To the couple’s amazement, the chef got up from his seat to thunderous applause, which he acknowledged by bowing to all parts of the dining room. The chef then outstretched his hand to the waiter, who in turned bowed to further applause. The waiter then turned to Paulette, who also received a round of applause. The couple was totally nonplussed. The grinning waiter came over to the couple and told them that he was indeed who they had thought he might be, and that they had literally shared their meal with the foremost comic actor in the world.
At the realization that they were the brunt of a bizarre joke, the couple was red faced but also delighted to have been a part of the night’s entertainment. Many people came by to congratulate them on being such good sports. The Inn gave them a complimentary meal, and they gratefully shared a drink with their tormentors.
The Players
Alex Cushing stood six feet four inches tall and was a walking contradiction of man. It was said he could sell sandals to an Eskimo but he could not make small talk with a neighbor. However, the greatest coup he ever pulled off was to promote an enclosed meadow, in a remote part of the Sierra Nevada in California, as a possible site for the preeminent winter sports event in the world.
It is the last week of 1954 where we start the story of the most outrageous, totally implausible, highly improbable choosing of Squaw Valley to host the1960 Winter Olympics.
It was the day after Christmas. The tall man was seated inside the fifty-room Squaw Valley Lodge reading the San Francisco Chronicle. A headline made him sit up. Anchorage, Alaska, and Reno, Nevada, had both submitted bids to host the Winter Olympics in 1960. The bids had joined bids from Sun Valley, Idaho; Lake Placid, New York; and a joint bid from Aspen and Colorado Springs. The United States Olympic Committee was supposed to have made their selection back in November. Detroit had already been chosen for America’s entry for the 1960 Summer Olympics, but the choice of entry for the winter candidate had been deferred due to the late entries from both Anchorage and Reno.
Alex looked out the window to see people using one of the two tow ropes on his intimate and friendly little Squaw Valley ski area, the place he had called home for the past five years. Wayne Poulsen, the original pioneer of developing Squaw, had been looking for financial backers. Alex, a Wall Street lawyer with connections in New York, had joined Poulsen in forming the Squaw Valley Development Corporation, in 1949. Alex looked back at the headline. He puzzled over the mention of Reno, Nevada. Where would Reno hold Olympic downhill events? Slide Mountain, on the eastern range of the Sierras, some thirty miles away to Reno’s southwest, was the probable answer. Maybe Alex could offer Squaw as a viable alternative to Slide Mountain. Then again, Reno would probably not want to have the skiing events in a California location. The more he thought about it, the more he thought. Why join Reno at all? Perhaps with some imagination and investment, Squaw could hold every event itself, within walking distance. How much of an advantage would that be? Putting forward the name of Squaw Valley, would be worth the publicity alone.
He read the Olympic decree: “The honor of the Olympics is always awarded to a city, never to a country!” He worried that Squaw Valley would not even qualify as a village, let alone a city. Undeterred, he made up his mind to phone the USOC in the morning.
“Hello, is that the offices of the United States Olympic Committee?” Alex was pretty sure it was, because he had tried every other number imaginable.
The voice on the other end belonged to a pleasant lady. “Yes it is. Can I help you?”
“Well, I am a bit new to this, but I am wondering: is it still possible to put forward a place for the site of the Winter Olympics?”
The lady was still extremely polite, “A place, sir? What do you mean?”
“Well, I have, or rather we have, a ski area in the mountains of California, and we were hoping we might submit it as a possible site to host the Olympics. But I don’t know the actual requirements needed.”
The lady laughed a little. “Requirements, sir? Well, I think the only requirement is that the location has to be in America.”
Alex laughed, too. “That’s wonderful, because California is in America!”
The lady chuckled again. “Well, you are quite fortunate, the choice for the American site for the Winter Games should have been put forward to the International Olympic Committee already. But the decision has been postponed until the New Year. The IOC is due to meet in Paris in June, so the USOC has to make its selection in about two weeks.”
Alex was pleased, but realized he would have to move fast. “Well, what should I do next?”
“Well, submit your plans in writing to the committee as quickly as possible and that‘s about it!” The lady gave the necessary address and she told Alex that the committee would meet on January 7.
Alex wrote and rewrote all the pros that Squaw Valley had in its favor. The disadvantage that Reno had, in being thirty miles from the nearest mountain, was less of a problem than he had first thought. Oslo had, during their hosted Games in1952, held their ski events some seventy miles outside of the city. Still, Alex felt it was an advantage for Squaw that it was largely undeveloped and that it would have ample room for purpose- built arenas; maybe a new housing complex for the athletes, within a comfortable distance. “Boy, that’s a big advantage!” Alex thought to himself. It had been twenty-three years since the US had hosted the Games. All the other Winter Olympics, beside Lake Placid in1932, had been held in Europe. Added to this, was the undeniable truth that the US had a better economy than post-war Europe.
Having dashed off all the benefits, he then listed all the possible disadvantages. To his chagrin, the same item appeared on both lists: the fact that Squaw was largely undeveloped. The fact that there was no paved road into Squaw Valley was another disadvantage. The fact that no one outside California and the immediate area knew of Squaw Valley was another one.
Alex chatted at length with his Ski School Director, Jo Marrilac. Marrilac was initially taken aback, but after some thought, the Frenchman gave his whole-hearted support and affirmation that Squaw could indeed be transformed into a world-class ski area.
Alex drove down to San Francisco to see whether he could gain the support of the city newspapers. His first stop was at the San Francisco Chronicle. The managing editor made it more or less clear that they would support Reno’s bid, due to the amount of advertising revenue the Nevada city brought in for the paper. A little deflated, Alex moved on to the San Francisco Examiner. Charles Meyer, the Examiner’s editor, was grinning when Alex told him of the reception he had received at the Chronicle.
“Well, we are a little more pro-California here at the Examiner. We’ll be glad to support you!” Meyer got on the phone and asked Curley Grieve, the sports editor, to join them.
Once Grieve came in, Meyer said to Alex, “So tell us what your aspirations are and how realistic they might be.”
Alex, buoyed by Meyer’s enthusiasm, went through all the advantages he had conceived the night before, without mentioning any of the disadvantages. To Alex’s further delight, Curley Grieve made copious notes.
The next day, a reporter ran into the editor’s office at the Chronicle and thrust a copy of the Examiner under Thieriot’s nose. The editor snorted as he read the headline: “Squaw Valley Enters Bid for 1960 Games, with Backing of Local Community!”
Thieriot looked up at his reporter, “It’s a publicity stunt that I didn’t think was worthy of our paper, and besides, Charlie Meyer is just trying to goad me! It will come to nothing, and Mister Cushing will be yesterday’s news come the New Year. But let Charlie have his little bit of fun for a couple of weeks!”
Having spent the night in San Francisco, Alex drove back to Squaw Valley, via Sacramento, and visited Clint Mosher, the Examiner’s political correspondent. Alex introduced himself, but Mosher had already read the morning copy of the Examiner. “Yes, you are causing a bit of stir already, Mister Cushing. You’ve got Biz Johnson dying to meet you!”
A
lex was a little bemused. “Who is Biz Johnson?”
“You don’t know your local senator from Placer County, the Right Honorable Harold ‘Biz’ Johnson?”
“Sadly, no, I don’t. But I would be glad of an introduction!”
“I think we had better go and see him straightaway and put you both out of your misery.” Mosher made a quick phone call, and he and Alex went off to the state capital building.
Alex was first greeted by an exuberant Biz Johnson and then by several other senators. One senator couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. “I’ve actually skied Squaw Valley!”
Johnson told Alex to wait in his office while he went and saw Governor Goodwin Knight.
When Johnson walked back into his office, he was beaming. “Alex, the governor has been given the go-ahead to reintroduce a bill that was first used to get the Olympic Games to Los Angeles, in 1932.”
Alex was delighted. “What does that mean?” he inquired.
“It means, if passed, a grant of one million dollars!”
Alex sat down on the senator’s leather sofa. One million dollars for the one million thoughts that were racing through his head!
Alex had originally not thought of going to New York to talk to the USOC, but he was told in no uncertain terms that he had to go. New York was his old stomping ground, and he thought he might use the occasion to catch up with a few old acquaintances. He arrived at Idlewild Airport on the evening of January 6 and took a cab to his Manhattan hotel. He contacted two of his friends Laurence Rockefeller and sports editor Bob Cooke at the Herald Tribune.
Laurence told Alex he could use Radio City Music Hall to show his film “Squaw Valley Winter.” Bob told Alex he would write a supporting piece in the Tribune.
Alex had not been back to San Francisco or Sacramento since his visit ten days earlier. However, when Alex met Lyman Bingman, United States Olympic Committee representative, at the Manhattan Biltmore Hotel on the morning of January 7, he was surprised to discover that USOC had received calls from nearly everyone at the California Legislature as well as several calls from the Examiner. “I guess you got the whole state behind you, Mister Cushing!”
“Yes, it seems a spark of an idea that has ignited a few imaginations!”
“I understand you know the Rockefellers, too?”
As way of an apology, Alex told Bingham that he was in fact originally from New York and that Laurence Rockefeller was himself an investor in Squaw Valley. “Would it be possible to show my Squaw Valley film to the committee as part of my presentation?”
“Only if you provide the popcorn, too!” joked Bingman. “Now, would you like to come in and meet the rest of the committee?”
The committee was astounded that Alex was a one-man show. He started very deliberately but was immediately peppered with questions. He had planned a solemn presentation, but he reveled in answering all the questions. The questions were on climate, snow conditions, ease of access, accommodations, financing, existing facilities, proposed development, culinary services, being able to cater to a wide variety different nationalities, transportation, length of journey from Reno, security, ticket sales, events, and entertainment. Alex enjoyed himself, as all his answers seem to satisfy the committee. At last, Mr. Bingham addressed the other members of the committee.
“Mister Cushing had intended to present a film, but I think all our questions have been answered, so I don’t think it necessary now.”
With that, Alex walked out of the room, leaving the committee to deliberate.
He met some of the Reno delegates outside waiting to give their presentation. Apparently, the committee had already seen the representatives of Sun Valley, Lake Placid, Anchorage, and Aspen/Colorado Springs.
Alex went back to his hotel, where his friend Laurence Rockefeller had been geared up to take the committee to Radio City.
Alex met his friend’s questioning stare. “It’s not necessary, Laurence.”
Laurence looked a little disappointed. “Why, are they not interested?”
Alex explained over lunch all that had occurred and how he’d hardly had time to think. “I’ve got to call later and hear whatever choice they’ve made. I feel I did my best, and I can’t second-guess anything now. It’s all in the hands of the Olympic Gods!”
“Well, let’s have a deserved drink in the bar. I want to be here when you get the news!”
After sharing a couple of drinks, Alex got up and told his friend he would use the public phone in the lobby.
Alex closed the door to the telephone booth behind him and dialed the number of the Biltmore Hotel. An operator put him through to the USOC meeting room. “Mister Bingham, is that you? It’s Alex Cushing from Squaw Valley.”
“Yes, Mister Cushing, well we have given Squaw Valley due consideration…….”
Alex’s heart was in his mouth “…..and we have decided to select Squaw Valley’s name to go forward to the International Committee next June as America’s choice for the site of the Winter Games of 1960. Congratulations!”
”Alex responded professionally. He thanked Mr. Bingham and asked him to thank the other members of the committee.
Once off the phone, Alex’s head starting swimming. Perhaps he was a little drunk. The reality of what had just happened was not even a dream two weeks ago. He chuckled to himself and tried to appear stoic, but for the first time since arriving in New York, he allowed his friend to see some emotion! His friend applauded in response to Alex’s huge grin.
“I knew you’d do it! All those years of being a lawyer haven’t gone to waste!”
Alex shook his head. “I am afraid I never had your confidence, and I still can’t believe this is happening! This was just to create some good publicity.”
“Alex, be serious for a moment. This isn’t just your dream anymore. This dream belongs to quite few others now! Anyway, it’s no longer a dream, it is a hope, and it deserves your all! You’ve got a good part of California behind you. Now get the whole country behind you!”
After New York, Alex went to visit Avery Brundage in Chicago. Brundage had been given the presidency of the International Olympic Committee in 1952. An American in that position seemed like a godsend, but Brundage was not so delighted by the USOC’s choice. “They must have taken leave of their senses. On paper, there is no chance of Squaw Valley being selected by the IOC. All I suggest to you, Mister Cushing, is not to waste the five months between now and Paris. You will be appearing before the European aristocracy, and no amount of American charm will win them over. Unless you can convince them you can turn your picnic area into a world-class resort!”
Back at Squaw, Alex told his friend Jo Marrilac, “I don’t think Avery Brundage is on our side.” Marshall Hazeltine, another of Alex’s friends from Harvard, was an able linguist, and, having once worked for the US State Department, Alex knew he could be helpful in approaching foreign IOC members. Perhaps with Marrilac and Hazeltine, Alex could put a little less American brashness to their bid and make it a little more palatable to foreign dignitaries. When it came to going before the International Committee, Alex was not going to be a one-man show.
Having taken Avery Brundage’s advice, Alex decided to devote every wakening hour of the next five months to “The Bid,” as it became known in the Tahoe area. Over the next six weeks, various architects and contractors were summarily invited to offer plans for the necessary amenities: an Olympic village to house a thousand athletes, an Olympic ski jump, a speed-skating circuit, an indoor skating rink, parking for twelve thousand vehicles, a bob sleigh run, etc. Even the minimal requirements would send the cost skyrocketing. The California legislature’s offer of one million dollars was not going to be enough!
Eventually, blueprints were made and artists’ impressions were drawn. “It’s no use,” Alex sighed “We don’t have anything of substance to show the IOC. How can we convince the IOC, that we are capable of staging the Olympics by showing them drawings? They won’t want to wade through stacks of blueprints. Let’
s remember, we are competing with established ski resorts that practically need little or no development.”
“How about photographs, of the valley, as it is now, with superimposed negatives of how it will look like once the arenas are built?” Hazeltine suggested.
“You would need to take photographs looking down on the mountain, as well as the meadow,” countered Marrilac.
Alex looked thoughtful. “Well, we could hire a plane.”
“What about a model?” offered Hazeltine.
“A model of what, exactly?” Alex wanted more from his Harvard classmate.
“We build a three-dimensional model of the entire mountain. The meadow, with all the new structures in place, the Olympic village, the skating arena, the downhill course, the bob sleigh run, and the ski jump! We take photographs of the model and show the committee.”
Hazeltine looked over to Marrilac, who was nodding his approval.
“Who could build and design such a model?” was the question Cushing left hanging in the air.
Architect Rudolph G.Theurkauf’s scale model of San Francisco was considered a work of genius when it went on exhibit at the 1933 World’s Fair in Chicago.The model of San Francisco was thirty feet long by fifteen feet wide and featured forty thousand miniature buildings. It was considered the greatest model city ever built.
As a resident of Sausalito, Theurkauf already knew that Squaw Valley was vying for the Olympics. A model designed by Theurkauf would have been cost-prohibitive under normal circumstances. However, being a loyal Californian, a price of three thousand dollars was negotiated with the Sausalito architect. Artistic impressions of the sports facilities for the Olympics had already been drawn, so it was Theurkauf’s job to translate those ideas into depth and dimension. He suggested a model of Squaw at one-sixteenth to scale, which meant the model would be twelve feet by six feet.
The Ghosts of Lake Tahoe Page 11