"We spent our first night in Boulder at the Boulderado.
Nearly 40 years ago, during the first week of January 1973, Margaret and I moved to Boulder. Our apartment was not ready the first night, so we booked a room at the Boulderado. While definitely not the 'new' Boulderado, the experience was distinctly Boulder of the 1970s. The hotel restaurant then was Chinese.
We stayed in a corner room facing Spruce and 13th Street.
It was a bitter cold, windy, snowy night. Remember, this is when Colorado still had significant winters. The wind whistled through the bricks, serenading the room with an icy banshee-like quality. The wind blew hard all that night. Heat came randomly, clanging loudly through the accordianed iron heater.
As sparse as the room was, it did have a TV. Not knowing Boulder, we decided to stay in, because of the weather, and watch TV. Given the ambiance of the Boulderado at that time, we should not have been surprised when the TV had no picture but did have sound. We called the front desk. A disembodied voice (in a prescient imitation of Carlton, the doorman on the Rhoda TV show the following year) said, 'Well, it's a radio.'
We got up in the morning, shook off the cold, listened to the 'radio' and moved into the future with Boulder and with a distinct memory of the 'old' Boulderado.
The rest is history."
