Saddle Sore: What lasts are the people

It was one of those names that everyone seemed to know — Tom Marshall: “Yeah, I worked with Tom at Snowmass before the lifts went in, helping out, bashing through the trees, getting a feel for the lay of the land, exploring the area. He was a beautiful, strong skier. A major influence in the development of the Snowmass Ski Area.”

With people talking like that, it seemed as though I knew Tom before I ever met him. And then, someone would ask, “Is he still patrolling at Snowmass?” The answer was usually longer, such as, “He’s one of the best sheet-metal men around, knows HVAC so well, started his own company.” Why would such a competent skier and patrolman move on? None of my business. Nobody talks about you that way unless you’re an Aspen legend. 

Well, shoot, guess I’ll never get to ski with him, was my lament upon gaining all that information as a new guy on the Aspen Mountain Ski Patrol. But if it was meant to happen, in the way of local ski tradition, it did. Maybe it was a patrol kegger or maybe on the street somewhere, but no one had to introduce us — people talk — we knew each other right away. I didn’t have stories for him — I wanted to hear his. 

Tom had a look — he’d zero in on you, serious, direct — and you listened.

He also had grit. A job-site accident bucked him off a two-story house, shattering his tibial plateau. His knee was never right again. He didn’t quit skiing; he just adapted his style to his physical ability. It wasn’t easy, either. Finding a ski boot that would make it halfway comfortable was a challenge, settled for Randonnée boots, but still a challenge getting on the lift. Needed to turn his legs a certain way to avoid the pain. And he skied a lot of days with his lovely bride, Ellen, a petite blonde who skis with a power that belies her small size. 

They could usually be found at the top of the mountain, in front of the ski patrol shack, waiting to see who went by, who they could give a hard time, or would throw one back. They were the ski gang that never got written up — but known all the same: The Bickersons. 

Tom and Ellen, Carla and Erik Peltonen, Billy LaCouter, Linda Crelli-Stoeckl, Ursula Freudiger, Tony Welgos — there’s a partial list of who’s who in the Aspen skiing world. Sometimes, I’d stand around, listen to the chit-chat and discussion about what run to take, and then off they’d go. Some days, Tom skipped the rougher runs for the sake of his knee. I’d join him: “Hell, let the others kill themselves on Summit or Blondies. We’ll meet them at the lift.” 

It’s sometimes difficult to measure the heart of skiers, people who keep the town going day-after-day, but as they say about local legends, they represented the heart of Aspen. Tom and Ellen had their wedding reception at the Red Onion. 

Life shifted — kids came along, and an ambitious guy like Tom started a family business in 1977 to take up the slack: T&E Marshall Enterprises, designing and managing HVAC systems around the valley — a skill he learned in Canada. The company thrives today, managed by his daughter Heather and her husband, Josh Anthes.

Tom didn’t just ski patrol and survey new trails on ski mountains. He got into snowmaking early on, becoming the authority of such, not only for SkiCo, but was also invited in 1988 to the Calgary Olympics as the snowmaking guru. It must have felt great, going back to his home country, showing ’em how it was done. 

Tom was the kind of guy who passed a love of skiing down to his daughter Heather and son Colin, and don’t forget the grandkids, Taylor and Connor. Colin is now a Powder Tour guide in the winter and a raft guide in the summer. Being outdoors runs in the family.

Whistler/Blackcomb, remember them? In 1978, a call for bids was issued to develop Blackcomb for skiing, which the Aspen Skiing Company won. Tom (who else?) was dispatched to the area, flying around in a helicopter, skiing the landscape, laying out trails, and mapping terrain with his experienced eye. His daughter Heather went with him — an experience hardly anyone could ever get to share with their father. 

Ski areas come and go, trails get renamed, but what lasts are the people whose footprints are everywhere. Tom Marshall left his on the mountains, in the businesses, and in the hearts of the people who knew him.

When I think of Tom, I hear his voice: “Stress is self-induced.” Maybe that’s the secret. Ski hard, work harder, laugh with your friends — and don’t let life get the better of you. Tom Marshall, 1934-2025.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.