On October 17, 2012 Emile Allais died at the age of 100. The following is from my essay “Europe: Fourth Time Around” about a trip to Europe in 1973 with Pat Bauman and Jon Reveal to make a film for Warren Miller. The essay appears in my book “Night Driving.”

Emile Allais. A magic name in different times and places of the skiing world. Emile was world champion before I was born. He was the leading French skier of the 1930’s. During World War II he belonged to the French underground. After that war he went to Sun Valley to teach skiing. In accordance with the mentality of that Austrian dominated place, Emile, one of the best skiers who have ever lived, was relegated to teaching beginners on Dollar Mountain. He took this in stride and taught his pupils quietly and well. In those days, as today, the Exhibition Run on Baldy was one of the most serious ski runs in America, and it had never been skied without several turns. One day, during his lunch break, Allais took the bus over to Baldy, rode the lifts up to Round House, skied down to the top of Exhibition, stopped to check it out, and then skated four or five times into the first schuss of Exhibition. When he finished, he skied down River Run, took the bus back to Dollar, and taught his afternoon beginning classes in skiing. His point had been made on all but the emptiest of heads, but he left Sun Valley the next year.
Allais then became the first Director of the Squaw Valley Ski School. When I was a young boy I used to watch Emile every chance I got to ski at Squaw. It was amazing that a man could ski that well, that fast and with such assurance. He was one of my first boyhood heroes. He was the coach of the 1952 U.S. Olympic Ski Team and Brooks Dodge later said Allais was the best coach he had ever known. It is worth remembering that Bill Beck’s 5th place finish in the 1952 Olympic downhill was until 1984 the best U.S. result in that event.
Now Allais is Director of Skiing at Flaine, and he owns a large ski shop there: He is 61 years old, has a beautiful mane of white hair, and is a gentle, soft spoken, reflective man. He has a three-year-old daughter, a thirty-year-old wife, and he wants to have another child.
Warren used to teach skiing for Emile at Squaw Valley in the early 1950’s and he holds high esteem for Allais. The grand old man of skiing was very receptive to Warren’s request to ski with us.
And early one morning all of us were on the first telepherique up the mountain. We were going skiing with this fine, grey-haired old gentleman who used to be a champion. We would have to slow down, take it easy; and in the privacy of our own minds, all three of us were condescending; and that attitude is a mistake in any situation. We knew that Emile sets his bindings so loose that none of us would be able to make two turns without coming out; and how, we thought, could anyone ski hard, fast or in difficult terrain with bindings so loose? With feeling, with feeling.
None of us will forget that day. That evening I wrote in my notebook: “Emile really blew us out today. He was leading, and we were honored, however condescendingly, to be skiing with him. After all, he is 61, and his mane perfectly white. On the first take he just smoked down the mountain doing fast, short turns in marginal snow, jumping off small cliffs and, in short, gettin’ it on. I was grinning (skiing last) and thinking, ‘you sly old fox, Emile.’ And we had to ski to keep up. I loved it.”
After the take, Warren said to Jon, “Now that he’s got your attention, what shall we do next?” Later, Warren mentioned that everything in life depends on your attitude. “Emile still skis the hardest runs. He works only during the winter. In the summer he goes sailing in the Mediterranean. He has enormous amounts of energy that some would mistake for enthusiasm; but he covers it with a quiet, almost reserved dignity. He must have been a hard competitor, and a ferocious fighter for the underground. I have noticed that he spends a lot of time looking quietly at the mountain. He has a lot of years’ experience and living to reflect upon.
From my notebook: “Emile gives me great joy and confidence. I can look forward to, with luck, 30 more years of good skiing. At least.”
When the light got too bad for filming we went skiing with Emile. Headed off into untracked snow, full of trees, gullies and steep, rolling terrain. We were cruising along at a moderately high speed when Emile disappeared into a gully, losing it just as he went out of sight. I stopped at the edge, more than a little concerned, and looked down to see Emile sitting in the snow, both skis off, snow all over him, and laughing like Chaplin makes you laugh. He laughed and laughed, and I couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Oh,” he said with gentle firmness, “it’s good for us to fall down every now and then,” and he laughed some more.