Dolores' seat: Mining and Rico, Ag and Dove Creek

Miners, agriculture interests frequently fought over seat

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

 It was Rico, of course, that first got the nod on February 10, 1881, to become the county seat when Dolores County was carved out of a part of Ouray County. The new county was bordered by San Miguel on the north, San Juan county on the east, and La Plata County on the south (Montezuma County had not been created until 1885), and Utah Territory on the west, according to Dolores County Historical Society.

"By an act of the general assembly which has just concluded its labors, the county of Ouray was divided and the new county of Dolores, with Rico as its county seat, created," read the Denver Tribune on February 15, 1881.

"It is 23 miles wide and forty miles long from east to west... Rico, the county seat, is located about 35 miles from the northern line of New Mexico, and about the same distance from the eastern line of Utah . Its altitude is 8,700 feet. It is 45 miles from Durango by trail, and the same distance from Silverton by trail. The actual distance from the latter place is 20 miles, and from the former about 30. It is situated on the east bank of the Rio Dolores, 20 miles from its source and forty miles above Big Bend by wagon road. It is 90 miles from Animas City or Durango by Big Bend, the only practical wagon road whereby Rico can be reached. There is a cut off via Bear Creek hill which may be traveled late in the spring, and thus some 20 miles of distance saved. There is a charted toll road from the Animas River to the Rio Dolores, known as Pinkerton or Scotch Creek trail, which when completed, will shorten the distance for wagons," said the Tribune.
Rico had been incorporated in 1879 and was a thriving mining town until the Silver Crash in 1893. After the Crash, much of the population moved on — though some mining continued. The Rio Grand Southern railroad was a part of Rico's history from its arrival in 1891 until it was discontinued in 1954. As Rico's mining future diminished, people moving into the western part of the county forced the issue of relocation of country seat to Dove Creek in 1945.

Miners and agricultural interests frequently have fought over placement of the seats of power in the counties of Colorado. The change from Rico to Dove Creek is only one of the most recent.
According to the Dolores County Historical Society, the Dove Creek area had started being settled around 1912 with ranchers and farmers moving into the area. "The western part of the country was one of the last areas in the United States to be homesteaded. The Stokes Brothers built a store around 1914-1916 (which was used as the courthouse from 1945-1953. There was a post office and many businesses in the early 1920’s, but the Town of Dove Creek was not incorporated until 1939," says the society's information.
Rico and Dove Creek are still the only incorporated towns in the county. However, there were other settlements and post offices in various locations over the years. Included are Dunton - near Rico; Cahone – southeast of Dove Creek, Squaw Point and Bug Point southwest of Dove Creek, Northdale, west of Dove Creek; Disappointment Valley, Lavender and Cedar; Burns, Egnar and Slick Rock in San Miguel County, Cedar Point, and Summit Point in San Miguel County Utah.

According to an economic profile produced in 2005 for Dolores County, "Western Dolores County was originally lush native grass that attracted livestock settlers beginning in the 1870s. By 1910 open range overgrazing had caused sagebrush to overtake native grasses in most of the area. In 1914 the Federal Government opened the area to homesteaders and dry land farming began in earnest. Most farming is high altitude dry land, with a strong emphasis on pinto beans and winter wheat. Dove Creek is known as the "Pinto Bean Capital of the World" for its long - standing production of high quality pinto beans noted for their nutritional content and extended shelf life."

The profile says the mountainous (eastern) part of Dolores County supplied a number of small sawmills with timber, and was the site of gold, silver, copper, lead, zinc and molybdenum mining in the Rico area, beginning around 1869. In 1876 the Pioneer Mining District was formed and mining became the main industry for the upper Dolores Valley and the Rico area. In 1879 the discovery of rich, oxidized silver ore was discovered on Niggerbaby Hill, Blackhawk Mountain, and the west slope of Telescope Mountain. This led to the incorporation of the Town of Rico and a 320-acre town site was platted out into streets and alleys. In 1880 the first wagon road was completed up Scotch Creek and Hermosa Park where it eventually led to Animas City and Durango. In 1891 the Rio Grand Southern Railroad (the Galloping Goose) pulled into Rico, and eventually connected the communities of Durango, Dolores, Rico, Ophir, Telluride and Ridgway. The railroad ran for 63 years until it was abandoned in 1954, according to the Economic Profile.

"In 1892 Rico had a population of 5,000 people, 23 saloons, 3 blocks of red light district, 2 churches, 2 newspapers, a theater, the Rico State Bank and many other stores and hotels. That same year the Dolores County Courthouse was built and Rico became the county seat, remaining so until 1946, when it was moved to the Town of Dove Creek. In 1893 Rico suffered a Silver Panic and many businesses were closed. By the turn of the century the population had declined to 811 people. The mining district had its ups and downs until 1926 when the Rico Company started to rebuild the mining industry. In 1937 the Rico Argentine Mining Company constructed a mill and eventually became the only surviving mining company of size. A sulphuric acid plant was constructed in 1953 and operated until 1965. At this time there were only about 300 people left in the town. From 1965 to 1971 the industry concentrated on lead and zinc mining and the population dropped to approximately 45," says the Profile.

According to "Colorado Place Names," by George R. Eichler, the name Rico developed after Col. J.C Haggerty's discovery of silver in 1879 and the rush of prospectors then. "Variously called Carbon City, Carbonville, Lead City and Dolores City, a meeting was finally called to choose a name. William Weston, then of Ouray, suggested the Spanish word Rico ("Rich") which was adopted." Dove Creek, is is said, was named for a nearby stream that, in turn, was labeled by an early freighter for the flocks of wild doves in the area.

Photo information:
1. Dolores County Courthouse in Dove Creek.
3. Dolores County Courthouse in Rico.

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Work, live and die hard. Go to hell.

Basically, in the end, it is “the road’s” entire fault.

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

I always found it interesting that the “highway to hell” ran through Cortez and on into Utah, with stops at Pleasant View and Cahone. After all, as Carl Sandburg wrote, “To work hard, to live hard, and to die hard, and then to go to hell after all, would be too damned hard.”
But I guess the politicians and the sign makers fixed it for us.
In 2003, on May 31, the Old 666, “the mark of the beast’ got its brand altered and became Highway 491.
“Whereas, the living near the road already live under the cloud of opprobrium created by having a road that many believe is cursed running near their homes and through their homeland; and
“Whereas, the number “666” carries the stigma of being the mark of the beast, the mark of the devil, which was described in the book of Revelations in the Bible; and
“Whereas, there are people who refuse to travel the road, not because of the issues of safety, but because of the fear that the devil controls events along United States Route 666; and
“Whereas, the economy of the area is greatly depressed when compared with many parts of the United States, and the infamy brought by the inopportune naming of the road will only make development in the area more difficult,” read the Joint Memorial Resolutions put forth first by the New Mexico State Highway and Transportation Department and later joined by Colorado and Utah transportation officials in recommending the name change.
But as Richard Weingroff, of the Office of Infrastructure, noted in a 2003 article about why it was number 666 in the first place,
“Despite the biblical reference and the image U.S. 666 has gained over years, the gematria calculation had nothing to do with the numbering of the route. Boring though it may be to contemplate, the route was simply the sixth branch of U.S. 66 in early August 1926, and retained that number when U.S. 466 was dropped a few weeks later,” said Weingroff.
That bit of truth and knowledge did little, however, to stop the tales of the strange and the twisted on the remote stretch of blacktop winding its way through multiple states.
Mad truckers, packs of demon dogs, and even a frail girl in a long nightgown that appears out of nowhere, are just some of the stories associated with “Triple 6” according to Linda Dunning, in a “Haunted Utah” piece which she wrote in 2003. Not to mention the occasional “Skinwalker.”
“There are Native American tales of unwanted passengers appearing in the backseat of the car along such stretches of highway,” writes Dunning. The evil shape shifter may take the form of a crow, or a coyote or other animals.
Then, of course, there is the movie. The 2001 straight-to-video release by Lions Gate Home Entertainment titled simply “Route 666,” has Lou Diamond Phillips complicating his job protecting a mob informant by heading down a mysterious highway with evil prison gang zombies in chase, as well as wicked mobsters. Basically, in the end, it is “the road’s” entire fault. But the Joshua Trees and the dialog makes you wonder if the writers and the directors (and maybe even the actors) fell in a Peyote patch out in there in the process of filming.
The name change brought a ton of attention nationally and internationally.
A June 2003 article in the New York Times by Jodi Wilgoren, told the story of how the Anasazi Restaurant and Lounge had its address altered 15 years before the highway took the treatment.
“June Merrett (it is really Merritt, even the ‘Gray Lady of Journalism’ can jack up the spelling of a name every so often) who owned the Anasazi then, decided that the address of her establishment was unacceptable. As though it wasn't inauspicious enough to be stuck squarely on U.S. Route 666, the building's number was also 666. So along with adopting the local name of the road as it crosses through town -- Broadway -- she convinced officials at City Hall to switch the address of the Anasazi to 640.”
When the highway officially dropped the 666 designations at the end of May in 2003, the signs for “New 491 – Old 666” as well as anything with the “666” became quite the collector’s item fetching admirable pricing on E-Bay.
Fanciers of the signage made it difficult to keep the route marked. People were running over them with their cars, taking the chain saw or the cutting torch to them, and what have you.
That reminds me of conversation related to the absence of signage that I overheard in Cortez shortly after the highway name changed.
“Is that the Highway to Hell over there?
“No, now it’s just the road to Dove Creek.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Good point.”
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What's your name, little town?

When you are a kid, you don't always think about where a names come from. As you grow older, you begin to wonder.

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Art Modell was the longtime owner of the Cleveland Browns who later moved them to Baltimore where they became the Ravens. The Browns name resurfaced later in Cleveland. Modell, I think, had a healthy attitude about history, and names, and understatement.
"I have a great legacy, tarnished somewhat by the move."
Folks in Cleveland hated him for the moving the team, especially considering that he said on several occasions he would never do such a thing. As a result, he will forever be considered "persona non grata" in that town. So far, it has probably kept him out of the NFL Hall of Fame.
In news this week (February 2015), an Ohio man who urinated on the grave of Art Modell won’t be going to jail, after all.
According to Alison Knezevich of the Baltimore Sun, charges have been dropped against 62-year-old Paul Serbu, who videotaped himself appearing to empty a catheter from the bottom of his pants leg with a tube onto Modell’s grave. When you are a kid, you don't always think about where a names come from. As you grow older, you begin to wonder.
When I was growing up in southwestern Colorado, I might have heard once or twice that Egnar was really RANGE spelled backwards. I do remember they weren't that strong in basketball. The story is that they were named that way to avoid conflict with a post office somewhere that was already designated "Range." But of course, I didn't remember.
According to George R. Eicher's 1977 book, "Colorado Place Names," Montezuma County, which served as my old stomping grounds, was named when it was established in 1889 for the famous chief of the Aztecs whom Cortez conquered.
"The prehistoric dwellings in Montezuma County were thought to have been built by the Aztecs," then according to Eicher. And the county was carved out of a portion of La Plata County. Cortez, with its similar naming theme, is the county seat established about 1886, and was named by homesteader James W. Hanna, who sold the the site to the Montezuma Land & Development Company.
La Plata County, by contrast is Spanish for "silver." and it was carved out of portions of Conejos and Lake Counties. The Spaniards who arrived there in the 1700's and pulled a fair amount of said material out the mountains, labeled those mountains and the river La Plata and the county later reflected that legacy.
Other Spanish names pop up here and there in that country, but they are not always linked to the early Spanish visitors. Cahone, for example, is derivative of the Spanish word cajon and means 'little box.' Bert Ballenger, the first postmaster, allegedly came up with that one in reference to a nearby box canyon. And Arriola is said to have been named for an early Spanish military man, but the details of that have been difficult to trace.
Mancos, in Spanish means roughly "one-handed," "faulty" or "crippled" and we used to have a lot of fun with that back in high school when we played football against those yahoos. To add insult to injury, their mascot was the "bluejays."
Dove Creek, another local rival, apparently got its label from an early freighter in the area that noticed an uncommon amount of the wild birds in the area. They had enough awareness to choose a more robust mascot in the form of 'bulldogs,' but we often argued that was descriptive of their cheerleaders. They said the same, or worse, about us, I am sure.
Bayfield, of the other hand, was little larger town, and picked up its name from founder W.A. Bay. It was established in 1886, and it was originally called Los Pinos. Too bad that didn't survive. We could have had some fun with a name such as that. Instead, we were stuck wondering about the wolverines, that, as far as I know, have never been documented as being in Colorado.
Pagosa Springs, is Ute derived, and means "healing waters." How they came up with "pirates" for a mascot, beats the heck out of me.
Rico, of course, means "rich." In 1879, when Col. J.C. Haggerty discovered extremely rich silver ore there, they called the place Carbon City, Carbonville, Lead City, Dolores City and a few other cuss words. A meeting called to settle the issue resulted in William Weston's suggestion of the Spanish word for rich and the name stuck.
Other names, not of Spanish origin, cropped up here in there in that area. Lewis, for example, was named for the original owner, W.R. Lewis, who bought the property in 1909. And Lebanon, which was built in dense grove of cedar trees, as was the Biblical Lebanon, got its moniker from the Railway Building and Loan Co. of Pueblo when it was established in 1908. Stoner, named for the creek that dumps into Dolores River there, had much to do with the rocks up stream, but has been called that at least since 1888.
Which brings me to the town of Dolores, home of the bears. Originally down river about a mile and half, and called "Big Bend" for the river's turn to the north -- the town was relocated, and renamed, when the Rio Grande Southern Railroad arrived in 1890s.
Dolores seemed to be a natural choice for a river town. The town, the county upriver, and several other local landmarks owe their names to group of Franciscan Padres. In 1776, the same year of the founding of the United States, Father Silvestre Velez de Escalante, on his way from Santa Fe to Monterey, came upon the river close to where the town is now. He named the stream Rio de Nuestra Senora de las Dolores or "River of Our Lady of Sorrows." Poetic, I think.
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