Birdie Britton arrived in Waterville Valley in 1967 as the wife of Tom Corcoran — the man who would transform a quiet inn and a few cottages into one of New England’s signature ski resorts. Nearly six decades later, she remains one of the valley’s most vivid living links to that founding era. In a warm, wide-ranging conversation with hosts Charlie and Ken, Birdie shared memories that no historical marker could capture.
Nothing But a Narrow Road and the Elbow Room
When Birdie first drove up Route 49, she remembers it as “just a little narrow, windy road” that made you “really wonder where you’re going.” The valley that greeted her was spare: the Waterville Valley Inn, the house that now serves as home to the Black and Blue Trail Smashers (BBTS), a small library, and the cottages of a handful of seasonal owners. For dining and drinks, there was the Inn’s restaurant and a bar called the Elbow Room. “Oh, there was zero,” she laughed — then caught herself. “Oh, well, excuse me. Yes, there was. There was the Elbow Room.”
Tom had already been scouting New England for the right mountain. Birdie recounts how a snow engineer based in Franconia flew with Tom over Vermont and New Hampshire until he remembered a tip: a man named Ralph Bean had an inn with a small mountain behind it, surrounded by good terrain. Tom saw it and said that’s the place — north-facing, hardwood-covered, perfect.
Building the Mountain From Scratch
Within about a year and a half of purchasing the property, Tom had cleared trails, secured state permits, built a new road, and installed the resort’s first chair lift running straight to the summit of the big mountain, where a small log cabin stood at the top. That original lift served the mountain for decades before its recent replacement. The Schwendi Hutte, Birdie notes, started as a little maintenance cabin right at the top of the chair before being relocated to its current spot. “Yeah, they would just move things back then,” Charlie observed. “Just picked them up,” Birdie agreed.
Tom’s vision for the base village was equally ambitious. Inspired by European ski towns where residents lived above shops, he hired an architectural firm from Cambridge, Massachusetts to design what would become Town Square. The first restaurant anchor was Fourways, now the convention center. The Elbow Room downstairs became the natural gathering spot for après-ski.
The Kennedys, the Corcorans, and a Lot of Stories
The Kennedy family were regular winter visitors, and Birdie suggests that Tom’s connections in Washington — including his uncle, a Washington lawyer — helped smooth the way for road permits and government approvals. The Kennedys came every year until the assassination, staying in various places around the valley. “With all their kids, people were kind of going, oh jeez, do I want to rent my place out to them?” she recalled with a laugh. Sunny afternoons at the Schwendi Hutte, wine in hand, with the Kennedys were among her favorite memories. “It’s amazing we made it down the mountain.”
Hans, Margret, and a Black Lab Named Sam
Charlie asked about Hans and Margret Rey — the benefactors behind what is now the Rey Center — and Birdie lit up. Hans was “amazing with kids,” she said, famously taking children swimming in the old pool near where the croquet lawn is today and letting them ride on his back. Margret was another story. She had a song she’d sing about the garden on the second fairway: “That is where my garden grows, for me and not for you.” You did not want to cross her.
Birdie’s family had a black lab named Sam who roamed the valley freely, as dogs did in those days. One afternoon Sam wandered into Margret’s garden, and Hans came out and disciplined him. A few days later, Hans came to the house on another errand — and Sam bit him “right in the ass.” Hans, to his credit, seemed to take the lesson.
Skiing, the Olympics, and the WigWag
Birdie was a competitive skier herself, and she tried out for the Olympics before a broken leg ended that chapter. The culprit: a set of steel slalom poles installed by a coach, who had grown tired of bamboo poles snapping during practice. “I hit one of those babies and broke my leg,” she said. She went on to work at the 1960 Squaw Valley Olympics — where she met Tom — and the two eventually returned east together to build the valley.
Birdie also contributed cartoons to the WigWag, Waterville Valley’s community newsletter. She and her husband David eventually took over running the paper from its founders. The name itself came from Hans Rey, who explained that “wigwag” meant people who talk a lot. Every issue is archived at the local library, and Birdie is thinking about photographing all her old cartoons and assembling them into a small book for her children — and possibly, as Charlie suggested, for sale to benefit a community cause.
A Valley Still Worth Loving
Asked what she’d still like to see happen in Waterville Valley, Birdie touched on Tom’s old ambition to expand terrain further along the ridgeline toward Mount Tecumseh — an idea blocked by the Forest Service due to the presence of two bear dens. Some things, it seems, even Tom Corcoran couldn’t move.
Birdie’s conversation with Charlie and Ken is the kind of episode that rewards a slow listen. Her stories are told with the easy warmth of someone who has watched a wilderness become a community and loved it through every stage. The full episode is well worth your time.