Lahout’s Ski Shop: Winter’s Everything Store

Let’s face it: A good New England ski day involves suffering. Windblown chairlifts, frostbite-inducing temperatures, and icy trails down stunted mountains are the norm. The skiers who embrace all this are usually the ones who grew up in this region, stuffing their feet into secondhand boots, hanging out in rustic lodges in need of repair, squeezing as many runs as possible into a weekend up north. Skiing here is a labor of love.

So, it’s fitting that without both labor and love, Lahout’s, the Northeast’s most iconic ski shop and the oldest in the country, would have closed years ago. And it’s fitting, too, that—like the sport itself—Lahout’s is a family affair spanning generations. Walk into the original shop location on Union Street in Littleton, New Hampshire, and you’ll be assailed by an impressive array of memorabilia. Ancient lift tickets and boots (both plastic and leather) line the walls, hallowed artifacts given as much space as the sale inventory. Go back far enough, and you’ll come to rest at the shop’s origins—and those of American skiing, too.

After immigrating to Littleton from Blouza, Lebanon, in 1898, Herbert and Anne Lahout began a small business selling groceries. And at the beginning, it was basically just the two of them, with Herbert traveling all over the North Country with horse and wagon, peddling dry goods, says Ron Lahout, Herbert and Anne’s grandson and the third-generation owner of Lahout’s.

By 1920, the Lahouts had bought the building on Union Street and settled in, selling groceries out of the storefront while living in the back. In 1935, however, Herbert died, leaving Anne and their three children, Gladys, Joe, and Mary. It wasn’t easy being one of a tiny scattering of Lebanese in rural New Hampshire. “We were definitely the immigrants,” Ron says. “And my dad had felt that.”

But when young Joe Lahout strapped on a pair of wooden skis bought from a drugstore and pointed them downhill for the first time, he knew he’d found his calling and a sense of home. Soon Joe was skiing whenever he could, alongside a growing number of New Englanders drawn both to the sport and to this region’s burgeoning collection of ski resorts.

Immediately after returning from active service in World War II, Joe sat in the train station and considered heading west to follow his dream of pursuing endless sun and powder. However, a pang of guilt about leaving his mother on her own to manage the store persuaded him to return home, move upstairs, and begin helping run Lahout’s. And just a few years later, Joe added an item to the inventory that would change everything. “He threw a few skis in the window and started selling them along with dry goods and candy and meat,” Ron says.

By the time Joe’s three sons—Ron, Joe Jr., and Herb—came into the picture, ski gear was jockeying for display space next to beer and hamburger meat. The three brothers had begun other career paths but abandoned them, instead turning their business acumen to Lahout’s and the burgeoning “hotdog” ski culture of the 1980s. Soon enough, the scrappy trio was pursuing big-time Western ski reps to get trendy upscale brands into their family store.

Today, a fourth generation is involved in running Lahout’s, which now has eight locations throughout New Hampshire’s North Country. Joe Jr.’s son Anthony owns and manages the business with Ron, and Ron’s daughter Phebe heads up marketing, social media, and buying. The entrepreneurial elbow grease that the three brothers applied so liberally during those early years is a big reason Lahout’s continues to flourish, but it’s not the only one. Shopping here is like walking into one of the weathered, well-loved ski lodges that dot the Northeast—the very kind that many of us remember clomping through as kids. The nooks and crannies and creaking floorboards of the original building offer a proud contrast to the sterile, big-brand ski outfits, evoking the magic of New England skiing. If you buy your skis and boots from a Lahout, you’re never going to forget it.

“We have families that have been coming here forever,” Ron says, remembering how his Aunt Gladys and his late father would keep the doors open long into the evening, hosting après-ski parties for their customers. For generations of New England skiers, going to Lahout’s was an experience as essential to a ski weekend as the skiing itself. “We run it like a family,” Ron says.

As I head out the door, Ron tosses me a T-shirt with a likeness of his dad on it and emblazoned with Joe Sr.’s famous quote: “Put the damn skis on and go like hell.” Nothing fancy—just simple, old-school advice. Maybe that’s why it’s so good.

Michael Wejchert

More by Michael Wejchert