Spoken by the man himself and scribed by his daughter in May 2021.
On May 6th, 1972, I arrived in Telluride, Colorado. I felt that my life was about to begin. Of course, it had begun 25 year earlier in Livingston, Montana— where my father was the ranger of the Gallatin National Forest—when I was born on March 23rd, 1947, the first of five children. We moved to Louisiana when I was ten, and four year later I was shipped off to the Philips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. I was a good student (I scored five 800s on my SAT achievement test). I went from there to Swarthmore College (despite offers from Harvard and Yale) because it was co-ed. I learned to make pots at Swarthmore, graduating with a degree in Art History, and was involved with dance and theater. After college, I traveled to Europe, where I worked in a bubblegum factory in Heidelberg, Germany, where every day was one long chew. Back in this country I joined a dance company in New York City, before moving westward. That’s how I found myself in Telluride. While living there, I built a ceramics studio in a shed on Pacific Avenue, which burnt down, by accident, the same year. I then built a studio in the upstairs of the Nugget Building, which I occupied until 1979. In 1980, the house I had purchased for $25,000 a few years earlier, fell off its blocking into the basement excavations beneath it, so I built a studio apartment behind it to live in while I replaced the house. Meanwhile, I joined the fire department and chaired the Historic Preservation Commission for several years (a little-known fact), until it was re-christened the Historic and Architectural Review Commission. I worked as a projectionist at Mountain Film and the Telluride Film Festival, both from their infancy, and contributed lots of energy to the Telluride Chamber Music Festival. I worked finished carpentry in both Northern California and in Telluride, and developed skill at tile setting. It was 9 years later, on Bastille Day, that my life really began, when I met my Belgian wife to be, Goedele Vanhille, in Tuscarora, Nevada. We were married on September 15th, 1990, in Telluride, and started a family a year later, first Jonas, Cisco, then Esme. We moved between Telluride, Tuscarora, and the Bay Area, before settling in Norwood, Colorado. After 10 years, my body began to go south. It turned out I had MS and PD. Goedele drove thousands of miles to see doctors, but they offered no hope for my condition. I’ve been living in a wheelchair for the last eight years. …That was as far as my dad and I got, writing about his life. There are perhaps bigger life events that are missing, as well lots of small details. But I think it gets to the point: my dad was a mysterious sort of man with many talents, many adventures, and many who loved him. He lost a lot to his disease, but in the end, he was surrounded by a family and friends who loved him and who carry his spark and spirit along.
Harold Buchanan
John VP Fahnestock
Spoken by the man himself and scribed by his daughter in May 2021.
On May 6th, 1972, I arrived in Telluride, Colorado. I felt that my life was about to begin. Of course, it had begun 25 year earlier in Livingston, Montana— where my father was the ranger of the Gallatin National Forest—when I was born on March 23rd, 1947, the first of five children. We moved to Louisiana when I was ten, and four year later I was shipped off to the Philips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. I was a good student (I scored five 800s on my SAT achievement test). I went from there to Swarthmore College (despite offers from Harvard and Yale) because it was co-ed. I learned to make pots at Swarthmore, graduating with a degree in Art History, and was involved with dance and theater. After college, I traveled to Europe, where I worked in a bubblegum factory in Heidelberg, Germany, where every day was one long chew. Back in this country I joined a dance company in New York City, before moving westward. That’s how I found myself in Telluride. While living there, I built a ceramics studio in a shed on Pacific Avenue, which burnt down, by accident, the same year. I then built a studio in the upstairs of the Nugget Building, which I occupied until 1979. In 1980, the house I had purchased for $25,000 a few years earlier, fell off its blocking into the basement excavations beneath it, so I built a studio apartment behind it to live in while I replaced the house. Meanwhile, I joined the fire department and chaired the Historic Preservation Commission for several years (a little-known fact), until it was re-christened the Historic and Architectural Review Commission. I worked as a projectionist at Mountain Film and the Telluride Film Festival, both from their infancy, and contributed lots of energy to the Telluride Chamber Music Festival. I worked finished carpentry in both Northern California and in Telluride, and developed skill at tile setting. It was 9 years later, on Bastille Day, that my life really began, when I met my Belgian wife to be, Goedele Vanhille, in Tuscarora, Nevada. We were married on September 15th, 1990, in Telluride, and started a family a year later, first Jonas, Cisco, then Esme. We moved between Telluride, Tuscarora, and the Bay Area, before settling in Norwood, Colorado. After 10 years, my body began to go south. It turned out I had MS and PD. Goedele drove thousands of miles to see doctors, but they offered no hope for my condition. I’ve been living in a wheelchair for the last eight years. …That was as far as my dad and I got, writing about his life. There are perhaps bigger life events that are missing, as well lots of small details. But I think it gets to the point: my dad was a mysterious sort of man with many talents, many adventures, and many who loved him. He lost a lot to his disease, but in the end, he was surrounded by a family and friends who loved him and who carry his spark and spirit along.
Harold Buchanan