They were a secretive band of brothers — their faces painted and covered while dressed in white and fur — who took to the streets of Whitefish Winter Carnival to have a little fun with the crowd.

Joe Voermans, Lee Brockel and John Pacheco were members of the original band of yetis that came to life as part of the annual tradition of the Winter Carnival. They created a type of secret society, following a strict code of ethics and remaining steadfast in the goal of always protecting their anonymity.

“We were going to be professionals,” Voermans said.

The three men recently gathered to reminisce about the time they spent together — six years — as the first group to serve as yetis. Voermans has held on to a typed copy of the original “yeti code of ethics,” a notebook with meeting minutes and a photo of that original gang, which also included Dow Crum and Clay Gilchrist.

The original organizers of the Carnival asked the men to dress up as yetis that first year in 1960. Everyone thought the idea sounded crazy, they said, but it turned out to be fun.

“They asked if anybody had heard of yetis,” Pacheco said. “The five of us got together and decided we’d be the yetis.”

“We’d do anything to be on the mountain,” Brockel added.

The group began holding formal meetings and created the yeti code, which stated that a yeti “shall conduct himself in such a manner as to bring no discredit upon himself or the organization” and “while in uniform or prior to dressing shall not partake of any alcoholic beverage.”

They worked in the basement of Brockel’s home to create their costumes. Laying down on white sheets on the floor, they traced an outline of their bodies before their wives sewed the fabric together in a loose fitting human-shape. Animal hides were sewn together and worn on their chests. They put chalk on their faces and covered their heads with a nylon sock.

“We scared people because we were ugly,” Voermans said with a laugh.

They would walk — always hunched — down Central Avenue tormenting the crowd as it watched the Grand Parade. They’d steal items from people along the route, but always returning them later. Of course, they always made an attempt at stealing the Queen.

Yetis rarely talked and when they did to each other it was only by using their yeti name — Voermans was Migo, Brockel was Longhi and Pacheco was Yalmo.

“We were given those so that we wouldn’t have to say, ‘hey John’ and then everybody would know who we were,” Voermans explained.

The group of yetis would dress together then drive in full costume in to town. Sometimes one of them, not in costume, would stand along the parade route just to prove he wasn’t one of the yetis.

Voermans was a postal worker, Brockel was owner of a dry cleaning shop and Pacheco worked as a butcher — making them well-known in their daily lives. Whitefish was a small town back then, and if they had not taken precautions, they would soon be found out.

“It would take away from the fun if people knew who you were,” Brockel said. “The carnival had a different atmosphere then.”

Of course, their wives and children knew the truth, but were sworn to secrecy.

“Everyone would come to my house and we’d work in the basement,” Brockel said. “My daughter, who was about 3-years-old at the time, watched us make the costumes, but when we’d come down the parade and she’d see one of the guys, she’d be scared.”

Voermans daughter, Judy Willey, remembers it well.

“As a young child, I never was told what was going on,” she said. “Only that I was to be surprised and awed and, yes, a little afraid of the yetis.”

Voermans says he has gratitude to the family members who helped and kept their secret. Voermans said even after he stopped dressing up as a yeti his secret sort of remained.

“Our wives were quite involved,” Voermans said. “We have to give thanks to our wives and our children for keeping the secret — they didn’t discuss it with anyone.”

Brockel said it wasn’t until a Mountain Bank calender came out in 1990 that included a photo of the yetis that many people even knew he was part of the original band.

After a few years, some of the guys moved away and others found other interests. The three men say they sort of faded into the mountain and other yetis took over.

Today, most who come to the Carnival expect to see the yetis roaming the parade route. They’ve come to expect the creatures, along with the Viking divas and the penguins, as a part of the characters of the Carnival.

But that first year the yetis were only a part of the mythical story.

“We’d come up behind people that they’d just scream,” Pacheco said. “One girl almost fainted.”