George Larsson was a nineteen-year-old from the neighboring town of Sparta. He had worked at the resort as a ski-lift operator for part of the winter and had come back to socialize. I had never met him but knew someone who had. He told me Larsson was a good wrestler and had gone undefeated the previous season. In the summer, he worked for his dad’s roofing firm. He spent an entire day riding down the Alpine’s fast lane.
