Bowling rolls back into vogue
Amidst resurgence, future of Durango Bowl hangs in balance

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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