Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

mountain hideaway cont. After shopping, Gary Cooper with his wife, Rocky, and daughter, Maria, head out for more skiing on the beautiful slopes which have drawn them to Aspen. Gary and Rocky confer with Horace Hendricks, the Aspen contractor who built their lakeside home, which looks across the full sweep of the celebrated ski runs. By 5 o'clock, the Coopers are ready to join other skiers at the hotel for tea, dancing and, of course, much enthusiastic talk about the day's skiing. Company and got to work building ski runs, and bringing in small businesses and cultural facilities. Today, Aspen is a skier's paradise in winter and a fisherman's heaven in the spring and summer — there are 1,000 well-stocked streams in the vicinity. "It's a great place," said Gary. "From now on Mrs. Cooper and I are going to spend as much time in Aspen as we possibly can, winter and summer. We're building a house there, you know. We bought 15 acres. The house won't be too fancy, but comfortable enough. It'll be right by a lake, a frame house with an aluminum roof. Five bedrooms, four baths, kitchen, an 18-by-38 living room." We talked some more about the house, and fishing, and the Colorado scenery. And before we said goodbye, he'd invited me to come up to Aspen for a weekend. Thus it was that, a few weeks later, your correspondent and photographer Bob Beerman pulled up in a bus before the Jerome Hotel in Aspen. It was 10 degrees below zero, but the Aspen inhabitants didn't seem to mind a bit as, skis over shoulders, they plodded along in the deep, crusty snow, happily blowing up clouds of warm breath as if they had lots of it to waste. The Jerome Hotel is a big rambling structure that was built during the town's mining boom days. Now restored, it still looks exactly like those false-fronted Victorian buildings you see in every Western movie, and is the sort of place you'd expect to find Gary Cooper. And that's where we did find him — lounging against a weathered column on the veranda, in his shirt-sleeves. As we shivered out of the bus, Cooper ambled over with a warm smile on his face. "Glad you boys could make it," he said pleasantly. "It snowed last night. And the weather is just perfect for skiing." "How can you stand to walk around in just that shirt?" I had to ask, pulling my overcoat collar tighter. "Oh, I've been up on a ski run all afternoon," he said. "Got overheated." We followed him into the hotel and sat down in the cocktail lounge, in front of a big window which offered a view of the whole snow-covered mountain across the valley. It seemed busier than an excited ant-hill. Dozens of skiers were plummeting down its slopes, and I suppose I shivered again rather noticeably. "Cold?" Cooper asked. "They have a fine cure for that here in Aspen." He called ove^ the waitress and said something to her. When she came back, she had three milk-shakes on her tray. "Aspen Specials" explained Cooper. "Drink them and I'll show you around." We did, and the cold disappeared almost magically. It must have been the stout portion of rum in the drinks. It was still working fine five minutes later when we found ourselves pacing eagerly through the snow at Cooper's side. Walking around Aspen with Cooper, you feel that the history of the colorful town has a deep meaning for him. When we came to the 58-year-old Wheeler Opera House, Cooper stopped before the three-story brick structure and said, "An amazing building. In the old days, Lillian (Continued on page 98)