We were besties when I was in the 5th - 8th grades in our hometown of Rumford, Maine. Dave was a year or two ahead. We've kept up occasionally over the years. Our visit this time, both in our later 70's, found us recalling exploits of our youth. Great fun. Dave's father was the District Judge. One August afternoon the judge was called to the Capitol, and he took the both of us along. The drive to Augusta, otherwise long, was made short by listening to Curt Gowdy call the Boston Red Sox game on the car radio. We skied together, both winter and summer. One summer we had a Scott-Atwater 7 1/2 hp outboard motor, his family had a Johnson 5 1/2 hp but neither could pull us up on water skis, so we put both motors on the same boat. To our great joy, it worked, we skied day after day.
A winter afternoon of my 6th grade found us ski-jumping together on Scottie's 25 meter hill. Somehow, maybe on a dare I don't recall, we agreed to climb the 55 meter hill to see what we thought. When we got to the top, I fastened on my skis determined not to walk back down. I felt ready, or rather I thought if I hesitated, I would never go. When Dave turned to peer off the back of the trestle (or maybe it was pee), I took-off down the ramp. Being somewhat anxious my technique failed me. I jumped but not hard enough and landed just past the knoll, then sped down the ever steep landing area. Dave soon followed. His jump looked pretty good; soon we met at the bottom. Looking up at that imposing ski-jump, where famed ski-jumpers the likes of Art Devlin, Art Tokle, Johnny Bower and many others competed in the '40's and '50's, Dave and I decided to scale those height's again but on another day. Dave continued his skiing career in Park City leading Nordic ski tours into the Wasatch all while holding down a day-job designing computer hardware for Unisys and later as Professor of Computer Science at University of Utah.
Here's a published poem about this venerable ski-jump written by brother Rich Kent, a jumper himself who taught English, coached skiing, and soccer at the Rumford high school for many years. He's now a full at University of Maine where he teaches writing. His recent book "Words for a Mountain" celebrates the successor to Scottie's called Black Mountain; book sale proceeds go to the town-operated, non-profit ski area. Rich told me all these ski jumps were long ago torn down due to liability concerns. (each link opens a separate page)
Some further exchange with brother Rich:
Rich:
I went through the blog and enjoyed it. Of course, I especially liked the section about you and Dave Hanscom. That poem of mine is about all jumps and ski jumpers, but the photo is of the 55m up at Black Mountain that was named the Aurele Legere Jump for his tireless work of keeping that jump and others up to snuff. Sadly, high school jumping died in Maine in the early 1980s, and I think I told you that I was the last high school jumping coach for Rumford. Also, Don__math teacher__ of EL and I held the last high school ski jump competition down in Auburn at Pettengill Park. They had a tower there... I think it was a 25m. I wrote an article titled "The Death of Ski Jumping" that came out in Maine Life and then later in Nordic Skiing magazine. Good work! Keep writing.
Response:
That big hill at Black Mountain wasn't 'up to snuff' on a windy day in the winter of 1961 when I jumped that hill and fractured my arm. The landing area had only a narrow path tamped down and the high winds blew me into the iced-over snowpack 6-8 feet from the middle. I sustained a compound fracture falling forward and putting my arm through the frozen snow. Because of it I missed the State meet the following week. Moreover, I had needed downhill skis for the State race and Ma had just paid $25 for those used 220 cm Kastles you have in your cellar. Probably a good thing though, I might have killed myself on the downhill race with those skis. No doubt I contributed to the end of the jumping DNA in the Chisholm Ski Club. It came near to being the end of me.
Rich:
I had always thought that you broke your arm on The Suicide. I didn’t even know the Black Mountain jump had been built by the ski area’s opening. Interesting.
