"Skier passed on his love of sport"

My aunt Charlotte Nebeker Pratt wrote this wonderful article that was recently published in the Deseret News about my grandfather Richard H. Nebeker. I love my grandpa and I think he was one cool dude!

When Alta first opened to the public, on Jan. 15, 1939, my father, Dick Nebeker, was excited to take his first ride up the mountain on a chairlift.
Prior to Alta's construction of the second chairlift in the United States, he would tell me, his father would drive him and his friends to Park City and drive up old mine roads, where he and his friends would ski down Thayne's Canyon. Or he would ski at Rasmussen's Ranch or down the slope at Ecker's Hill.
Occasionally, a man in his neighborhood would pack his car full of kids and drive them to the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon. There they would hike the slopes or grab the new cable-rope tow that would pull them up the hill to enjoy their new sport of skiing.
If he couldn't find a ride after school, he would cross country ski to the Bonneville Golf Course. There were no houses east of 1500 East at that time, so he would ski down the slope where fairway No. 1 is now located and on down to his home on Yalecrest Avenue.
My father was just shy of his 15th birthday that winter, and his life was all about skiing. Many years later, he would boast that he would get more than 25 punches on his all-day ski lift pass at Alta that cost him $1.50. He and his friends skied down under the lift on a run called "Nina's Curve."
The following winter, he raced on his East High School team, competing at Sun Valley and Snow Basin. In those youthful years, Hitler's march across Europe was the furthest thing from his mind.
He would later write that in the winter of 1942: "I was a fledgling ski instructor for the Dick Durrance Ski School (now the Alf Engen Ski School) when the Army at Fort Douglas sent paratroopers by daily trucks up to Alta to learn to ski.
"Many were big Southerners from the jump school at Fort Benning, Ga., and laughed in a Southern drawl at their spills and skills on them 'totuah boads,' as they were referred to.
"We stressed the snow-plow position, keeping under control at all times and falling to the rear on their hip, if they ever got going too fast and had to 'bail out.' It was horrifying to watch them pick up too much speed snow plowing down the steepest part of the face, underneath the Collins Lift, then revert to their jump training and try and grab their knees and roll forward instead of taking the spill to the rear.
"They'd roll 'ass over applecart,' and all their buddies would laugh and dare them to try it again. It took at least two weeks of hard falls and several broken legs before they got the hang of it. They wore olive drab overcoats which collected two or three pounds of snow and water before the day was over," he wrote.
"I was called in the first draft in December of 1942 and we lined up at 6 a.m. across from the post office and were told to report to Fort Douglas on Jan. 4, 1943. The word was out through the National Ski Patrol Association that you could volunteer for the ski troops and be assigned to a new Camp Hale near Leadville, Colo., if you had three letters of recommendation that you were a competent skier. Colorado sounded better than Kansas or Texas.
"I got three letters of recommendation from Dick Durrance, Svere Engen and Friedl Pfieffer. I was ordered to Camp Hale and rode the D&RG railroad — in the middle of January. My buddy from Salt Lake, Bert Rider, later joined me."
Because the two could really ski, he told me, and a lot of others couldn't, they were assigned to be ski instructors. At the age of 18, they would instruct and give orders to lieutenants and captains. He spent two years training in Camp Hale and then at Camp Swift, Texas.
In December of 1944, the 10th Mountain Division, of which he was a member, sailed for Pisa, Italy, to participate in the campaign in northern Italy. The 10th Mountain Division was an elite army ski troop, respected worldwide for its skill, discipline and camaraderie.
After the war, he returned home and married my mother, Ann Smith.
He never forgot all the years he spent digging snow caves and sleeping outdoors. His war experience left him with a longing for a cabin in the mountains where he could sleep indoors yet still enjoy his favorite sport — skiing. His first cabin was an old mining shack at Alta at the base of the Snow Pine Lodge. He would later build one in Albion Basin, which is still today his family's "second home."
His legacy continues. His 31 grandchildren are all skiers. Most of them are local diehard Alta skiers. You will find them in the Collins Lift line carrying on their grandpa's passion for skiing on a cold winter morning. They have a love for the mountains that runs as deep as Alta's virgin powder. They love their family cabin. For two generations now, the family has done without a family-owned snow cat or snowmobile to transport them to and from their cabin. Like their Grandpa Dick, as he was called, they know how to enjoy and appreciate a good hike in the fresh mountain air. They are proud of their ski heritage and they know their Grandpa is proud of them.
They like to think that Alta is theirs — along with thousands of others who love and enjoy Alta skiing. My father is no longer around, but his legacy continues to live on.