“Ed, did you ever think of doing cross country? I can teach you….”

Al Merrill, coach of the Dartmouth ski team, changed my life when he uttered these words to me in late 1960.

I had told friends back home that fall that I was “on” the ski team. Indeed, I suppose I was. I showed up at the first meeting at Robinson Hall, signed up and faithfully participated in all the fall training sessions. I really had no business believing I could be a member of the Dartmouth ski team, but I had a strong desire—so strong that I missed the first two clues that I was off-base in my expectations.

The first clue came at that initial meeting. It was obvious that Merrill, known as the “Silver Fox,” was familiar with the names of many of my classmates in the room: Jim Jacobson, Chris Palmer, Bobby Hiller, Rick Isaacson, Pat Terenzini and Frank Hannah, to name a few. Merrill had no idea who I was. Although my father had taught me how to ski at age 5 on a hill in back of our home and I had been president of my Kingston, New York, high school ski club, I had participated in exactly two races in my skiing career: a slalom race in which I was disqualified after missing a gate and a downhill race in which I had “markered out” and therefore did not finish.

The second clue came at that same meeting in Robinson. Merrill handed out a form and asked everyone to fill in the name of his ski association division and classification. I remember asking the classmate sitting next to me what Merrill meant. I can only imagine the pity my classmate, still unknown to me, must have felt for this dweeb sitting next to him.

I handed in a blank form, but Merrill never inquired further about my credentials. More importantly, he let me train as a member of the freshman ski team.

I did quite well during fall training, particularly in the running sessions and at Chase field. The runs up Velvet Rocks and Oak Hill were a challenge, but manageable. I could do multiple repeats of the “10-minute loop” on the golf course in under nine minutes. The capstone for each week’s training was a Sunday hike that, despite the rather benign name, was actually a three-hour-and-sometimes-longer speed hike/run of marathon distance over mountains such as Moosilauke, Smarts and Cube.

We were divided into two groups for these Sunday hikes: the Tigahs (pronounced with the particular New England twang that made Merrill’s voice sparkle) and the Mules. Most of the specialist ski jumpers (and the alpine skiers who knew better) generally volunteered to be Mules and go on the shorter and less challenging hike of the two, knowing full well they would be back earlier and not suffer as much, though they would have to endure the unspoken deficit of being associated with their group’s namesake. The Tigahs, on the other hand, were those who willingly accepted the more difficult workout and delighted Merrill when he saw how his carefully planned training program increased our capacity to take on longer, more vertical distances at greater speed each Sunday.

I was a Tigah on these hikes and kept up with the best. It was a heady and proud time for me: I was on the ski team.

Then disaster struck. It snowed.

Dry-land training was over—it was time to put on the boards. Merrill announced we would be heading out to the Skiway (Holt’s Ledge) for freshman alpine time trials. I knew right away I was in trouble: Any ski trail with “ledge” in its name would be over my head.

And it was. Merrill had us do two runs and combined the times. My name did not appear on the results sheet. I was dejected. What was I going to do?

Then came the pivotal moment that would dramatically change my next four years and, in many ways, my life. Merrill came up to me on the way back and asked if I’d ever considered cross-country skiing. “We are short a runner for the freshman team,” he said, “and I can teach you to ski cross country.”

Did he ever. By sophomore year I was skiing on the varsity Winter Carnival team.

So who was this upbeat, likable and inspiring person? We knew, of course, that Merrill was technically proficient, particularly in the Nordic events of cross country and jumping. His ability to craft an effective training program was self-evident: Those who followed his training regimen saw immediate improvement in their fitness and endurance. We also heard about, and later experienced, his unequaled abilities in waxing cross-country skis. The depth of his knowledge of all aspects of cross country was evidenced by the fact that he was the chief of course for the cross-country events at the 1960 Olympics in Squaw Valley, California.

In college I knew him as a coach. Years later I learned much more. He was born in Andover, Maine, in 1921. He graduated from Hebron (Maine) Academy and enrolled in the University of New Hampshire (UNH), where the ski team he captained for three years won three successive Dartmouth Winter Carnival titles (1941 to 1943).

His college career was interrupted by World War II, in which he earned the Purple Heart, Distinguished Service Medal and Bronze Star serving with the 83rd Infantry Division in Europe. After returning to UNH and graduating in 1947, Merrill taught physics and chemistry at Lebanon (New Hampshire) High School, where he also coached skiing. He took time off to coach the U.S. Nordic team at the 1954 World Ski Championships and the 1956 Winter Olympics.

Merrill came to Dartmouth as assistant coach under Walter Prager. When Prager retired in 1957 Merrill became the first American-born coach of the College’s team. Under his direction the team won the NCAA Ski Championships in 1958 and seven Winter Carnival titles. He also served for many years in various capacities with the world’s major ski organizations.

In 1972 he retired as coach of the ski team but continued to oversee the Dartmouth Outing Club, recreational ski programs at the Skiway and Oak Hill, operations at the Second College Grant and the rehabilitation of the Moosilauke Ravine Lodge.

His impressive resume does not explain why Merrill, who fully retired in 1983 and died in 1990, spent untold hours teaching a nobody freshman how to ski cross country simply because the kid was determined and willing. He never mentioned his many accomplishments. He demanded much—but never more than it was possible to give. He was a coach who respected the fact that athletics, while important, were subsidiary to a demanding academic environment.        

Ed “Gus” Williams is a New York City attorney who specializes in Olympics eligibility matters. He is a two-time All-American skier and national champion; he also competed in the biathlon at the 1968 Grenoble Olympics.