Page 46 - Flathead Living // Spring 2016

and nished with the fact that Johnson had bit his tongue almost in half, blocking his airway with dislodged tissue and blood. “He was becoming hypoxic, not enough oxygen in his blood. His pulse was dropping and his color changing. It was then we inserted a breathing tube.”
As the press conference came to an end, a journalist who had walked in only a few minutes ear- lier, missing the bulk of the ques- tions and all the opening state- ments by Schott, Johnson, and Charman, asked a last question. “So Bill, why did you feel you needed to come back here one year after your accident?”
sometimes not. Now, he skied fast in the loose arcing manner of a longtime racer. Easily, cleanly, con dently carving, he swept down the mountain with the press struggling to follow.
AS BILL JOHNSON and John Creel made the turn back to the Skamania Lodge Clubhouse, Johnson talked about his future. “There’s a big brain injury group that wants me to be the spokesman. I’d play golf in their tournaments and talk about my recovery.” He smiled.
“Sounds pretty perfect.” “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” Looking down at his card, he
mentally replayed the hole and wrote down his score.
Creel shook his head. “You picked up another stroke on me.” Johnson smiled and entered
Creel’s score.
“I can be a model. I can show
people.”
He gazed intently down the
narrow dropping fairway to a green backed by water. A par 3, the ag sits on the back third
of the green. He picked an iron. After teeing the ball, he took two loose swings, stepped to the ball and drove. It dropped 10 feet short of the pin and stuck on the wet green.
A chance for a birdie.
IN THE DAYS and months that followed that round of golf, there appeared to be hope. Bill’s life had been a success fol- lowed by crash time after time.
As a youth he wandered in and out of the juvenile justice system until a judge told him, choose A or B: ski academy or jail. Bill already skipped a couple grades. He wasn’t dumb. He took A.
At Mission Ridge Ski Academy, he rose at 5 a.m. to train. He washed dishes to pay his tuition and fees. He honed his skiing skills. He prospered and in a couple years was named to the U.S. Ski Team.
His rst year on the ski team was
The day had been long. Starting
at 5 a.m. Johnson had answered
this question so many times and
in so many ways throughout the
day. He hesitated, glanced at Dr. Charman, and replied with a totally straight face. “Revenue enhancement.” He paused again.
“I want more people to come
to Big Mountain and get hurt. Charlie needs the business. Right
now he has to attack people.” Johnson pulled down the neck of his T-shirt, exposing the quarter-sized scar from his tracheotomy. “Look what he did to me!”
Charman protested. “They did that at the hospital.”
Johnson dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand, smiling at the assembled journalists scribbling madly. “Charlie needs more people to come here to get hurt, so he doesn’t have to attack people on the mountain.”
Charman laughed. Everyone in the room was laughing. Bill Johnson, the jokester, was back.
THE SECOND DAY skiing at Big Moun- tain, on the ride up the Big Mountain Express, Johnson remarked, “I did race here.” He looked around at the sweep of the downhill course. “I won in 1982 and in 1989.” He pointed to the spot for
44 FLATHEAD LIVING S SPRING 2016
Bill Johnson won gold at the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Games.
the start house. “That’s where they have the start.”
“Do you remember the Doug Smith or the Nationals last year?”
He shook his head. “No, just winning in 1982 and 1989.”
Over the weekend, Johnson remem- bered other small aspects of White- sh and the mountain. A large group ambled into Truby’s for pizza. He didn’t remember ever eating at Tru- by’s. Coming back from the bathroom, he stood at the head of the table. “Hey, I remember the bathroom.”
All through the week, people walked up to him and recalled the time they had shared. He’d laugh, “Good.” Shaking his head, not shy about his memory loss, “I don’t remember, but that sounds good.”
Just a month before at Snowbowl, Johnson skied in a wide track par- allel, sometimes planting his poles and