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Letter: Feels like home

Roger Marolt recently spoke of the Aspen old-timers, the locals, the semi-locals and the trust-funders who join in for a while. Wait, there’s another group to include.

How about the wannabes? You know, fellows like me who came to Aspen to ski a few days and realized, “Wow, this place is really special.” It was and is special because the locals or semi-locals, whatever, treated us wayfarers almost like one of their own. And we, in turn, tried to be a part of the community: You know, like taking in a high school play at the high school (“Don’t Drink the Water”), participating in a writers’ workshop (headed by a published author!) at the Red Brick or just petting the old Saint Bernard at City Market.

We stayed in places where we could meet all kinds: the Copper Horse (before it turned into employee housing), Little Red Ski Haus, Snow Queen Lodge and finally St. Moritz. My son even lost his first tooth biting into a burger at the Hickory House.



It was picking up on little things about the town; going to the library and having the retiring head librarian of many years telling us her all-time favorite book was “A Short Walk Through the Hindu Kush.”

Well, Mr. Marolt, I know I’m in neither of the local or old-timer categories you spoke of. No, more just a wannabe who came close to living here but never quite made it. Funny though, every two to three years when I visit, as I enter past the roundabout, it never fails to register in my mind: “Hey, I’m home.”




John Cotromanes

Wheaton, Illinois