(Jean‑Claude Moritz — Dirt Claude, suds enthusiast, questionable decision‑maker)

Please, for the love of everything holy, do not try this at home—or anywhere else. We were young, dumb, and somehow dodged both the law and the emergency room. Fountains are slippery, soap is messy, and modern Vail has zero patience for feral children turning public spaces into bubble baths.

And one more thing: I’m not naming any of my friends in this story. If I mention someone, I’ll either change their name or invent one entirely. I love my friends, and they don’t need any grief for the idiotic stunts I’m choosing to publicly relive. They survived childhood once; they shouldn’t have to survive it again in the comments section. ⚠️

~ * ~

Growing up in Vail during the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s meant we had free rein of the valley. We hiked, fished, played tag, and rode the Town of Vail bus back and forth just to kill time. But even the best mountain routines get old eventually, and when boredom set in, bad ideas usually followed.

Back then, the Craig’s Market sat right beside the Vail Village Inn building, literally steps from the Children’s Fountain. Having that store so close was an absolute recipe for trouble. We’d stroll in, grab a bottle of cheap dish soap, walk back out, and march straight over to the middle of the Vail Village.

Looking back, we were total idiots. But as Dirt-Claude, I like to think it was just the universe stepping in to force a public bath on me, my local friends and my new visitor friends.

Honestly, it probably helped all of us on a hot summer day.

~ * ~

Looking back now, I do owe the town a bit of an apology.

It wasn't respectful, it annoyed the town, and I certainly didn't want to end up in front of Judge Buck again.

So, forty years late: I’m sorry again. I can't take it back, though I definitely appreciate a normal shower a lot more these days.

~ * ~

If you look at the Children’s Fountain today, you’ll notice the Town of Vail eventually got wise to us. They reshaped the whole thing—the basin is shallower, the water volume is way down, and the splash zone is almost non-existent. The bubble-bath potential has been engineered down to zero. Besides, these days we’d never get away with it anyway—not with surveillance cameras on every corner, smartphone video constantly rolling, and basic scrutiny from just about everybody. It’s pretty clear the town remembered what we did and made sure no one could pull it off again. Fair enough. Do I miss the youthful energy and comradarie all of us shared in those moments. Yes.

~ * ~

Here’s to the pure magic of growing up in the Valley, the wild freedom of those endless summers, and the sheer luck of coming of age in a place that let us just be kids. Sure, we made our share of mess—leaving a trail of foam and laughter all the way down Bridge Street—but those crazy moments shaped an entire generation of us into the resilient, tight-knit crew we are today. They can redesign the fountain, but they’ll never wash away the memories, the bond we shared, or the absolute gift of calling this place home.

— Dirt (and now cleaner) Claude