Slats has his own corner of the bar, and he’s outlasted several generations of bartenders. “Ski bums, all of them, until recently,” Slats told me. “They were grown-up frat boys, though their girlfriends might argue about the grown-up part. But now real ski bums can’t afford to live here. They live down-valley, buy the $300 buddy pass. The barkeep’s a pro —a married man with kids from down-valley. Doesn’t even ski, I think. Hey, Jaime, you ski?”

“Nope,” said Jaime, a round-faced fellow who looked like he’d be just as happy working as night auditor in a lodge as tending bar. “Got to make a living. Can’t afford to get hurt, or even take the time to learn a sport. Need a fresh one?”

“There y’go,” said Slats. “That’s your emerging market. Guy comes up here because he’s serious, and sees there’s serious money here. You and I came here because we weren’t serious at all.”

“So how do you sell ’em?” I asked. “Wait until they’re not serious?”

“I dunno. I think everyone has moments when you could sell ’em on wintersports. Hell, skiers have been roping in foreigners since the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first skiers were Norwegians, and the ‘foreigners’ were Anglos. Look in the history books. Didn’t matter if you could speak the language. Hell, the right language wasn’t even English, it was Scandihoovian. Back East, the Anglos caught on so fast that the ski clubs had to quit talking Norwegian in their meetings so their Yankee and Acadian neighbors could participate. And this when you couldn’t get on a golf course or tennis court unless you had Puritan grandparents. The thing is, skiing started as a sport for working people: miners and farmers.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. So skiers have been welcoming strangers into our midst right from the start.”

“Well, not always. If you’d wanted to get into a snooty New England ski club in, say, 1932, what would have happened?”

“Well, right. Those guys at the Lake Placid Club and Hochgeberge and New York Amateur Ski Club—they weren’t mountain town folks, they were visiting dilettantes from Nob Hill. Their big deal was to turn the sport into an exclusive club. But after the war—that would be World War II—you had immigrants and their kids building lifts and starting ski shops all over the country. The Ivies might not want you in their lodge, but it was okay to ski on their hill.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. In this sport there’s a lot more prejudice against using the wrong binding than having the wrong grandparents. Think about it. If a guy skis the fall line and buys a drink once in awhile, he fits in. But if he looks weird—like he uses funny-looking skis or makes a different kind of turn—you sort of edge away. Until something even stranger comes along, and then he’s okay. Like we were suspicious of telemarkers in the ’70s, and then snowboarders came along and made the free-heel guys look pretty kosher. We sort of wondered about African Americans when they hit town, but they figured out how to ski and liked hanging out in bars, so now they’re part of the scene, at least during school holidays.”

“Well, okay, but why don’t we see more brown faces around here?”

“The business, more than the sport, is an old boys’ club. It’s easy to join the sport. You just have to forsake all others and resolve to spend the rest of your life above 6,000 feet. But every time one of these guys starts a new business, he hires old friends. Most places, it’s self-perpetuating. You ever been to New Mexico?”

“Yeah.”

“Here’s Ernie Blake, a Jewish refugee. He arrives, sets up some lifts, and instead of sending to Dartmouth and Middlebury for help, he hires locals. That means Indians and Hispanics. Same all over the state. You get it at Tahoe, too—the resorts hired local kids, so they got children of Italian and Japanese farmers, Basque shepherds, Anglos from ranching and mining families, along with the usual carloads of socialites. Big happy family, right away.”

“So how come the business has trouble marketing to ethnic groups?”

“That’s your problem. You’re trying to market to them. Since when has marketing ever worked to grow this business?”

“Um, in the ’60’s?”

“That wasn’t marketing. That was sales. It was retailers and resorts dragging people in off the street, signing them up, putting them on the bus. It was schlepping films around to civic clubs and church groups. It was reaching out in neighborhoods and being friendly to people one-on-one. Marketing has never done squat in this sport except steal share, and you can’t steal a share of something your competition doesn’t have, either.

“If you want more African-Americans to ski, you don’t advertise in Ebony. You do a deal with the Brotherhood to help them drag in more of their buddies. You want more Hispanics? Get out and visit their churches and social clubs. Pretty pictures aren’t enough. You gotta tell them they’re welcome, and show them how much. You gotta evangelize, or hire someone who can. That’s the way we did it when the sport really grew.”