In its nearly 115 years, the historic Stanley Hotel, in Estes Park, Colorado, has hosted everyone from Theodore Roosevelt to the Titanic’s “unsinkable” Molly Brown, and more recently, author Stephen King. If the hotel’s long, narrow hallways look creepily familiar, it may be because the Stanley is where King was inspired to write “The Shining” – a hotel haunting that director Stanley Kubrick turned into a horror classic.

But The Stanley was also haunted by something else: decades of financial woes. It was in bankruptcy when hotel entrepreneur John Cullen found himself the latest in a long line of supposedly cursed proprietors to invest in this creepy hotel.

He knew he had to capitalize on the hotel’s ghoulish reputation. So, he fixed up Stephen King’s actual room, #217 (you can now stay in it), and he built a hedge maze right out front, just like the one where Jack Nicholson’s crazed caretaker finally met his frozen end.

And in keeping with that frozen theme, Cullen got another idea.

In 2022 he asked the mayor of Estes Park for permission to allow one very special guest to check in – a man who’d been frozen himself for 30-plus years. “And she goes, ‘Cullen, you know, I’ve seen a lotta weird out of you in the last 25 years, but this reaches a new level of weird,'” he recalled.

His name was Bredo Morstøl. He died in Norway in 1989, but his remains ended up about an hour away from the Stanley, in Nederland, Colorado, unceremoniously laid to rest in a Tuff Shed, frozen stiff. Every two weeks for more than three decades, people like Brad Whickham have been rotating in and out hauling more than a thousand pounds of dry ice up the mountain, all to keep Grandpa tucked in for his eternal winter’s nap.

“From what I understand, he was a very kind gentleman,” Whickham said. “You could just tell that he was the glue of the whole family.”

It’s all an experiment in cryonics. Bredo’s grandson, Trygve Bauge, lived here, and believed that by keeping his grandfather frozen in the backyard, doctors of the future might one day be able to revive him. “At the worst case, this is essentially a form of burial, but it’s also for research,” said James Arrowhead, co-CEO and president of the non-profit Alcor Life Extension Foundation in Scottsdale, Arizona, where hundreds of “patients” (as they call them) are patiently waiting, frozen in liquid nitrogen … not a box filled with dry ice in a Tuff Shed.

Morstøl’s grandson was forced to move back to Norway (he was deported actually for overstaying his visa), and he had to leave Grandpa behind. But Grandpa hasn’t exactly been alone.

Our own Bill Geist went to pay his respects in 2003. He learned Grandpa wasn’t forgotten; he was being celebrated with an annual “Frozen Dead Guy” festival, complete with a Frozen Dead Guy parade, and events that included coffin races and a polar bear swim. 

Cullen notes, “It’s almost like a frozen Burning Man, if that actually can be in one sentence!”

Frozen Dead Guys Days eventually became so popular, Nederland couldn’t handle the crowds anymore. But its gallows humor fit the Stanley perfectly, so Cullen moved Frozen Dead Guy Days here.  He said, “It’s a little humor, little fun, little beer, little bit of attitude, but all in good spirit.”

But what’s a Frozen Dead Guy festival without the frozen dead guy? Cullen needed the festival’s namesake, and Grandpa needed an upgrade. So, this past August, with his grandson’s permission, Grandpa Bredo was moved by a team from Alcor, driven to the Stanley’s old ice house, removed from his aluminum casket, put in a sleeping bag, and then submerged head-first in liquid nitrogen.

We had to ask: What does he look like?  “Damn good,” said James Arrowhead. “He looked better than embalmed people.”

He’s now the centerpiece of a small exhibit at the Stanley on the science of cryonics, and he gets visitors every day.

As for John Cullen, he sold the Stanley, but is proud of his ghostly legacy. After all, he linked a fictional frozen dead guy to a real one, and he managed to find the perfect guest: one who never complains, and will never check out.

     
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Story produced by Dustin Stephens. Editor: Carol Ross. 

      
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