Tim "Stuntman" Territo
By Matthew Beaudin
Over drinks one night, Tim “Stuntman” Territo tells stories of how it used to be, how it is now, why he loves this place, and, of course, how he came by his wicked-cool nickname. It doesn’t take long to discover he’s not really a stuntman. Years ago, to celebrate the end of ski season, he tossed a back flip on skis into a swimming pool. At a party, he surfed some stairs on a lunch tray, breaking his thumb. Then, of course, there’s the time he jumped from the Bluegrass stage and broke his leg. But Stuntman says he’s not really sure how he acquired the moniker.
Aside from the tricks, Territo’s Telluride story is similar to many of this region’s pilgrims. He visited a few times and once forgot to leave. He spent birthday number 21 here, riding out with friends from Staten Island, N.Y. “I stayed and they went back,” he says. He’s now 42, but he still says “New Yaak” when he talks about his native soil.
After going to school back East, he worked for a newspaper in Staten Island as a pressman. He was moving up, but “I decided to can it all to work as a dishwasher at the Floradora,” he says, a smile creeping. “Those were the fun years—back in the day when people partied more freely.” He washed dishes, managed and tended bar at the saloon.
That was the early 1980s, but it wasn’t the last time Telluride would make Territo feel welcome. His stories carry the enthusiasm (and a little of the absurdity) of college tales recounted. He recalls his birthday parties in town fondly, and mentions one when the Fly Me To The Moon Saloon had no choice but to shut down because everyone was at his party.
But a man can’t wash dishes and party forever. Territo’s work has evolved as he’s aged. He founded Jo Mama’s Movers in the mid-80s, then sold it in the late 1990s. In the formative years of the Telluride AIDS Benefit, Territo ran cameras. Now it’s mixed bag. His current title of “schlepmaster” for Telluride Film Festival and Mountainfilm is earned by overseeing a crew responsible for transporting production equipment and event setups. He runs the spotlight on the Bluegrass Festival stage by night and helps with the Jazz and Blues and Brews Festivals in their late-night venues.
Territo’s current passions extend farther—all the way to Hollywood. These days he runs Telluride On Site Productions, an agency geared toward bringing commercials, films or other shoots to the region. Some of his work you may even remember: The Budweiser holiday commercial, the one where the Clydesdales canter through town and the final shot shows Telluride lit up like a diamond inside a jewelry box. “I’ve been trying to bring a lot of business to Telluride,” he says. An upcoming production will use the house perched atop Bridal Veil Falls in its opening scene. He mentions he’s working on something else, but he’s hesitant to admit just what it is. “It’s big, though,” he promises.
Territo does far more than hustle the Telluride image—he gives locals spots in and behind the scenes of these productions. On the busiest of shooting days, Territo sends approximately 30 locals to work, from acting to makeup to production assistance. For Territo, it’s nice to give good people good work, but it’s about getting the best people for the job. Companies come to town with their own crews and realize they need his help: “They spin their wheels until they talk to locals. We know where to get equipment and how to drive the steep dirt roads. When they work with Telluriders, they recognize that they’re a guest here, and they feel well represented.”
For as much as he’s represented Telluride, Territo is also admired for presenting himself. Territo is gay, which wasn’t easy in the early 1990s when Colorado voters passed Amendment 2, effectively making gays strangers to the basic civil rights allotted to everyone else. “It read really weird,” he says of the amendment. “Gays could be fired, booted from apartments…. All of a sudden, there was a lot of gay bashing.” The bill never went into effect: A district judge stayed it, then ruled the amendment unconstitutional. The decision went to the nation’s high court, and the Supreme Court struck it down in 1996. Nevertheless, Colorado was dubbed “The Hate State” by people across the nation.
Telluride citizens, in typical Telluride fashion, sought to distance themselves from the oppressive sentiment, declaring that the town would stand on its own, away from discrimination. Some residents, however, commented that there weren’t any gay people in town, so what did it matter?
Territo felt it was time to come out. He wanted people to know that “gay” had a face, one of which was his. No one—save his close friends—knew. So he agreed to be interviewed about his reaction to Amendment 2 on KOTO’s news. “The response was great,” he says. “It was so warm.” He personally changed many peoples’ opinions about gays. And at the same time, he realized why he felt comfortable in this valley. “That’s what this community really is about. That’s why I’ve lived here for so many years. People here have always made me feel at home,” he says. “People here are good—good natured, deep down inside.
