Some of my earliest memories of the hotel are sneaking into Legends Coffee Shop to steal food or a Boylan soda, wandering the halls and maintenance stairwells at all hours, riding that old, rickety maintenance elevator, exploring the basement and tunnels while telling ghost stories, or climbing up to the bell towers. As kids, there wasn’t a corner of that hotel we didn’t explore. The staff all knew us and treated us like family. Looking back, they let us get away with things we probably had no business doing, but that’s part of what made it feel like home.
As a kid, the hotel felt enormous. It was mysterious, full of history, and scary because of all the ghost stories. Everywhere you looked there was another piece of history or another room to discover. Even today, seeing a picture of Teddy Roosevelt or the Birth of Venus painting above the grand staircase instantly takes me back.
The hotel wasn’t just where my dad worked—it was where our family lived life. Holidays, special events, dinners with friends, teammates, and family all seemed to happen there. Thanksgiving always meant the Lighting Ceremony. My mom poured countless hours into decorating the hotel, and for us kids it was pure magic. My parents had us completely convinced that my dad was friends with Santa. One year we met Santa and Mrs. Claus in one of the hotel rooms. We heard sleigh bells and reindeer outside, my dad opened the door again, and they had vanished. I honestly think that might be my very first memory from the hotel. To a little kid, there wasn’t a more magical place on earth.
We had a front-row seat to so many things most people never get to experience—concerts, the Sturgis riders stopping through town, weddings, banquets, holiday celebrations. We got to see the hotel come alive over and over again, and we got to see how much it meant to the people who visited.
The biggest thing I learned wasn’t from the building itself—it was from watching my dad. Anyone who met him could see how much he cared. He didn’t just manage the hotel; he loved it. He understood what it meant to Glenwood Springs and to the generations of families who came back year after year. Watching him taught me how to genuinely care for people, how to build relationships that last, and how much impact one person can have on a community.
One of the proudest moments of my life was watching everything come full circle after another management company moved our family across the country and eventually let my dad go in such a terrible way. When he was asked to come back to the Hotel Colorado years later, it felt like he was finally coming home. It felt like that’s where he always belonged.
Some of the people we met became lifelong friends. The great-granddaughter of Molly Brown became like an aunt to my siblings and me. The drummer for Eddie Money became a close family friend through the hotel. That’s just what the Hotel Colorado does—it brings people together in ways you never expect.
As I’ve gotten older, the hotel doesn’t seem nearly as big or as scary anymore, but somehow it means even more. It’s where I asked my wife to marry me. It’s where my son took his very first steps while we were visiting this June. Now I can’t wait to bring him back for a Lighting Ceremony someday so I can watch him experience the same magic I did as a kid.
When I think of Colorado, I don’t picture mountains first. I picture the Hotel Colorado. It wasn’t just the backdrop to my childhood—it helped shape who I became. It’ll always hold a huge place in my heart, and now it’s becoming part of my son’s story too
Mark MacDonald
Silly Goose 
Leave a comment