The Orphan Roars- memories of Childhood at Blyth Arena

When I was a little girl growing up in Squaw Valley, I spent my winters on skis and my summers on my ice skates, that is, when I wasn't on my horse's back exploring new places to swim or have picnics. The Blyth Arena in Squaw Valley is no more having been allowed to fall into ruin in the 1980's and collapse to the ground. It is now a parking lot and a nouveau Vail Village. Blyth Arena was a marvelous place with one open side facing the mountains and its huge Longines sound systems, clocks and scoreboards on each end and its massive suspension or "tensile" roof specially designed for snow loading designed by a Finnish architect. The exterior suspension beams of Blyth Arena were painted a blood orange color and its north facing exterior had hundreds of paned windows interspaced with solid panels depicting each country's coat of arms. There were huge statues of speed skaters at each corner of the promenade. Inside, there were rows and rows of seating all the way up to the ceiling and you could run around and play hide and seek for hours in the old Press Boxes all the rooms where people once met to discuss important Olympic developments.

In the summers following the 1960 Olympics, Blyth Arena was used for conventions, rodeos and even a circus one year. The biggest convention, which we called The Radio Church of God (actually the Worldwide Church of God) held its annual convention at Blyth Arena. We were always glad when the hundreds and hundreds of people left so we could go ice skating again. In the mid 1960's James Grogan and Barbara Wagner, two bronze medalists from the Games who then married, developed an elite skater's program that attracted propsective Olympians from all over the United States. Ever since I'd put on a pair of figure skates at the age of four and learned to skate out at Boca Reservoir, I wanted to skate more than anything in the world. But my father wanted me to be a ski racer and although I obeyed when he sent me off to summer dry land training with Tom Kelly and Peter Klaussen, all I could do while we were climbing up the mountains lured on by bags of lemon drops, was daydream about when I could go skating again.

I begged my dad for lessons and was lucky if I got one or two here and there. I had an old pair of Hyde skates that were dull and clumpy compaired the brilliant white Harlicks and Rydells worn by the beautiful girls who skated with Jimmy and Barbara Grogan. I had one skating dress I'd gotten out of the lost and found which was too big for me, but I wore it anyway. I pretended I was skating in front of my parents and danced around my bedroom to music I wanted to skate to.

Jimmy and Barbara were kind enough to let me skate in the summer ice shows which were held every week, but I was only allowed to skate in the group presentations, never in a solo which I wanted so desperately that I was not ashamed to beg for a chance every single day until Jimmy began to dodge into the men's room when he saw me coming. Still, even though I was only allowed to skate in the "follies" parts of the shows, I worked very hard to perfect my role and to stand out in some way. And because I wanted so much to be a part of the elite skaters, I got up at 5AM each day and walked down to the ice rink to practice my school figures and work on my jumps and spins in the freestyle sessions.

I longed for my parents to come and watch me and when the ice shows began with Jimmy's voice booming over the Longines speakers, "And now ladies and gentlemen, we present our fabulous "Ice Factory!" But they were never there. I scanned the seats hoping that they might come and be proud of me, but in this dream, I was alone. I was in love with the idea of mothering the way Mrs. McKinstry mothered her daughter Juli to be the beautiful skater she was. Mrs. McKinstry rented a big house every summer and lots of the girls stayed together there. She must have sensed my need to be included and invited me to come and stay overnight sometimes. My nights in the house with the girls I so admired made my fire and passion to skate burn inside my heart more strongly, and I vowed to work as hard as I could so I could be one of them.

I had one pair of old skates, one skating dress and I begged for every lesson I got but I do not recall feeling thwarted in my romance with skating because of my lack of equipment; I felt more pain in the ribs of my very being that my parents did not encourage me to use my wings in the way I wanted to. I continued to suffer through ski racing try-outs only to be the laughing stock of my peers because I failed to stay on course and would end up in the trees wishing I could just disappear forever.

The gift from those years was tenacity and comfort with the Orphan's Journey of going it alone. As an only child, most of my playtime was solitary and I tended to have one or two friends who were like me in terms of their nature and constitution; girls with whom I could share the darkest secrets of feeling like a misfit.

The longing was and still is very intense for loving support and for just one person to affix my wings securely onto my back, and give me a kiss; then with the words, "There now...these wings will work just fine. All you have to do is trust them." And then, with a gentle shove off the precipice and into the abyss, I fly.

I am almost 52 now, and have decided that I no longer can afford to be a slave to my fear. There is no other but me who can mother me into trusting my wings. When I deepen into the memory of walking down to Blyth arena in the dark summer mornings, I remember feeling longing for my mother to be there to give me hot chocolate like Juli's mother did, but that did not stop me. Now, with my life more than half spent, I intend to be radically faithful and true to my Orphan heart which aches for freedom to fly.