Small town passing…the blessing and the curse

It’s the small-town element most of us love and hate: pretty much anyone with some history in the North Valley knows almost everyone else or at least knows of most everyone else. It’s a blessing and a curse.

There is little anonymity here and that makes for the richest tapestry of community, but it can be a pain in the butt. It is a blanket you can wrap around your soul in comfort and one that can at times make you want to scream or break your heart. The passing of Frank Magri this past weekend showed that.

Crested Butte and the North Valley have gotten big enough that not everyone knows everyone else personally, but there is probably not much more than two or three degrees of separation at most. So, when a local or longtime second homeowner passes, the ripple effect is magnified in a place like ours.

The threads of the community are varied. Not everyone here is a high-profile character. Most are characters in some regard, but all are individuals who somehow contribute to the communal fabric. Not everyone shares the same social circles, but everyone has a role in the greater picture and whether you know them well or not, everyone has a place. There are saints and sinners, curmudgeons and irritating rays of constant sunshine. Some are on the opposite side of the political fence. There are arrogant neighbors and humble beams of light. Some might provide laughter, others a constant complaint. Some keep to themselves while others are front and center at every event. Some are entrenched enviros, others more on the development side. Some may be wise and provide guidance to the community while others just stumble through the matrix. And that’s okay. But all are part of the fabric. All have a love for this place and consciously chose it to escape the mainstream. While not everyone likes everyone else, there is a common bond of underlying love. 

So, when anyone with history in this small town passes to the other side, it leaves a dent. Rolling back to Crested Butte Sunday from the heat of Utah became a bit emptier after learning about Frank the Animal and his heart attack. Frank was one of those bright character threads in Crested Butte. A long-time local, he was omnipresent on the street, the softball field, the ski hill, the golf course. Smiling, chatting, joking and kind, Frank’s passing leaves a big dent, in fact a big hole, in the Crested Butte social fabric. 

Honestly, death seems interestingly normal as a part of living in Crested Butte. Avalanches, disease, suicide, accidents, age are not unexpected. I think of death as the next peak we’re all heading toward. But some losses impact the current realm more than others. 

This summer brought a lot of impact. It has been a period of transition for many. Donnie, Frank, Victor, Cheyenne, Harvey, Enrique, Brad, Rod, Craig, Matty, and others. Some were surprises given the seemingly healthy, smiling personas of people growing old at 9,000 feet. To lose community members who appear healthy and vibrant should be a small wake up for everyone to check themselves out. Just sayin’.

It’s been a tough summer with the fabric showing some frays along the edge. That of course is the way it is as the circle of life marches on, and CB becomes a town of a certain age. With age, comes loss. That is normal. Every loss ripples in a small community. It’s the blessing and the curse. 

That is one reason I sometimes push back against the constant push by some to continually grow this place – not just in a business sense but in a population sense. Increased numbers might bring amenities like better air service, more stores, bigger schools but the expansion of housing to anyone and everyone who “wants” it isn’t something to do blindly. I do believe it is better to have people of all demographics and economic strata living in and around CB. It makes for a better community. But protecting the small-town vibe is just as important. 

There comes a point when too many people, no matter the earnest intent, turns the place from a small town to a small city with fewer connected threads. When that happens, we can lose the ties that make this a tight community.

Frank happened to be a big happy thread in the tapestry who reminded us that small-town living comes with things we both love and hate. I loved running into Frank and hate that I will no longer see him hanging out. It’s the same with those others who are now gone. Like all of us, I knew some better than others – but all were part of the intertwined life in Crested Butte. That, like it or not, is the blessing and curse of our small-town — and given the inevitability of all of us eventually climbing the next peak on the other side, just experiencing the fabric is a blessing.

—Mark Reaman