The pioneering ski filmmaker Warren Miller, died Wednesday night at his home in Washington. He was an author, entrepreneur and World War Two veteran.
During a visit to Missoula back in 2007, Miller stopped by Montana Public Radio to chat with Edward O’Brien.
Warren Miller had a theory.
“Human beings’ basic instinct is their constant search for freedom. It’s all you really want out of life – to be free,” he said.
And that, Miller explained, is why he believed skiing is such a popular sport.
“Anybody who learned to ski after the age of five can remember their first day on skis; the clothes they wore, what they had for lunch, how they got there – all about it. I think that anything that is so memorable has to be a real life-changing event. The reason for that is, it’s their first taste of total freedom,” he said.
Miller built an empire on that philosophy.
His ski films were packed with eclectic soundtracks, an irreverent sense of humor and a ski-bum sensibility. For over six decades those movies served as the unofficial start of the ski season.
“I was in business 20, 25 years before they invented VHS or Betamax,” Miller said.
When Miller got his start, video production houses didn’t exist.
“It was a one-man band. I did all my own photography, all the editing, all the music, wrote the script, solicited all the sponsors and then I traveled and narrated each film live in front of an audience with a tape deck playing the music,” he said.
Miller told me it was a lot of hard work, but he loved it. He said passion for your work is everything.
“If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life. People are so bound by economic convenience. They’re really afraid to break the tie to security,” Miller said.
Miller had two concerns about the ski industry that he loved so much.
One: The price of admission.
“If you live in New York and you have two children and you want to go to Aspen for a week; airplane, rental car and stuff – write a check for $10,000,” Miller said.
And two:
“They have too much capacity to get you to the top of the hill. By noon after a powder snow, in some places an hour after the lift opens, there’s no powder left,” he said.
When we talked back in 2007, Miller had a defiant attitude about his own mortality.
EO: When your time does come and you punch out, how would you like to be remembered?
"I’ve never even thought about checking out," Miller said. "I think I’ve got 25 more years ahead of me. I think getting up in the morning with so much stuff to do that you know you’re not going to get it done in one day, there’s always something to do tomorrow and so you can’t check out."
Warren Miller died Wednesday, January 24, 2018 at his Orcas Island home in Washington. He was 93.
