| Amidst resurgence, future of
Durango Bowl hangs in balance
written by Amy Maestas
I once fancied myself
a bowler. I’ve never received professional instruction
or bowled in a league. But growing up, I faithfully bowled
every New Year’s Day. It was my parents’ idea.
Each year after ringing in the New Year, they took my
sisters and me in the wee hours to one of the bowling
alleys in our city, where you could bowl a game for the
price of the year. So, in 1977 you could bowl a game for
77 cents. It was a steal.
Other than those New-Years’
bargains, though, serious bowling, in my mind, was for
people confined by concrete and congestion. You know,
like in New Jersey. What else would a guy named Ed Ditolla
from Paramus do?
Bowling in the United States dates
back more than a century, but by the 1980s the sport lost
its allure among the general public. Gone were the days
of 1950s Americana, where bowling was part of wholesome
family fun, Chevys and color televisions.
Now, 50 years since its heyday, during
a time of violence in schools and impending wars –
a time when Americana is at risk – bowling is making
a comeback. Increasingly, families and teens pack bowling
alleys on the weekends, whiling away a few hours on an
activity that so naturally incorporates mingling, arm-chair
athleticism and competition in a tidy package. And Durango
is no different.
“There are definitely more people
bowling, especially kids,” says Angela Perino, an
employee at the 18-lane Durango Bowl in the Durango Mall.
|
| Neal Price, right, bowls
a game Friday night with his son Clint at Durango
Bowl. Three generations of the family go bowling together
once a week./Photo by Dustin Bradford |
Perino attributes the comeback to
affordable entertainment in a safe environment. On Friday
nights at Durango Bowl, one can pay $10, get a lane, rent
shoes and play as many games in three hours as possible.
It’s called “Rock-a-Bowl” – a
widely popular event that goes on in the dark, using glitter
balls, pins lit by the glow of black lights and the chest-thumping
bass of the jukebox.
“What else can you do for $10
in this town?” asks Perino.
Mostly teen-agers show up every Friday
night, creating a community not evident elsewhere in town.
And on Tuesdays and Thursdays, local college kids pack
the alley for late-night bowling specials. But during
open bowling, which costs $2.75 a game, families and others
from all walks of life also take advantage of the quintessential
American game.
The Price family bowls every Friday
night at Durango Bowl – and has done so religiously
for three years.
“It’s a family thing to
do,” says Tammy Price, who shows up with her husband,
two sons and other extended family members. “I think
they’d worry if we didn’t show up one week.”
On a Friday night, I show up at Rock-a-Bowl.
Even if one doesn’t bowl, he or she still has to
pay to watch. So, I have two choices: appear to be an
out-of-place nerd while interviewing bowlers, or join
the bowling and still appear to be a nerd. I choose the
latter, mostly because I’m confident that my years
of New Year’s Day forays qualify me as a bowler.
I ask a trio of teen-agers if I can join them. I tell
them I’ve bowled extensively. They agree to let
me in, with obvious hesitancy. I also tell them about
the story I am writing.
I pull out pen and paper to quote
them. That’s when they tell me they don’t
want their names used. Initially, I’m impressed
with their Watergate-like style of dealing with the media.
I think I’ve landed a scoop. Within minutes, though,
I realize they want anonymity out of self-preservation.
They don’t want people to know they spent a Friday
evening bowling with a 35-year-old drip. Their rejection
throws me off balance, which I use as the reason for my
poor bowling performance that night.
On lane 5, 18-year-old Zach Talley
is throwing down the ball like a pro. He’s with
a group from the Ignacio Community Church. Talley has
been bowling every Friday night for four years; he rallied
his church group to join him a year ago. Now, they are
all die-hard Rock-a-Bowlers.
|
| Greg Price, left, high-fives
his grandfather Bill Noble upon nailing two stikes./Photo
by Dustin Bradford. |
“I love to bowl personally,”
says Talley, who boasts an all-time-high score of 212.
“Around here, there’s slim pickins for us
teen-agers nowadays. This is like a ’50s teen thing
to do.”
Betty Elkins, owner of The Den, a
four-lane alley in Bayfield, says bowling creates a sense
of community that is needed now more than ever. She opened
her alley in December 2000, hoping to fill an empty niche
in Bayfield – family entertainment at an affordable
price.
“There was nothing in this area
for youth and families,” says Elkins, who reports
that her business is up 85 percent since she opened it.
“I built this place around youth, families and church
groups to give them something to do besides hang out in
a bar.”
Besides leagues, Elkins says her business
has been drawing more company teams and parties because
employers want to provide an environment where their employees
can socialize and unwind from the daily stresses of work.
But bowling isn’t just a sport
for those old enough to handle a 16-pound ball. Saturday
mornings at Durango Bowl are packed with kids –
all part of Durango Youth Bowling, which organized more
than 20 years ago. As many as 48 kids ages 5 to 18 participate
under the direction of league coordinator, Karlena Thompson.
Thompson has run the league for four
years, during which time the number of participants has
grown each year. This year alone the league gained 12
kids, adding more to the roster of bowlers to participate
in competitions where they win scholarships.
“We have a lot of fun,”
Thompson says. “I think it’s getting more
popular because this is the best organized sport there
is. The kids get along really well, too.”
In spite of the bowling upswing, the
sport’s fate in Durango is uncertain. Durango Bowl’s
lease expires in June 2003. Durango Mall management has
plans to replace the alley with a new department store.
That means the bowling alley either must relocate or shut
down for good.
Closing the alley will displace hundreds
of adult league bowlers and many kids and children. Thompson,
the youth league coordinator, worries that many of the
kids will lose interest in bowling and swing the pendulum
in Durango opposite the rest of the country.
Many people will have to travel to
Cortez or Farmington to continue bowling, including Denise
Johnson, a bowler of 27 years.
“I think (Durango Bowl closing)
would hurt the interest in bowling for awhile –
the old ‘out-of-sight-out-of-mind,’”
says Johnson. “But once a new center opened, I think
the interest would pick back up. Plus, the curiosity would
get people to come back in.”
Jim Beall, Durango Bowl’s general
manager, says the owners, Randy and George Stevens, continue
to look for a new location. They have owned the alley
since 1982 though it has been in existence since the early
1950s.
“We’re trying,”
Beall says. “But the price of land around here is
high.”
After a few minutes of mingling at
Rock-a-Bowl, I return to my bowling partners to take a
turn. I set my feet for a four-step delivery and walk
briskly toward the fault line. I bend my knee and bring
the opposite leg behind me, only to notice the sign above
me that reads, “No Lofting of Balls.” I laugh
too hard to release my swollen fingers from the ball.
Frozen in a sloppy curtsy, I contort muscles enough that
the pain moves through my body from left to right.
The momentum of the ball carries it
above my shoulder, where it hangs in balance a few moments
before completing a rotation. And then, the ball drops
– right on the fault line, and begins to roll ever
so slowly down the lane. It knocks down a side pin, which
knocks down the next, which knocks down the next, and
so on. I bowled a strike, even if it took 30 seconds.
I am sure when I say that it is the
ugliest thing these teens have ever seen. Worse, they
are on to my lie.
To save face, I turn to them,
and with a wink I say: “It’s a little trick
I learned from a guy from New Jersey.”
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