Fränz looked like everyone else. But he wasn’t. I felt it the moment I saw him. Thus, I approached him.
Skiing was our family ritual. Something my parents and I shared like a seasonal rhythm. Back then, snow fell like a promise. We chased it every weekend. Holidays were just longer versions of the same story.
Bundled up in thick jackets, with weathered, furrowed faces, bushy beards, and usually a crooked cigar clamped between their lips—they stood there, stoic. The ski-lift operators. They shared not only a look but an ethos: silent, unsmiling, operating with the robotic precision of men long since resigned to routine. A “Grüezi” might elicit a grunt—on a particularly social day.
Except for one. Same beard. Same coat. But he had a spark. A smile that melted even the iciest skier.
I couldn’t make sense of it. Same job. Same cold. Same endless crowd.
Later I saw him again in the village. I was a kid. Curious. “Why do you seem so happy doing this job?” I asked.
He laughed. “I’m Fränz. I herd cattle in summer, high up on the alps. It’s rough and you go days without a voice. Here, I drink coffee with my colleagues in the morning, and there’s usually a beer after work. I’m part of something.”
“I’m also a mechanic. I like fixing things, keeping the lift running. Tighten a bolt here, solving small disruptions – Tightening a bolt here, fixing a small glitch there—I genuinely enjoy it.
As long as the system runs, no one interferes. I ensure the lift opens on time and check the piste at day’s end. The rest is my domain. My responsibility—my discretion.
And I’ll let you in on a secret: I hand each guest the bar a little differently. Gently for an older lady, with a bit more flair for two sporty lads. I always offer a joke, a quip, or at least a warm word. I want everyone to start their ride with a smile. Over the years, guests have returned—even from abroad—bringing delicacies from home. What more could one wish for?”
It took me over three decades to truly comprehend what Fränz had gifted me that day.
I’ll share more in the next blog.
Warm regards,
Ralph Hubacher
