In a distinct New Hampshire twang Mead begins, “Why, I remembah…,” folding his hands across his lap and settling comfortably into tales of life past and present at Attitash Bear Peak in a quiet voice filled with proprietary pride.
Born and raised down the road in the town of Bartlett, N.H., Mead actually helped build the resort. He was on the mountain in 1964 when the first trails were cut, watching the fires at night to make sure no stray spark destroyed the vision of owner Phil Robinson. These days Mead drives the parking lot shuttle bus, but in an interview he recalled performing many different jobs as he flipped through a carefully compiled photo album chronicling his 33-year career at Attitash.
As the former right-hand man of more than one mountain manager at Attitash, Mead helped put up the first lifts. He can tell you about the decision to install snowmaking—how general manager Thad Thorne stood next to the road watching cars pass by the bare slopes of Attitash in favor of the machine-made snow blanketing neighbor Bretton Woods.
Many of Mead’s stories are from years at the ticket window. “I did enjoy selling tickets,” he reflected. “I did it for 26 years, you know.” He flipped to a photo of a shadowy line of people stretched out in front of dark buildings, barely silhouetted in the early morning glimmer.
“We used to sell only a limited number of tickets,” he explained, “then we would put signs out on the street that said: ‘SOLD OUT FOR THE DAY.’ People got in the habit of coming in real early—5:30 or 5:45 in the morning—to line up and buy their tickets, so I just started coming in early, too.”
“Sometimes I would be sold out by 7:30 or 8:00,” he said. “It was great!”
Most of Mead’s stories are from the early days, back when the same people came every weekend and greeted him by name; people whose children grew up, got married and introduced him to their children. Things are different now, he said. “It’s still friendly, but the changes have been tremendous—there’s new people coming all the time, which,” he added resignedly, “you’ve got to have for growth. You’ve got to give up something to take something back, you might say.”
One of the things Mead had to give up was his longtime position at the ticket window. A few years ago, on a busy post-Christmas Saturday, the power went out at the resort. Irate customers mobbed the ticket windows demanding refunds.
“You’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “It was almost a riot here. I was at the center window and it was just vibrating back and forth. I felt as if I was going to pass out, so I went back into the reservation office and lay down. Well, somebody saw me and called the ski patrol, and when they took me to the hospital they found out I had a heart attack.”
Shortly afterwards, other health problems made Mead’s retirement from a full-time position necessary. However, he views retirement as a technical detail that certainly doesn’t stop him from working. “I’m retired, you might say,” he acknowledged offhandedly, “but I don’t say that!”
“It’s his life here,” said transportation supervisor Martha Ryan, who has worked with Mead for 14 years. “He wants to be with the people every day.” After Mead gave up full-time work, she immediately recruited him to drive the parking lot shuttle bus.
“It’s the perfect job for him,” she said. “On the shuttle he can talk to the customers without worrying about crowds.”
“He has his own pace,” Ryan continued. “He’s so mellow that sometimes when I get stressed out, I just go ride around with him. Of course,” she laughed, “sometimes I have to check his bus when he parks it in the afternoon to unload, just to make sure that he’s not snoring behind the wheel while people are knocking on the door.”
Mead doesn’t really consider what he does at Attitash to be work, per se. “You might say that this is my spare time, outside of being a maintenance man for my wife,” he said mischievously. “I do some painting and odd jobs around the area in the spring and fall, and I work at the resort driving range in the summer,” where Attitash president Phil Gravink says he “holds court,” spinning stories for the folks who stop by.
Gravink described Mead by quoting ski industry great Otto Schniebs, who told him, “Phil, skiing may not be a big business, but it is a vay of life.”
“I’ve always remembered that,” said Gravink, “and I think Lewis personifies it.”
In fact, the “vay of life” for Mead seems to be Attitash itself. “It’s like home to me,” he stated simply. “This is a wonderful place to work, with good, friendly people who are willing to help each other.”
And as for skiing, “I’ve never skied a day in my life,” he admitted. “Mr. Robinson liked to have people working here that didn’t ski. He used to say, ‘That way I can keep ’em doing things they should be doing instead of riding up and down the hill.’”
Food service director Fran Dooan has worked with Mead at Attitash since she was 14 years old. “Lewis is from the old school,” she said. “When the resort first opened, we were basically one big family running the place. If you were working in food service and they needed you to run a lift, you just did it. Lewis still lives by that philosophy.
“He comes in every Tuesday on his day off and washes the kitchen floor for my prep cook,” Dooan continued, “because she’s a 55-year-old woman and he doesn’t like to see her do that.” Shrugging, she said with a smile, “He’s trying to keep that small area atmosphere going in a ski area that is no longer small—but when you’re working around him, it’s great.”
Martha Ryan agrees. “There’s a place here for people like Lewis,” she said. “When someone new comes to work here, they see Lewis and they think that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
According to Mead, that is how it’s supposed to be. “If a person can’t be friendly, there’s no need of him being here,” he declares. And if you stick around, he will be glad to tell you a story about it.
