The American College of Switzerland Glory Days & Demise 1963–1991

By David Thomas

Everyone who David Thomas knows from his days in Leysin has an interesting story about how they ended up there. This is his. This is also a story about the rise and fall of the American College of Switzerland and how, as student body president, David got caught in the middle of a financial scandal that hinted at bigger problems below the surface. Those who attended ACS from 1963 to 1991 know it was a special school – although small and obscure, the education was really the extraordinary experience itself. Its demise was unnecessary and, sadly, self-inflicted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Thomas
• Release date: May 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201133016

David Thomas

David L. Thomas is a lawyer, mediator and arbitrator living in Vancouver, Canada. He is a devoted husband to a very patient wife and the father of three adventurous adult children. His motto? “Life is a ball, if you can catch it.” David attended the University of British Columbia, the American College of Switzerland and Osgoode Hall Law School. He has lived in Vancouver, Toronto, Ottawa and Leysin, Switzerland. David Thomas resides in Canada.

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The American College of Switzerland Glory Days & Demise 1963–1991

David Thomas

Published by David Thomas, 2022.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

THE AMERICAN COLLEGE OF SWITZERLAND GLORY DAYS & DEMISE 1963–1991

First edition. May 17, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 David Thomas.

ISBN: 979-8201133016

Written by David Thomas.

The American College of Switzerland Glory Days & Demise

1963–1991

David L. Thomas

Copyright

The American College of Switzerland: Glory Days & Demise, 1963–1991

Copyright © 2022 by David L. Thomas

First paperback edition published in June 2022

The American College of Switzerland: Glory Days & Demise, 1963–1991 is a work of non-fiction. The book was written using a combination of interviews, correspondence, research, and the author’s personal journals. The story and events in this book are, to the best of the author’s knowledge, accurate and true.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, [e-mail]

ISBN 978-1-7781737-0-7

Cover design: Sean Thompson (seanthompson.crevado.com)

Ebook: SpicaBookDesign (spicabookdesign.com)

Produced by Behind the Book

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Cover photo (front & back): ACS brochure, featuring a photo of the view of the Rhone Valley from Leysin, home of the American College of Switzerland. Original photo © Photo Nicca, Leysin.

Second Printing

Dedication

For the many dear friends I made in Leysin. Not all of you are mentioned in this story, but you know who you are and how enriched my life has been by knowing you. And, more widely, for everyone who made friends in that special place.

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Verbier, December 1983: Puffy White Sea

Vancouver, March 1981: Guilty Feelings

Leysin, 1963: The Beginning of ACS

Leysin, August 1983: Welcome Back Fondue

Lausanne, August 1981: Unplanned Visit

Munich, September 1983: Oktoberfest

Leysin, 1967: Stallone’s ACS

Monte Carlo, April 1983: Bus Rides

Leysin, August 1982: First Impressions

Leysin, September 1983: It Started in the Kitchen

Aigle, September 1982: Basketball

Leysin, October 5, 1983: Committee Friction

French Riviera Coastline, October 1983: Sailing

Leysin, December 1990: The Beginning of the End

Monte Carlo, February 3, 1984: The Planning Team

Barcelona, April 1984: The Sardana

Leysin, February 28, 1984: The Food Committee Report

Paris, March 9, 1984: Mother Earth’s

Leysin, March 14, 1984: The Money

Leysin, Spring 1991: When All Hell Broke Loose

Leysin, April 25, 1984: The Demand

Monte Carlo, April 26, 1984: Prom Day 1

Leysin, 1976-1980: The Coup d’État

Leysin, April 26, 1984: Meanwhile Back in Leysin

Monte Carlo, April 27, 1984: Prom Day 2

Delaware, 1982: U.S. and Swiss Trustees

Monte Carlo, April 28, 1984: Prom Day 3

Boston, June 1991: The Rejection

Leysin, May 3, 1984: The Election

Leysin, June 1991: The Final Nail in the Coffin

Leysin, May 12, 1984: Commencement Day

Vancouver, May 24, 1984: True Colors

Leysin, June 27, 1984: Letter from the Chairman

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Sometimes, you just know something to be true. You may have no proper reference, but in your gut, you are dead certain about it. I believe there are certain places in the world, at certain times, when it feels like all the forces of the cosmos are coming together, to shine on one place, at a specific moment, to make it truly special. Maybe it was like that in Paris in the 1920s, or at Haight Ashbury during the Summer of Love, or at Woodstock in ’69. In Leysin, from the 1960s to the early 1990s, this was how it felt. Leysin is a small village, high up in the mountains in the French part of Switzerland. It was an unlikely place to make you feel like you were at the centre of the universe, but there we were.

Ask anyone who was a member of the International School of Mountaineering, or just a regular at the Club Vagabond, a student at the HOSTA, LAS, or the American College of Switzerland. Even the weekly ski tourists at Club Med may have felt the strange energy of the place. It wasn’t called the Magic Mountain for nothing. All of us who spent time in Leysin during those years, we feel a special connection, even if we didn’t know each other back in the day. The magic of Leysin created an unusual bond, and it reminds us of the days of our youth when we lived without the burdens of the outside world.

Leysin sits on a plateau, high above the Rhone valley, just above where the river flows into Lac Léman. This isolated alpine farming community missed much of the bubonic plague because of its lofty isolation. The heyday of Leysin began in the early 20th century when celebrated tuberculosis specialist, Dr. Auguste Rollier, developed a regimen of sunshine and thin alpine air to treat tuberculosis patients. Large and small sanitariums were built all across the mountainside, facing south for maximum exposure to sunshine. As a side benefit, the 180 degree view from Mont d’Or to Lac Léman included the Dents du Midi massif. After any length of time in Leysin, that spectacular view is etched into your memory forever.

Before the use of antibiotics started in 1946, Leysin was as good as any treatment you could get for tuberculosis, which affected millions of people in those days. The alpine treatment eased the suffering for most and some recovered. For many others, their final days on earth were spent in this spectacular location.

Many of the old buildings are rumored to be haunted. Maybe there are a disproportionate number of lost souls in Leysin that make it feel so different from anywhere else I have ever been. Maybe those lost souls were cheering us on all the way, as we lived some of the best days of our lives on that mountainside.

Everyone I know from my days in Leysin has an interesting story about how they ended up there. Most of us were not Swiss. We came from all four corners of the planet which added to the excitement of the place. There were quite a few who stayed a lot longer than they originally intended, like me. Many came for a week and stayed for years. Everyone has a story about how they ended up in Leysin. This is mine.

This is also a story about the American College of Switzerland. From 1963-1991, it was a very special school. It was small and obscure, but the education we received was like nowhere else. It ended in a way that didn’t have to be. The sadness of the demise of ACS was that it was mostly self-inflicted. This is also a story about what happened.

The story and events in this book are, to the best of my knowledge, accurate and true. I interviewed many people who were involved at the time, as well as consulting materials from Prof. Larry Ware, Jim Henderson’s book and my own daily journals. Undoubtedly there will be some errors and omissions for which I offer my apologies in advance. In the end, this is my best attempt to tell a story about a place at a time that came and went, but lives on forever in our hearts.

Verbier, December 1983: Puffy White Sea

When you are high up in the mountains, you sometimes witness a weather inversion, where warmer air supresses the clouds below. It gives the impression that the valleys below have been filled by a puffy white sea. You are staring down on the clouds as you bask in the glorious sunshine, and being at such a high elevation, you feel just that much closer to the sun, and to God.

I have this vivid recollection of standing on the balcony of the Presidential Suite at the Vanessa Hotel in Verbier, Switzerland. It was a Sunday morning. The view of the Alps was spectacular. There was a sea of clouds below, and nothing above but blue sky and sunshine. And even though it was early December with snow on the ground, it was a warm sunshine, and I didn’t feel the cold, standing there in the hotel’s plush bathrobe.

The day before, I had been skiing with Mike, an American friend who was a real novice, but we had fun and many laughs on the slopes. The evening before, we had a formal 4-course dinner at the fabulous Hotel Rosalp. The Rosalp has since been demolished to make way for new apartments. However, in the 1980s, the Rosalp was part of the Relais & Chateaux association, and their dining room was amongst the top-rated in Switzerland.

I had given a speech to my classmates during the dinner. I was the President of the ASB (Associated Student Body), the student council, of the American College of Switzerland. Along with my friend, Gerd, I was largely responsible for this long-weekend getaway for about 100 students. There had been a fondue dinner on Friday night. Saturday was spent skiing, or just wandering around Verbier, one of the top resorts in the Alps. The formal dinner was part of the package, for this was the Winter Prom of ACS, which that year we dubbed, Monte Carlo in the Snow.

The young men all wore suits and ties to the dinner, and the ladies wore elegant cocktail dresses. This was a first-rate ski resort, this was a world-class restaurant, and these were no ordinary college students.

That morning on the balcony, there were so many thoughts going through my mind. In a few hours, we would be driving back to Leysin, the mountain village where the College was situated. As one of the organizers of the weekend prom, I would have business to do in the coming hours. We rented the entire hotel for two nights, so there would be settling that bill, settling the account at the restaurant, making sure that those students without cars were on the coach bus I had chartered. There were a lot of tasks and responsibilities. For me, this was no burden. I loved organizing. I loved being in charge. It was all about making it special, making sure that everyone had an amazing time, a weekend to remember. By all accounts, the weekend had been a great success. The hotel, the restaurants, the selection of Verbier itself, they had all been good choices. And the weather cooperated magnificently. This was a weekend to remember, and my greatest satisfaction came from knowing my classmates, these very extraordinary college students, had really enjoyed themselves.

Behind me on that balcony was this enormous hotel room. Gerd and I rented the entire hotel for the prom and were able to select the best suites for ourselves. The hotel was relatively new and my suite was finished in the rich wood of an alpine lodge. It had a large living room and was spread out over two floors. The king-size bed was situated on the mezzanine, with its own ensuite bathroom and large picture windows, looking out to the Alps and the valley below.

My gorgeous, blond Swiss girlfriend was lying in that bed. After dinner, we had changed into different clothes and joined everyone for dancing at a discotheque nearby. Of course, we drank champagne into the wee hours. I had no idea where the bubbly came from, who was putting this on dad’s credit card. Who cares? Everyone was having a great time, living for the moment, in the moment.

The music was great. The dance floor was sweaty and we were surrounded by friends having the best times of our lives, and we knew it. Amanda and I came back to the suite at 3 am, light-headed as we turned out the lights. She was perfect in so many ways. Amanda was tall and statuesque, with long legs and she knew well how to walk in high heels, even on cobblestones. Although a Swiss national, Amanda had been raised in South America. She spoke four languages and her conversation was engaging.

Out on the balcony, my mind shifted away from the tasks of wrapping up the logistics of the prom. I started to think about the final exams that were just around the corner, and a research paper due in Prof. Ainsworth’s political science class. Then my thoughts went out a little further. In three weeks, I would be heading home for the Christmas holidays. That journey would take me halfway around the world. First, a 90-minute flight from Geneva to Amsterdam. Then a 9-hour flight to my hometown, Vancouver, Canada. Home. Home. It was so far away. It was another world. That would by my next task. I would have to start wrapping my head around making the transition back. Or more accurately, making the transition in my head.

My mind came back to the balcony. This beautiful hotel. This amazing view. The sunshine. The beautiful young woman in my bed. The feeling of satisfaction that it had been a great weekend for all, and in some ways, in the eyes of my peers, I had passed the test. I was in Switzerland. I loved it here. I was 21 years old. It felt like I was on top of the world. And I was, figuratively and literally.

Vancouver, March 1981: Guilty Feelings

Why was I so unhappy? Did I have any right to feel this way? My mother just couldn’t understand it.

I was finishing up my first year at the University of British Columbia, a top Canadian university which then had about 35,000 students. I attended UBC that year on a BC Government Nancy Greene-Raine Scholarship, awarded to only 20 high schools seniors in the Province for combined excellence in academics, athletics and leadership. I had been the Student Council President at Prince of Wales High School and selected as a Provincial All-Star in basketball. The academic excellence might have been a stretch, but I always maintained grades that were good enough to take me to the next level.

I had a few options to pursue basketball in college. There was a recruiter from the U.S. and a university back east that had approached me when I was still in high school. However, UBC was interesting to me for a few reasons. I loved their head basketball coach, Peter Mullins. He had a philosophy about the game that went beyond the sport. Basketball can be a metaphor for life, and valuable life lessons can be learned through the game. My high school coach, Stan Callegari, had been a star on Mullins’ team that won three national championships in the 1970s. Stan had that same philosophy and had helped me mature as a young man who had grown up without a father at home. Stan had taken me to UBC to meet Mullins personally, and the coach had come to my school to see me play. I scrimmaged with his players on the UBC team regularly when I was still in high school. From a basketball point of view, UBC seemed like a good fit.

There was another reason that UBC seemed like a good choice. I lived alone with my mother who was recovering from serious cancer. Divorced twice, she had not been expected to live past my high school graduation, but there she was. My older sister had moved to Toronto 2 years earlier. It was just me and mom in our modest west-side house. She worked part time as a doctor’s receptionist. UBC was only a 20-minute drive from home. I had inherited a crappy old Volkswagen Beetle from my sister when she moved. That car had a leaking sunroof and was always breaking down. I hated that Beetle. But I felt guilty for hating it, because I should be happy to have any car and consider myself lucky, right?

I enrolled in a liberal arts program at UBC: Philosophy, English, History and Economics. For my elective, I took Conversational French. In my high school class of 275, there were only two boys who took French all the way through grade 12. It was considered a really nerdy thing to do. I was one of the two boys. French did not come easy to me. I struggled. However, there was a secret reason I was trying to learn French. I didn’t dare tell anyone.

As my bad luck would have it, Coach Mullins was replaced at UBC that year. I ended up playing for another coach who really didn’t appreciate my style of play. I was 6’4 but on the skinny side, and therefore, one of the smaller players on the team. I spent most of the season on the bench, collecting splinters in my ass", as they used to say. All that time on the bench didn’t excuse me from the burden of practice. We played every day except Sundays. Practice after school, 17:00-20:00, Monday to Thursday. Games on Friday and Saturday nights. For me, it was really exhausting. My best day of the week was always Monday practice, after my body had a little time to recover. Basketball became an unpleasant burden. A year earlier, I was the leading scorer on a top-10 ranked high school team. Now I was a nobody with splinters. And I was tired, all the time.

Schoolwork was another story. Enrolled in the UBC Arts-One Program, there was an intensive reading list, including Plato’s Republic, Aristotle, Pride & Prejudice and other classic volumes. I was never a fast reader, but with so much of my spare time