I was just walking up Main to give John Kenworthy, owner of Flanagan’s, the phone number of someone who wanted to help one of his employees after reading about her plight in the paper, thinking about how a citizen always figures out ways to help people while a bureaucrat comes up with all the reasons they couldn’t possibly.
That and to drop into Dolly’s to pick up a book Cheryl Fox of the Summit Land Conservancy had told me about that morning as we hiked to Mother Willow on a long ice sheet in Round Valley. I slipped along — the dry spell had been brutal on the cross country trails — while she sensibly slipped on coils over her soles.
The book is “Dear Park City,” a kind of coffee table paean in photos and letters from residents. My wife loved it on Christmas Day. She’s hard to buy for, and so in a flash of torn paper I loved it, too.
The book combines images distinctively Park City with handwritten love notes to the community. The last is by Tanner Ladsten and Sierra Hase, who describe putting the book together as evolving from a passion project to “so much more.” They could do this in other ski towns, and for a moment I remembered distinctive people in these other places. But they did it here, their home.
One letter in neat, tight script is from Police Chief Wade Carpenter. I wouldn’t describe it as poetic, more informative, but it’s a great catalogue of why the kid from Weber Canyon who knew Park City as the closest “big town” would live and raise his kids here.
As I read his letter, up floated a recent memory of a packed City Council chambers and standing ovation for the chief wearing a black cowboy hat in congratulations of his presidency of the International Association of Chiefs of Police. He’s a cornerstone contributor to the book, and cool enough to do it.
He’s friends with one of my favorite chiefs, Dwight Henninger, in Vail during most of my time there. Dwight was the president of this association in 2021-22. Also, oops, I realized I was supposed to reach out to Carpenter for a lunch appointment. We met via email a couple of months ago, and then time piled right up and over.
So many people yet to meet. But the fire hoses are showing signs of relenting just a bit, enough to hope to start to remember more of the torrent of names of people I’m meeting. I’ve been new to towns before, so there’s some precedent to go along with faith I’ll eventually catch on.
Already I could write a viable letter in that book, though. The place has begun burning into me so soon. Feels like years, but it’s only been since September with a wet, wet day’s adventure at my first Miners Day an early clue of what was to come.
Well, this goes a little earlier, actually. I pulled into Old Town one evening in August from Aspen and walked down to City Park, where KPCW’s annual fundraiser was going full steam. I bumbled into the VIP area, looking for someone named Renae. About the first person I met was Teri Orr, among The Park Record’s modern pantheon of editors. I say this in all seriousness, knowing Nan Chalat-Noaker from before, and at least emailing so far with Bubba Brown. I’ve read some of their work, know some of what they’ve done. Their letters would be compelling, indeed, probably spicy too.
As would ones from Rebeca Gonzalez and her sister, Dalia Gonzalez, born and raised in Park City after their parents found their way here from Mexico. Rebeca gripped my hand at the Red Apple Gala like I had raised my placard and claimed the night’s biggest prize rather than during the evening’s last sweep, the least of contributors. Their love for Park City’s community is palpable even as both work hard for better, Rebeca through the schools as a teacher and head of Bright Futures, and Dalia as operations director at the People’s Health Clinic.
Ah, the People’s Health Clinic. That took me straight to several others whose commitment lines up with the Gonzalez sisters’: Mayor Nann Worel, who once was the executive director of the clinic. Mairi Leining, the current director. Dr. John Hanrahan, who helped found the clinic. And Diane Bernhardt, head of the Hope Alliance that Hanrahan also helped found and who shares a tie with me to the Grass Valley, California, community where my wife, Mary, and I still own our house and hope to sell by spring.
Now I thought of all the names not in this stream of consciousness I’m writing in the twilight between Christmas and New Year’s, between here and there, this gift Mary opened in Grass Valley that has only helped her look forward to Park City.
One more name drop, though, thinking of community spirit like none other. Tom Kelly didn’t write a letter for this book, but I’m not sure there is any stronger glue for the Olympic, U.S. Ski & Snowboard Team and western ski community than him. He’s TK everywhere I’ve been among the ski towns.
But Park City is his home. I’d say there’s a big fat clue.
I finally made it that afternoon to Flanagan’s, and to the bar where Kenworthy was holding court. He introduced me around and waved over Monaye Whyte, mother of 3-year-old K’Leyah Senior. They live in Silver Creek Village on the wrong side of the neighborhood from a preschool within walking distance from their home and must figure out how to get to Kamas twice a week without a car.
Kenworthy asked her how she felt when school leaders wouldn’t help. And then her sense of community after she and he spoke to the Summit County Council, though it has no direct power in her situation.
It’s the after that would be fitting for the coffee table book.
Bureaucracy takes hold as numbers grow and people no longer are known by name. This impersonal creep bears more to worry about than traffic or crowds, especially if you’ve been to Salt Lake City lately.
By this standard, the bar and the book offer as good of evidence as any that Park City’s community remains strong. And with heart enough for love letters.
Don Rogers is the editor of The Park Record. He can be reached at [email protected] or (970) 376-0745.