FRAW-line

Throughout the 50s, 60s and 70s Hal and Liane Hall ran the Red Mountain Lodge in Ouray, Colorado. My parents had thousands of guests, hundreds of them return customers. Find one and they'll tell you, from the day the Halls built it until the day they sold it, it wasn't just any motel.

The Lodge always seemed to fill up last, because it was a ways outside town. People wanted to stay close to the action, even though the Switzerland of America (as the chamber of commerce dubbed it) was pretty short on entertainment. In contrast, the Lodge rocked, but not with Grand Funk or Led Zeppelin.

Liane would play her accordion for the guests - a repertoire of polka, augmented by various country swing requests learned second-hand off someone's iffy singing.

"Yeoo noh 'theyella Rosa Texus'?"

"No, let me see now. Der 'Yellow Rohs off Texos'. No. How does it go then? You could maybe sing it for me, yes?"

"Aoooohhhhhhh, thyella rosa Texus . . ."

By the second chorus it would be in her bag of tunes for future performances.

Years later I played her "Fraulein". Even though she had her own version I'd heard hundreds of times, she had forgotten the title, and she didn't recognize my rendition. She did correct me though. It's pronounced "FKHROHY-layn".

No liquor was served in the "lounge", which was a comfortable bright family room with an enormous 5-foot-wide fireplace. The music was intended for the guests, but if a few bikers wandered over from the campground, that was no big deal. They really got into it. She was real, and bikers put a high premium on real.

Music interested me, and she took this as an indication I too might have a knack for the squeezebox. So every two weeks, she'd take me down to Montrose and go shopping while I sat in the line of terrified innocents awaiting my turn. I won't elaborate, but if you ever took lessons from that teacher, you know what I mean. After three or so years of begging she let me stop lessons.

Polka wasn't my thing, though I'd later wish I could remember what I learned so I could play zydeco.

There's a potent image from my past that goes something like this. The summer air is dead still. It's dark out and the temperature has dropped to about 74. The smell of nasturtiums fills the air, and maybe the occasional whiff of cigar smoke from a large Texan stepped outside for a moment. From the lobby door of the motel there drifts laughter, applause, accordion music.

There would be dozens of song requests.

"Dyew noh howta ply Fraw-line?"

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To know more about the Red Mountain Lodge, do a tag search on "rml".