By George, they’re moving! |

By George, they’re moving!

Dear Editor:

Holy sheep shit, what news is this? The news of the Stranahans move to Carbondale is a remarkable end of a remarkable era in a remarkable place. Bless ’em all the way down the road, I say. Stranahan should get his own wing in the Aspen Hall of Fame.

He is easily as big to the history of the valley as Paepcke, in my opinion, and worthy of a police escort for the Ryder truck.

I am stuck on the thought that he is cashing out so hugely and moving to Bonedale to live at River Valley Ranch. While I am sure that he will have a top-notch joint there (he is no dummy, after all ” and an accomplished capitalist of highest magnitude), I get a sneaky feeling that this is some sort of statement in a way, a populist move. A deliberate act of downsizing.

Now comes the question that begs debating: What will life in Aspen be like without

George Stranahan? That is not to sound morbid, I wish him only the best, but he is moving away from Aspen, and he did acknowledge a stack of calendars that he will have to lug down the rivers. Not to mention a ton of beer, whiskey, photographs, chalkboards, beakers, magazines, records, carvings, grant letters, chicken burritos, spark plugs and the odd Nixon mask and keg of gun powder …

Surely, things will be different without old Stranahan around to pitch in. Surely, life in Aspen will be less fun. This is clearly a victory for the fine folks of Carbondale and a loss for Woody Creek. The communal IQ in River Valley Ranch just shot northward, with barely a mention of this development (pun by mindless luck only).

Good luck, Patty and George! You earned the right to retire, just like Mead. Enjoy your new town. Give that man a stool of his own at the … well, I would say the Hurricane/Ship, but that funhole has been plowed away and replaced with a decent bit of swank, and I would, of course, love to say the Lone Nugget, but the last few times I went in there I was subjected to the dangerous hysterics of an out-of-control albino doorman, an entirely unreasonable man who would be easily dismissed like a bad karaoke singer if not for his size and unpredictability. He is a bad bar man and needs to be replaced before someone gets torn in half.

No, give Stranahan a kingly stool tube side at Clauddaugh’s Neighborhood Pub, a community bar and a fine place worthy of George’s standards.

Corby Anderson

Marina, Calif.