mr Heins. I am greatly surprised no mountain has snapped you up to be their ski-school director--surely some of them wish to be more unique and not under the control of the Powers-That-Be, like Bill Briggs's Great American Ski School at Snow King Mountain. Or I'm surprised some mountain marketing department hasn't tapped into your extraordinary creativity. Further, I am flabbergasted that some ski-film-maker hasn't latched on to your Ski-boy Poetry and made some most-entertaining videos of that--and don't forget your Ski-boy-n-Western Music."
"I know, Mr Buntline, I know. I'm only one man, and I can only do so much. I've always tried to be pro-active and make the best of my situation, even while feeling like I've been stepped on by a lot of people."
"Oh, yes, I heard that, when you were willing to park the cars coming to Showdown Ski Area the seasons of '03-04 and '04-05, you entertainingly pretended you were 'landing' the cars . . . as if on an aircraft carrier, the 'USS Showdown.'"
"That's right, Mr Buntline. I did it for all the fighter-jet pilots coming up from Maelstrom Air-Force Base. I figured they would get a kick out of it; but, if I remember right, most of them thought I was a nobody because I was neither a pilot nor a non-car-parker. They couldn't even use their imagination and see me as 'Mr Parker'--the had to see me . . . as 'Mr Nobody." I could see, by the pale moonlight, . . . what looked like tear welling up in his eye. I waited and looked a bit closer, then I was sure of it.
"Now, now, Mr Heins. There, there, it's not going to be so bad from now on," I reached over patting him on the shoulder.
"I know, Mr Buntline. Still, it hasn't been easy. I call some of my old friends and acquaintances . . . to tell them the Good News, that I am about to follow through and cash-in on thirty-years hard work, . . . and all I detect on the other end of the line . . . is that they've written me off as a contender years ago."
"I know, I know. They'll believe it when they see it. They unthinkingly think you've always cried the same old cliché, that you were 'dealt a shitty hand' in life; well, what they don't realize is this: you were dealt the best hand, a Royal Flush . . . or Five-of-a-Kind with Jokers wild, and how frustrating it is that up to now you've never had the bank-roll to back it up and stay in the betting. They have no idea how you've been Turning the Midnight Oil all these years, let alone being a law-man, how difficult it is to be a creative writer in the late twentieth century and especially into this new millennium, with all the ass-kissers and hoop-jumpers being rewarded so well for not rocking any boats."
"Thanks, Mr Buntline, I appreciate it."
"You've kind of been going through the same thing the great Sam Houston went through when he couldn't make it to rescue the Alamo. Up to now, you've had trouble being one guy trying to rescue the ski-school business--they even called Sam Houston a coward. But, what did he do?--he ignored his critics fully knowing he was doing the right thing by retreating as he did. He had to retreat right after the Alamo in order to gather steam; . . . and then, when they finally reached the Battle of San Jacinto, . . . BAM! . . . even though he had fewer men, he had General Santa Anna."
"Thanks, Mr Buntline," he said, regaining his composure, "sometimes you sound like a better writer than I am."
"Those brave men at the Alamo were out-numbered more than four-thousand . . . to less than two-hundred. --It seems to me, at the moment, before your books are out, you are out-numbered millions-to-one! You have every right to feel discouraged. --But we are about to change that all around, as millions will be on your side. . . . Remember the Alamo!" I shook my fist, "Remember the Alamo!"
"Thanks, Mr Buntline, you sure make it easier," he nodded, getting his turn of thought back together. "Remember the Alamo!" he smiled.
"Now, . . . you were talking about the fighter-jet pilots out of Maelstrom Air Force Base getting some of the gravy at Showdown Ski School while you played subservient to them."
"Yeah. . . . These are guys, Mr Buntline," he continued, referring to the fighter pilots, "who, more often than not, think everything in life has to be done . . . 'living on the edge.'"
"Well, they will be surprised when they see this book and your others, and perhaps they'll see . . . that there's more to skiing than carving every turn like a modern fighter jet--which can't do pound-for-pound and dollar-for-dollar some of the same acrobatic antics that the bi-planes of WWI could do, by the way."
"In fact, Mr Buntline, my friend Elton Lee in Montana has told me of a WWII story, where the British desperately needed, and used successfully, their outdated WWI biplanes to disable a German warship named The Bismarck early on in WWII--Johnny Hor-ton even wrote a song about it."
"Oh, that is an interesting headline: the 'OLD TECHNOLOGY DEFEATS THE NEW. See, Mr Heins? You are a far better writer than I am--you think of everything, and you have your own extraordinary skills to back it up."
"Yeah, I mean, if we aren't careful, ranting and raving about all these wonderful new high-tech advances in everything, some time in the not-too-distant future, . . . skiers will end up taking their ski trips . . . from a computer room in Las Vegas."
"Oh, that's right: we have fighter-jet pilots . . . stationed in great American cities like Las Vegas . . . capable of killing the Al Queda and the Taliban soldiers from ten-thousand miles away . . . just by pushing a few buttons or double-clicking with their computer mouse."
"Yeah, it seems to detach us from, or remove us from, all responsibility for anything that happens--do we want that for our downhill-skiing experience?!"
"It does seem easy to get confused. I don't think technology can solve all our problems. Someday . . . we will have to get back to basics. Responsibility means freedom, . . . and it can be a helluva lot of fun, earning what we achieve in life--no hollow victories. . . . All I can say is: were I a skier in today's alpine-skiing elite Tenth Mountain Division, . . . I would still want Gary Heins as for first choice for Ski Instructor."
"Thanks again, Mr Buntline. I had to haul those guys from time to time, the US Military's skiing elite, on my charter buses, oddly enough, to Camp Hale, Colorado, and Crested Butte and a few other places."
"Oooh! that had to be rough on you. And they had no idea who you are!"
"No, I've had to bite my tongue more than my family and friends will ever know. . . . Like many people over the years, a lot of those Great Falls hobnobbers saw me as 'nothing but a Drifter,' with my gray hair and old equipment, no obvious credentials to speak of, and parking cars for a living in my late 40s."
"Hey, but you can turn that around too, Mr Heins. Those are the people who only care about security--they can't risk anything to follow a more spiritual path, they care more about security than opportunity. Well, here's an opportunity, Mr Heins: let's call them . . . 'Drift Dodgers.'"
"Hey, that's clever, Mr Buntline, I like it!"
"Oh, you would have come around to the brilliant idea eventually. I do know you bring out the best in me. Millions of your readers will shed tears of joy, feeling totally inspired when they read of all the uncommon Truths in your writing, and all the hardships you've had to endure--they will see the much-needed light at the end of the tunnel."
"Let's hope they can see it sooner and more often than I did. Lord knows I couldn't do it without you, Mr Buntline--you are the one helping me with the final . . . glorious push . . . to freedom."
"Along with Agnes and Matilda. Yes, it may help if we Individuals try to stick together. Your family and friends will sob tears of guilt, and turn red in the face, . . . when they see how they've underestimated you all these years . . . and the all-important profession of ski-teaching, . . . but you will forgive them."
"Yes, I will forgive them. --I am a different case--and how could they have known what a different case I would turn out to be?"
"A different case?! I'll say! --Like the One in a Billion Stuart Wilde mentions in his book The Quickening."
"And don't forget: there may be a woman out there I'm trying to impress--that's what makes the world go around."
"Oh, yes, I forgot." Right or wrong, he was right: what is it that motivates us? What is it that makes us do the things we do?
". . . Anyway, Mr Buntline, I guess maybe I can't personally stop snow-boarding--I mean, I can't stop everybody else from snow-boarding--be careful how I word things. What it boils down to is: do we have free will? or is everybody just snow-boarding because they saw it on a stupid bill-board?"
"It is amazing how many Americans make their purchases and life-altering decisions . . . based on propaganda spoon-fed to them by the mass media."
"And, after thirty years in the business, I should be able to go into a Rental Shop to request a matching pair of ski poles for any beginning ski student . . . without being second-guessed, heckled, made fun of, and undermined . . . by some teen-age rental worker sitting on the counter with his feet dangling and a cast on his wrist from snow-boarding!"
"Yes, even after a few full-time years. Don't worry, Mr Heins. I know you are right. And, someday the staunchest snow-boarding advocates . . . will grow old and retire; and I wouldn't doubt it if their kids rise up . . . declaring 'No, Mom and Dad, we don't want snow-boarding, we don't want the fool snow-board regalia.'"
"Oh, yeah, you're referring to the nose-rings and purple hair and the butt-crack showing, with the pants hanging down around their thighs--they need the wide stance of a snow-board just to keep their pants from falling completely down."
"Ah, so that's how they get away with low-riding pants--it's largely a snow-boarding derivative. You do notice how things all tie together, don't you, Mr Heins!"
". . . So some new generation will want a new crazy vehicle of their own, whether it be pogo sticks, or uni-cycles, or clown shoes, or tie-dye T-shirts, or whatever. . . . Well, Mr Buntline, let's just leave it at that . . . and not try to give them any weird ideas."
There was a lull in the action, as we savored what we were pretty sure would be the truth in the coming few years. It was getting late in our work on the book, and there was one question I still had neglected to ask, . . . but I figured now was as good a time to ask as any:
"Uh, Mr Heins, there's something I still need to ask you."
"What is it, Mr Buntline? Go ahead, shoot."
"Uh, . . . have you ever given a bad ski lesson? This is something I would ask any fun-guider, any ski teacher--it's kind of like asking any law-man or gun-fighter I've ever interviewed . . . if they have ever had to kill a man."
He paused for a moment, searching for the truth, . . . and then decided to answer. "Yeah, Mr Buntline, . . . I've given a few . . . bad ski lessons. In fact, my first ski lesson was my worst: in trying to help the student so bad, I kept getting in the student's way, and he kept falling down because of me, only I didn't know it--fi-nally my boss stepped in and corrected the situation." He was feeling deep remorse, I could tell. . . . And then he continued, "You can't be in this business as long as I have, Mr Buntline, without getting caught up in a difficult sort of life-r-death situation from time to time, a difficult ski lesson from time to time, . . . especially with all the dysfunctional politics and pecking-orders going on."
"I understand, Mr Heins. It's just a question I have to ask."
And then he stared out into the distance, getting the most serious look I would ever see him get, like a thousand-yard stare, giving me yet another inkling of the importance of this book. . . . "But believe me, Mr Buntline: . . . you don't ever want to know what it feels like to give a bad ski lesson. You don't ever want to know!"
Without words, we said our good-nights for the evening, as I retired to my trailer, . . . so as to start fresh the next time we would meet.
The New GARY HEINS
--SKI-TURNER-At-LAW --"Why the hell not?!"
Nobody tried harder to be a fully-certified Professional Ski Instructor of America than Gary Heins, . . . but, after three tries in a four-year period, they faulted him in his Communication Skills; they well-acknowledged Gary in his Technical Knowledge and Skiing Ability by 1983 or '84. Well, maybe a few others look like they tried harder; but they may have had more tolerance to the pain, or maybe they weren't as desperate. Remember, Gary passed the Associate exam with flying colors in the spring of 1980, the spring of his first year teaching, the earliest he was eligible to take the test. --His strongest point that first test? Communication Skills. The difference might have been the Divisions he took the exams in. In Northern Rocky Mountain, in Montana, he passed things easily; in the Intermountain Division, he failed to pass the Communication Skills segment after three tries--his strongest skill!
The winter of '84-85, Gary found himself in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, not in Utah, but still the Intermountain Division. With permission from the boss, 1964 Olympic Gold Medalist Pepi Stiegler, he filled out the form, wrote the check, sealed it in the envelope; . . . but, when he went to the Post Office and had the exam application half-way deposited into the slot, . . . he suddenly pulled back and screamed, "NOOO!" And, even though he's stayed in the business most winters since then, he has not paid PSIA another dime in dues or exam fees or clinic fees. Nonetheless, he got paid maybe half to three-quarters of what he was worth all those years, and he received crappier assignments than he would have otherwise.
Let us remember he achieved Associate-Cert status (now referred to as Level II) after only one year of teaching, then achieved Full-Cert (Level III) Skiing Ability and Technical Knowledge by his fourth year--the part they failed him on three times in three tries 19&82, '83, and '84, . . . was Communication Skills, arguably his strongest area! The mistake Gary made was he had told everyone he planned on making a life-long career out of teaching skiing, seeing as how skiing saved his life (as mentioned in Gary's other books)--apparently this was perceived as a threat by some of the examiners, The Powers-That-Ski, hence their motive for shutting him down.
The sad thing is . . . PSIA is the organization that got him excited about being a professional and building a life-long career--he really looked up to them in the beginning. Now Gary knows how the Mongols Motorcycle Gang members felt when they weren't allowed to join the Hell's Angels. Oh, Gary is allowed to rejoin PSIA, he's even invited, . . . if he starts all over again from scratch . . . or if he were to pay a few-thousand dollars in back dues dating back to 19&85, in effect negating all the skills and wisdom he's acquired and earned the hard way over the years. Listen . . . as he explains how the American Ski Teaching certification system works:
"The way PSIA works now, just about anybody off the street can pay a small fee to 'join' PSIA, and in a few days be a Level I 'Certified' Ski Instructor with only a few hours of experience--these guys know just enough to get students into real trouble. They may look certified, but they aren't qualified, yet their new bronze pin on a snazzy instructor jacket . . . give them a feeling that whatever they do can't be wrong. But it's more like joining a Multi-Level Marketing scheme, with the new guys at the bottom of the pyramid paying the salaries of those at the top. Beware! the bronze or copper shield the Level I Apprenti wear . . . as it looks very much like the gold shield of the Level III." The Level II shield, of course, is silver, equivalent to what Gary Heins achieved after only one season teaching by the spring of 1980--in the olden days this was a "Blue Pin," and full-cert was the coveted "White Pin" (even though it was half red). "Not that Level III is right on," he continued, "but they should have a lot of experience, three or four years at least, but beware again, as this can be finagled with too: I know a fifty-year-old instructor who takes the Level III testing every year--he never quite passes it, even after nine tries,--but then I noticed he doesn't ski enough and hardly ever teaches either, he just wants to be part of the elite. And too many Level III 'full-certs' are way too part-time, with a lot less experience than they will admit--these 'Successful Candidates' give the illusion . . . that PSIA is fair and on the up-and-up."
"Smoke-n-mirrors galore. I hear today they aren't as hard on the candidates: whereas in your day it was all or nothing every test, now they let them pass the tests one-third at a time."
"Yeah, it's easier now, but I'm not approaching anyone anymore with my hat in hand asking for permission. . . . I don't know, Mr Buntline, maybe I should thank PSIA. What hasn't killed me has only made me stronger. "
"Ah, yes, kind of like Johnny Cash, in 'A Boy Named Sue': he wandered his whole life in search of the dirty mangy dog that gave him that awful name; but then, when he finally caught up with him, he realized why his Dad had done it, . . . to make him strong."
"Yet, when I teach skiing, I'm not quite so rough on my students, . . . unless they back me into a corner, which they can do from time to time."
"Yes, I imagine a student will sort of challenge you from time to time, trying to make themselves look better than the instructor."
"That's true. In fact, a lot of the general public sees Ski School as a Joke. They don't take lessons because they don't think it's worth it, and I'd say more than half the time they are right. For every good teacher, there's probably one mediocre one and one downright bad one; for the student, it can be like playing roulette, and the game can change greatly from day-to-day or week-to-week and from mountain-to-mountain, as thousands of ski instructors' schedules are dictated by their 'real' jobs. The price of Group Lessons isn't too bad, but the price of Private Lessons is ridiculous: currently, an all-day private may cost $500, and an average instructor might get one-third of that, while a higher-paid guy would still be well under half, and the peon you might end up with gets a measly twenty-percent. An instructor has to ask himself: 'Am I worth $500?'--if it's just your hobby or you're inexperienced, probably not. In the old days, ski instructors got fifty or sixty percent of the private-lesson fee; one has to wonder, why now does the administration take as much as sixty or eighty percent--it's the same thing as overgrowth of government, and the little people suffer. The poor, innocent, unaware student does not know it, but: it costs them just as much to ski with a bad instructor as it does to ski with a great one."
"And the great ones are few and far between."
"Then, to make matters worse, on more than one ski school, I would get Request Privates, which pay more than assigned privates, but the mountain managers had it finagled to tell the customer, 'Sorry, Gary isn't available at that time,' and they would assign a low-paid peon to that customer, so as not to pay me the higher cut. The managers thought they were saving a lot of money by cheating that way; but, for every dollar they saved, the probably prevented ten more from coming their way. And then they wonder why I'm so grumpy."
"Familiarity breeds contempt."
"The full-time Pro Ski Patrol (not to be confused with week-end warrior National Ski Patrol) can also see the Ski School as a joke--I think, the smaller the mountain, the more this is true, and, the bigger the mountain, the more the two entities see each other as equals. Ski Patrol is obviously important . . . and oftentimes urgent; Ski School is very important too, but too subliminally so far. What a lot of people don't understand is this: while Ski Patrol is out there picking up broken legs, I'm out there preventing them---we are equally important. The thing is, Pro Ski Patrol is guaranteed daily pay, while Ski Instructors tend to not get paid unless they actually teach, which is fair; but it gives a perception that one department is less impor-tant--actually one department may be just less urgent. I've thought about transferring over to the Patrol a few times over the years."
"Why don't you, Mr Heins?"
"But then I always reach the same conclusion, 'I'm a Teacher.' . . . I am a Teacher, Mr Buntline, and I'm not going to bow out or get side-tracked just because a few greedy guys at the top want me to."
"I hate to say it, Mr Heins, but there is something gnawing at my mind."
"What is it, Mr Buntline? Go ahead."
"All these changes you can make in the Ski Indus-try--it may take more than just you and me and your books. . . . There's an old saying: 'Revolutions never start on a full-stomach'--we may have to wait for the coming Dust Bowl, after a few more years of rampant snow-boarding, before the people feel the effects