The Shah of Iran had flown to Sun Valley to ski with ski school director, Otto Lang. Accompanying the Shah was an entire airplane load of people. This included, but was not limited to, servants, cooks, porters, food tasters, equipment and luggage handlers, interpreters, and sixteen bodyguards. No one in his group of about thirty servants could ski, so the head of the ski patrol, Nelson Bennett, asked for volunteer :"bodyguards" who could handle a 45-caliber automatic pistol.

Four members of the ski patrol, all former Tenth Mountain Division veterans, stepped forward and were issued army surplus, automatic pistols. Then they were told: "Drive out to Warm Springs and practice firing a half-dozen magazines. Try a few rounds while you hang off the running board of a car to pretend that you’re firing while skiing. Adjust your shoulder holsters and be ready to ski by eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”

(You may be wondering about how dangerous it would be to fire a 45-caliber automatic while driving around Warm Springs. Well in 1948, there was nothing in Warm Springs except a dirt landing strip for a proposed, someday-to-be built airport. But the entire airport story is for another time.)

Everything worked to perfection, just as if everyone knew what everyone else was doing. Two of the ski patrolmen skied in front of the Shah and Otto and the other two patrolmen skied behind him. After a few days of skiing in this manner, everyone at Sun Valley became used to the group and the four guards began to gradually relax their vigil.

During lunch in the Roundhouse on the fifth day, the four ski patrolmen hung their automatic pistols on the clothes rack, covered them with their ski patrol parkas, and went over to the cafeteria line where they ordered their lunches.

Watching all of this, a friend of mine said, “Why don’t we switch parkas with them, take a couple of the parkas and a couple of the guns, and see what’ll happen?”

After scoping out the line of sight between the revolvers hanging on the wall and the ski patrolmen, I walked over with my unnamed friend. Since I was the tallest and weighed the most, I stood in the line of sight between the parkas and guns and the patrolmen, Otto, and the Shah. Incidentally all four of the bodyguards were good friends of mine as well as my partner in crime.

While I stood there trying to look nonchalant, my partner switched our two red parkas for the patrol-mens’ and took two of the 45 caliber automatic pistols. He handed one parka and a gun to me as we were headed out the door.

We climbed into our non-release, bear trap bindings, tightened up our Arlberg straps, shoved off, and raced down the Roundhouse slope. We turned left, took a couple of turns in the bottom of the canyon, lined up the narrows, took them straight, and bombed down River Run. At the bottom my partner in crime and I had enough speed to coast across the bridge over the Big Wood River.

We left the two guns and holsters hanging on a fence, covered them with the ski patrol parkas, and told the lift operators to keep their eyes open for Otto, the Shah, and the four ski patrolmen/bodyguards later in the day.

The two patrolmen who couldn’t find their guns after lunch wisely decided to just fake it for the rest of the day. Otto and the Shah never did know that the firepower of their guards had been cut in half, and they skied the rest of the afternoon with a great sense of inner security. On the final run of the day they made it to the bottom of the River Run lift. The lift operator hollered at the group as they skied by. One of the ski patrol/guards-without-a-gun skied over to the bottom of the lift. He was handed the two guns and parkas we had stolen at lunch.

I was still living in our eight-foot long trailer in the parking lot where, that evening, the thermometer read eleven below zero. The pressure cooker was hissing on my gasoline stove and my buddy and I were looking forward to another round of rabbit stew. And nearby, inside the nearby Harriman Cottage, the Shah of Iran’s special chefs were cooking up a banquet of Iranian food for the celebration of yet another wonderful day of feeling secure while skiing with Otto Lang and four alert and highly trained bodyguards.


Editor’s Note: This is one in a Tahoetopia series written by Warren Miller, legendary ski cinematographer. For other columns by Warren, click on Warren Miller.