A good photo is truth

Utes crossing a stream near Los Pinos Indian Agency (present day Pagosa Springs).

HS. Poley photo.

“Be remembered for things that matter.” 

_  Frank Sonnenberg, The Path to a Meaningful Life

"Everyone has a photographic memory, some don't have film." _

_ Stephen Wright

My heroes have been cowboys and photographers

Farmington to Shiprock stage. HS. Poley photo.

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

For years now, I have marveled at early Colorado photographers and their life's work. Working sometimes as a "machine gunner" myself — shooting thousands of images of film, and then, SD cards full of frames for various newspaper gigs, I am surprised by their proficiency with glass plates, and mule packs. And can't get over how they knew a shot was going to live forever. Two amazing figures, from more than a 100 years ago in Colorado photography stand out. Horace Swartley Poley, and William Henry Jackson. Needless to say, they are my heroes. Still today, their images have relevance and reverence for the ages.

Horace Swartley Poley

Horace Swartley Poley, a Colorado Springs photographer, created a major collection of photographic images of Native Americans in the southwestern United States. During summer vacations Poley served as photographer with archaeological expeditions in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and southwest Colorado. He recorded landscapes, cityscapes, and events in the Pikes Peak region of Colorado. Poley was noted for his travelogue lectures employing his images in "magic lantern" shows, according to Denver Public Library

Two catastrophic fires in late April of 1896 nearly wiped out the fast-growing Colorado gold camp city of Cripple Creek — near the height of its ascendance. Reporting on event, and its consequences, took up much of next decade in the local, national, and literary and historical analysis.

In one of the more fascinating studies of before and after the fires, local photographer Horace Swartley Poley documented what the town had been and how it struggled to regain its position in the scheme of things. 

Bull fight in Gillett. HS. Poley photo.

He previously documented other events in the Gold Camp such as his famous and exhaustive set of photos of the bull fights in Gillett in 1895. He completed fabulous work in his decades of documenting Southwestern archeology and Native American culture. His train and railroad photography rivals giants of the period, such as William Henry Jackson, Robert Richardson, and Otto Perry.

Poley, of course was famous for his work in the Pikes Peak region and throughout the West.
"Horace Swartley Poley created a major collection of photographic images of Native Americans in the southwestern United States. Born in Norristown, Pennsylvania in 1864, Poley moved to Colorado in the 1880s and was a resident of Colorado Springs for sixty-two years. Poley started a commercial photo studio in 1892 and remained an active photographer until 1935. 

In addition to his photographic work, Poley served as head of the U.S. Postal registry department in Colorado Springs. During summer vacations, Poley served as photographer with archaeological expeditions in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and southwest Colorado. He recorded landscapes, cityscapes, and events in the Pikes Peak region of Colorado.

According to the Pioneer's Museum in Colorado Springs, "Horace Swartley Poley (August 1863 Norristown, PA – June 7, 1949 Colorado Springs) was a professional photographer and traveling lecturer. 

He complemented his lectures by projecting his photographs onto a screen by "magic lantern"—an early form of photo projector. He donated many of his photographs of native Americans, archaeological sites in Utah, New Mexico and Arizona, and life in the developing southwest to the Pioneer Museum in Colorado Springs.

As some of you know, or have guessed, I have great love for old photos. And in cases, I feel like I have come to know a few of these old shutterbugs from a hundred years ago, or at least their style and work. It is a fascinating bit of time travel for me. I have, of course, seen Poley's stuff before.

 

His train and railroad photography rivals giants of the period, such as William Henry Jackson, Robert Richardson, and Otto Perry. 

But who is this character?

I can only give you what I know today. Perhaps, as is the way with digging in the history pile, I will know more tomorrow. 

"Poley moved to Colorado in the 1880s and was a resident of Colorado Springs for sixty-two years. Poley started a commercial photo studio in 1892 and remained an active photographer until 1935. In addition to his photographic work, Poley served as head of the U.S. Postal registry department in Colorado Springs. Colorado Restless Native reached the important milestone of three quarters of a million page views.During summer vacations,

The Denver Public Library obtained the Poley collection in 1937.
But how about a photo of the photographer? What was he like? And his family? Let's try to personalize this.

Well, I got lucky and found the above photo with the following information.
 

Studio bust portrait of the Poley family. Margret Ferguson Poley has short bangs and wears a pince nez, a blouse and jacket with puffed sleeves and ruffled lace collar with a flower or heart charm. Frank Ferguson Poley has short hair and wears a shirt with probably a wide starched collar, Horace Swartley Poley has a mustache and wears a bow tie and jacket over a shirt with a straight, starched collar. Elizabeth Poley Schrader has short bangs and wears a dress with puffed sleeves and wide laced collar.
Margret Ferguson Poley, Frank Ferguson Poley, Horace Swartley Poley, Eliszabeth Schader and "about 1893" inked on verso. 

I feel like I know the fellow a little better, even though it has been more than 100 years.

Horace Swartley Poley (August 1863 Norristown, PA – June 7, 1949 Colorado Springs) was a professional photographer and traveling lecturer. He complemented his lectures by projecting his photographs onto a screen by "magic lantern"—an early form of photo projector. 

He donated many of his photographs of native Americans, archaeological sites in Utah, New Mexico and Arizona, and life in the developing southwest to the Pioneer Museum in Colorado Springs. He also donated many native American artefacts to the Pioneer Museum, according Gary Alan Sinton. in reference to "Find a Grave." 

Poley's family residence in Colorado Springs.

• Wife - Margaret Ferguson
• children
 _  Elizabeth
  _ Francis
• Buried: June 10, 1949, Source: City of Colo Springs cemetery data March, 20, 2009

Harvest symbolizes “richness that came to the land following introduction of irrigation”

Aspinall's long political career left his mark on Western water

Dethroned Democrat Wayne Aspinall returns to Colorado at Stapleton International Airport, 

Rocky Mountain News photo

"The Chairman" represents state in defining western water

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Just about the time Wayne Aspinall's long, powerful, eventful, political career had finally run out of water and was coming to a close, "The Harvest" mural was winding down its first run, as well. Painted by Louise Emerson Ronnebeck, best known for her murals executed for the Works Progress Administration (WPA). Born in Philadelphia, she married artist Arnold Ronnebeck in 1926 and they settled in Denver, Colorado. In Denver, she built a successful career documenting western American history and social issues of the 1930s and 1940s.

"Emerson’s second commission was for the post office and courthouse in Grand Junction, Colorado. The Harvest (7’x 9’ oil on crescent shaped canvas) was completed and installed in 1940. The Harvest depicts a young man and woman working together harvesting peaches, symbolizing “the richness that came to the land following the introduction of irrigation”, with a water wheel in the background. Barbara Melosh, in her book Engendering Culture: Manhood and Womanhood in New Deal Public Art and Theatre, describes this frequently used Section theme.

She writes, “ Ronnebeck invokes the comradely ideal in the image of shared labor, and she emphasizes the physicality of work in the man’s muscled arms and the woman’s sturdy figure”. Similar to her Wyoming mural, the man and the woman are equals, working towards a common goal. The mural depicts the Ute Indians leaving the valley on the right side and the white settlers, pushing them out from the left. The theme of displacement is effective and evocative of the time and the changes that had occurred and continued to occur in the West."

Harry Hopkins, head of the WPA appointed by FDR, perhaps said it best “Hell! They’ve got to eat just like other people.” Many feared that if the Depression continued for very long, a generation of artists would be lost and a fatal blow would be dealt to American culture. 

By 1973, the mural was dirty and dull. It was shipped to Washington DC for restoration and subsequently forgotten. Until 1991, its whereabouts were unknown. The building manager of the Aspinall Federal Building in Grand Junction had come across frequent references to the mural, but could not locate it. Through perseverance and dogged detective work, he finally located it in New York, had it restored and returned it to Grand Junction. In January 1992, Emerson’s son and daughter, who had originally posed for the mural over 50 years earlier, unveiled it in a ceremony in the Grand Junction Aspinall Federal Building, where it remains today.

Louise Ronnebec's "Harvest," commissioned by the WPA, 1941, now returned to Aspinall Federal Building.

Wayne Aspinall moved to Palisade, Colorado when he was only eight years old from Ohio in 1904. He studied at the University of Denver until World War I, when he enlisted in the armed services (the Air Service of the Signal Corps). He returned to Denver University after his discharge and graduated in 1919. 

After several years of teaching around the state, he enrolled in law school in Denver and graduated in 1925. In 1930, he won a seat in the Colorado State House of Representatives, serving as Speaker in 1937 and 1938 before moving to the State Senate from 1939 to 1948. He served in World War II as a captain in Military Government during 1943 and 1944 as well. In 1948, he chose to run for national office, hoping for it to be a stepping stone to Colorado's governorship. However, he would stay in the U.S. House for 24 years.

Living on Colorado's Western Slope defined Aspinall's political ideology. His family had traditionally voted Republican, but the party's in-fighting in 1912 between Theodore Roosevelt and William H. Taft disillusioned Aspinall. However, despite becoming a Democrat, his rural roots shaped a relatively conservative philosophy. He believed in limited federal involvement in western land and water issues; to him, localities could better decide the uses of their resources.

"When I was young…I lived outside the little town of Palisade, and the townspeople always seemed to call the shots. Then I moved to Palisade, and the bigger town of Grand Junction always seemed to call the shots. Then I went to the state Legislature, and the Eastern Slope…seemed to call the shots. And in Congress, the big metropolitan areas seemed to hold all the marbles."

From 1966 to 1968, Aspinall took on the final significant water project battle of his congressional career. The purpose of the Colorado River Basin Project, according to supporters, was to build dams to generate revenue and energy for communities in the Lower Basin of the Colorado River without using much of the Upper Basin's river water. The primary focus of the project was the Central Arizona Project (CAP). CAP supporters, among other demands, wanted to build two dams, one that would flood Grand Canyon National Monument and part of Grand Canyon National Park (Bridge Canyon Dam), with the other on the edge of the Grand Canyon (Marble Canyon Dam). Aspinall originally supported this, claiming it would generate revenue for all Colorado River Basin states. In turn, however, he demanded that his district receive five reclamation projects for his support. Several congressmen, including Arizona senator Carl Hayden, saw this as action as a move that held the state hostage, and many would come to resent Aspinall for it.

Environmentalists vehemently opposed the CAP because of its detriment to the scenery of the Grand Canyon. Aspinall would later say "We viewed the development of the river as the only reasonable, practicable, safe, and logical way for millions of Americans and visitors to enjoy the canyon bottom which to date so few have had an opportunity to visit or view." However, during the debate, the Sierra Club mocked that philosophy, purchasing an ad in national newspapers in July 1966. "Should we also flood the Sistine Chapel so tourists can get nearer the ceiling?" it asked.

Sensing that he couldn't break the stalemate, Aspinall dropped the Grand Canyon dams from the CRPB in late August 1967. The bill eventually passed in the middle of 1968, creating the Colorado River Basin Act. However, in exchange for this compromise, Aspinall did receive five projects for Colorado (the Dallas Creek, Animas-La Plata, West Divide, San Miguel, and Dolores projects).

Of those five, only two were eventually completed (Dolores and Dallas Creek), though the Animas-La Plata project is currently under construction, and is one of the last major water projects in the West. Jimmy Carter famously declared a "Hit List" in 1977 on what he felt was wasteful spending on "pork barrel" water projects, eliminating the other three (among others). No new major reclamation projects were approved during the rest of the era, partly because Aspinall's heavy-handed demands that constrained the legislation broke apart the western coalition of politicians that supported the construction of water projects.

Serious consideration for the project began when the Colorado River Compact was signed in 1922 by the participating states, as well as the lower Colorado River states, California and Nevada. As a stipulation of that compact, the upper basin states were required to ensure an annual flow of no less than 7,500,000 acre-feet (9.3 km3) be delivered to the lower basin states. However, the annual flow of the Colorado River at Lee's Ferry in Arizona, the established dividing point, were extremely erratic, ranging from 4,000,000 acre-feet (4.9 km3) to 22,000,000 acre-feet (27 km3). This led to an inability of the upper basin states to meet the minimum delivery requirements to the lower states in dry years, and a loss of significant surpluses in wet years.

In order to regulate the flow of the Colorado and ensure compliance with the compact, a study was undertaken that determined a series of dams and reservoirs on the river and its tributaries would be necessary. A joint effort between the Upper Colorado River Commission, the Bureau of Reclamation and other federal agencies delivered a report with proposed projects to the United States Congress in 1950.

Among the proposed projects was a dam to be constructed on the Green River in Echo Park, in Dinosaur National Monument in Colorado. The proposal for Echo Park Dam created controversy and sparked the ire of Sierra Club director David Brower, who embarked on a national campaign to rescue the park. As part of a compromise, the proposed dam was stricken from the project and replaced with another dam in Glen Canyon, Arizona. Brower, who had not personally visited Glen Canyon prior to the compromise, later lamented the deal, describing it as "the worst mistake of his career" and "'the biggest sin I ever committed.'"

A revised, and slightly pared down, version of the plan was passed into law by Congress in 1956. The legislation called for the construction of dams, reservoirs and related works at Curecanti in Colorado, Flaming Gorge in Wyoming, Navajo in New Mexico and Glen Canyon in Arizona. All but the Navajo project were to include power generation capabilities; the Navajo project was intended as flood control only. Also included in the legislation were several related projects in the Colorado River basin.

Colorado historians remember Aspinall as one of the state's most influential politicians. Known as "The Chairman," he led the Interior and Insular Affairs Committee during a period that defined future water and land policy in the United States. Colorado Governor Richard Lamm, a Democrat, though he had several ideological differences with Aspinall, remarked that "No one in our history has done more to win Colorado a place at the table in Washington." His son, Owen Aspinall, went on to become Governor of American Samoa.

Making a deal for the worms over the gate

I have been easy with trees
Too long. Too familiar with mountains.
Joy has been a habit.
Now
Suddenly
This rain.”
― Jack Gilbert

Rain was a welcome change, from the sunny days

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

When it rained in the Dolores valley, it was possible for a young 'feller' to make a little spending money. Mrs. Hyde would pay a penny for each worm collected, two cents for night-crawlers. All you had to do was walk the gravel and dirt streets with a milk carton collecting the squirrelly buggers, toss 'em in the carton, and take them down to 10th Street on the main road. And you could make the deal across her wire gate, any day after a good rain storm. 

Maybe she sold them to fishermen for more, maybe they helped compost her garden. We didn't ask questions about what she was going to do with them, as I remember.

But she always had an exceptional garden. Now, they will sell you worm castings for a few bucks, for a small bag. Earthworms are the children of the soil.

Rain, of course had other benefits. But was not to be taken for granted.

For some years, an afternoon rain storm in summer was as regular as clock work. Monsoon come, traditionally a seasonal reversing wind accompanied by corresponding changes in precipitation. Usually, the term monsoon is used to refer to the rainy phase of a seasonally changing pattern, although technically there is also a dry phase. The term is also sometimes used to describe locally heavy but short-term rains.

Hell, I'm no weatherman. I'm not consistently wrong that much. But I remember some storms.

What about the time? After the building of the new 10-foot cement box storm drains all over town – and few months later – they were tested by the mother storm?

I remember we built rubber rafts and floated down 8th and Hillside in people's back yards, and front yards,  and side yards, and in few cases, inside their house. But that was an extra-ordinary event, when the river jumped the banks, and made the sandbags necessary.

I loved the rain though, My friends and I always welcomed it.

Not until later, after Platte River swells in the 1960s, and Big Thompson in 1976, did I ever respect the idea that it could kill you. But even those were a ways away. 

Sure, you could drown under a snag in river, or get trapped under the Big Rock, or the other Big Rock,  or drive into the Drink upriver, and not be able to get out of the car.  But we don't like think of those sorts of misfortune.

Counting on it NOT raining, was almost as bad as counting on a storm, however.

I holed up in barn downstream for days from Mount Wilson and Wilson Peak waiting for a shower to end as a bunch of boy scouts and cub scouts holed-up and waited out a storm. We never did make it out of that barn, until it was time to go home.

Colorado has warmed 2°F on average in the last 30 years, according to climate records.
Colorado relies heavily on the snowpack it receives during the winter months. When it comes to the economy skiing/riding is the second largest in the state, but when it comes to water we receive 70% from the snowpack. Unfortunately Colorado has seen a decrease in the average snowpack in the past couple of decades exacerbating existing problems of drought and water scarcity.

What about this seems familiar? Ancient Puebloan's can't produce enough in the 1200s to hang around? Ruins remind us no civilization lasts forever, and if we do not take the lack of rain seriously, we watch our own food supply collapse and will be forced to leave our own communities behind, just as those cats on the Mesas did hundreds of years ago.

And then there is the worm business. May it recover and flourish.

Originally, asylum isolated and separated patients from society

Domestic trouble, religious excitement, opium addiction, intemperance, heredity, old age, and epilepsy

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

The raving, incoherence, and sense of something amiss, I came to understand later in my own family.
At least twice in my childhood, my mother suffered "episodes" and was committed (I think voluntarily) to the Colorado State Hospital, in Pueblo.

This is the same place that sported the original cornerstone reading "Colorado State Insane Asylum," which now resides in the museum there.

Originally opened 1879,  what was once known as the Colorado State Insane Asylum, became the Colorado State Hospital in the early 1900s, before being reincarnated as the Colorado Mental Health Institute at Pueblo and a museum. 

"In its heydey, the Colorado Mental Health Institute was home to over six thousand patients and was an oasis of healing set amongst verdant fields and charming farms. The philosophy of mental health back in the early 1900s was to isolate and separate patients from society. That approach to mental health changed dramatically in 1962 when leaps in medication and treatment would allow for less restrictive mental health facilities," says a recent Atlas Obscura story.

"In the late 1800s and early 1900s a patient was admitted to the insane asylum or psychiatric institute for essentially any crisis of behavior or personal circumstance: domestic trouble, religious excitement, opium addiction, intemperance, heredity, old age, and epilepsy. The Colorado State Insane Asylum (later known as the Colorado State Hospital) was built in Pueblo in 1879 to house these individuals. Alcoholism was the primary diagnosis for the vast majority of those from sent to the insane asylum in late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Alcohol abuse remained a frequent diagnosis in the 1940s and 1950s. The early hospital accepted the “better safe than sorry” perspective on institutionalization by admitting anyone who seemed to have behavioral problems," says information from the Colorado Mental Health Institute Museum.

Because the early twentieth-century medical community and a society widely informed by physicians’ professional perspective envisioned an extensive array of mental illnesses, so many patients entered in the 1930s that the state mental facility in Pueblo was extremely overcrowded. Although its original construction anticipated a capacity of 2500 patients, the hospital in fact housed about 4000, most of whom had no criminal convictions. Hospital beds overflowed into the hallways and disease spread rapidly. An outbreak of influenza in 1928 affected 321 patients; twenty died.

"Although epidemics of influenza and meningitis were exacerbated by overcrowding, patients at CSH who were psychically healthy enough to escape bodily illness and death were met with numerous rehabilitation programs. In the 1930s, hydrotherapy was an innovative technology. Occupational rehabilitation locations such as a dairy farm, laundry room, upholstery and sewing shop, and a metal shop were incorporated into the daily lives of the mental patients in the Pueblo facility. Special diets were also taken into account during mealtime, and the patients received adequate outdoor time on free grounds," according to Colorado College.

The Colorado Mental Health Institute at Pueblo, as it now is called, opened as the Colorado State Insane Asylum on October 23, 1879 on 40 acres of land in northwest Pueblo donated by George M. Chilcott, Colorado's first United States senator, according to AsylumProjects.org.

"On that date, 11 patients were admitted, nine males and two females from 12 different counties of the state. In 1917, the insane asylum was renamed the Colorado State Hospital. By 1923, the census the hospital climbed to 2,422 and continued to grow until 1961 when the hospital had nearly 6,000 patients. Like many state psychiatric hospitals at that time, it was a self-contained city, providing all the patients' needs within 300 acres of land on the main grounds and 5,000 acres at the dairy farm.," says AsylumProjects. 

"By 2005, however, the patient census declined to less than 450 patients, a result of the development of medications specifically for mental disorders, and a change in the philosophy and treatment of the mentally ill. The sign at the entrance still reads "Colorado State Hospital" although in 1991 the Colorado Department of Human Services psychiatric facilities names were changed to Colorado Mental Health Institute at Pueblo and Colorado Mental Health Institute at Fort Logan."

 

Historian, criminal records ace Mathews looked for patterns

Carl F. Mathews, in a Montgomery (Colorado) Cemetery in 1945.

Unsolved crimes of the Pikes Peak region

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Some of my favorite source material, is from the crazy, mixed-up Colorado Springs Bureau of Identification files of superintendent Carl F. Mathews. The local historian dedicated his life to the gathering and study of Colorado historical material. His hundreds of papers, read to many historical societies around the state, reflect his painstaking research, his boundless patience, his astounding knowledge, and his accurate writing prowess.

I am particularly fond of his documentation of early unsolved murder cases in Colorado Springs Police history.

"Carl F. Mathews was born July 27, 1885 in Elbert County, Colorado.  He began work with the Colorado Springs Police Department on May 21, 1913.  An early pioneer in finger printing, Mathews became the head of the police identification bureau on July 1, 1920.  He went on to serve the Colorado Springs community for 32 more years in that capacity until his retirement in 1952. Described as white-haired, quiet, and friendly, Mathews spent more than 30 years collecting facts and photos of early Colorado and the Native American tribes who lived there," according to information from the Pikes Peak Library District.

"He specialized in pictures of railroads in early Colorado and scenes in and about Colorado Springs. His railroad shots include the famed Georgetown Loop, the line between Cripple Creek and Florence, the Clear Creek Canyon routes, and of early travel across La Veta Pass. Mathews died April 14, 1968."

Ten men standing behind or sitting in open wagon, pulled by two horses, with "Police Patrol" written on side. Wagon is parked in front of large wood frame building. Colorado Springs, 1901

Closed wagon drawn by two horses with "Colorado Springs" written on side, identified on back as an ambulance, parked in front of large brick and stone building. Man wearing uniform and badge stands alongside wagon. Colorado Springs, 1901

Two interesting accounts, more than 60 years apart, reflect the changing times experienced by Mathews during his long police career, and of the treatment of unsolved murders in the Pikes Peak area, follow:

Mysterious Death at Eastonville

"On Friday evening, Oct. 28, 1898, the Knights of Pythias were giving a dance at Eastonville, a small community about 25 miles northeast of Colorado Springs. During the evening there was some disturbance between Victor Tipton and Ralph Fleenor, Tipton being the aggressor. After the dance was closed, the trouble continued at the foot of the stairs; after fighting at the foot of the stairs the crowd surged to the north side and the fight renewed, where it was said that blood could be seen in the road the next morning. Tipton, in an intoxicated state, was taken to the shoe shop of Mr. Garity, where he was placed on the floor. On Saturday morning his body was found, evidence showing that he must have died shortly after being placed there. The coroner was summoned from Colorado Springs and he called in Dr. Ridlon of Elbert to assist in the autopsy, the verdict rendered being that he died of "Alcoholism of the Heart," a singular verdict. This author was told by an eye-witness many years ago that Tipton was struck on the head with a beer bottle by someone in the crowd, evidently causing a skull fracture: Why did Dr. Ridlon miss this? Tipton was twenty years of age, large and a bully especially when drunk. The general opinion was that his death was a blessing in some ways, as he might have killed someone during his drunken rages.

Bud Mullaney, Ralph and Roy Fleenor were arrested and placed on trial at Colorado Springs about Jan. 25, 1899, And after the introduction of the testimony, District Attorney McAllister arose and asked the court to instruct the jury to return a verdict of "Not Guilty." Judge Harris at once instructed the jury and it only took the twelve men five minutes to decide the prisoners were not guilty," wrote Mathews, of the case.

Businessman murdered at his bedside

"On Sept. 30, 1960, police were contacted by Thomas Parish, of 2203 Winton Road, who said he had called his brother in law's home, 2122 North Tejon Street, and had failed to get an answer, becoming alarmed when he saw the man's car parked near the house.

Officer John H. Gaspar went to the house and found James J. Gaughan, Jr., the owner, shot to death in the north bedroom of the home. This was about noon. Gaughan had been shot in the back of the head while kneeling, apparently in prayer, as he had a rosary in his hand, the cross detached and lying of the floor. Gaughan was clad in shorts, under shirt and terry cloth bathrobe. The portable bed lamp was burning in the bedroom and the three windows were closed, two of them not locked and the screen on the third also unlocked; the windows drapes all pulled shut.

Dr. Raoul W. Urich, deputy coroner, was soon present, with his assistant Clarence West. He ordered the body to be sent to the Nolan Funeral Home and scheduled an autopsy, which confirmed that Gaughan had died sometime between midnight, Tuesday, and 2 a.m. Wednesday morning. On Oct. 4, District Attorney Rector said an inquest would be of little value at that date. A theory of possible suicide was quickly changed to that of homicide when it was discovered that Gaughan had been shot in the back of the head: Dr. Urich stating that it was impossible for the dead man to have shot himself due to the position of the would and additional would on the side of the head had been caused by a blow from a hard object.

Gaughan lived alone in the house, having been divorced from his wife in the previous January. He was employed as a salesman of grocery items for V.H. Monette & Company, traveling out of Colorado Springs about three weeks out of four, his wares being items sold in Army, Air Force and other service PXs. His route covered five steps and police wanted to know as much as possible about his his activities on the road , where he stayed, who his associates were, etc. Who could have killed him? Could it have been a jealous lover, or an irate husband? Police found no evidence that he was interested in any other woman or other persons, except the family he had lost," wrote Mathews.

Respect wildlife, especially bears

'Except for bears ... bears will kill you

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

In the early days, of course there was Grizzly. And though it may be rare, black bears have been known to attack and kill people in this state.

Human-bear conflicts have increased in recent years, resulting in property damage and increased demands on time and effort to respond to the conflicts by Colorado Parks and Wildlife and local government personnel.

Colorado Parks and Wildlife said a woman was found dead off U.S. Highway 550 after a suspected bear attack, according to the Durango Herald in a report by Shannon Mullane, Herald Staff Writer on May 4, 2021. 

"According to her boyfriend, the 39-year-old victim was believed to have gone walking with her two dogs earlier Friday," La Plata County Sheriff’s office said.

After searching for her, he found her body around 9:30 p.m. and called 911.

When CPW wildlife officers responded, they found signs of consumption on the body and an abundance of bear scat and hair at the scene.

CPW officers and a U.S. Department of Agriculture Wildlife Services dog team assisted with La Plata County deputies to search the area.

The dogs found a female black bear with two cubs nearby. The bears were euthanized and taken to CPW’s Wildlife Health Lab in Fort Collins for a necropsy.

The 39-year-old Durango woman who was killed in a bear attack was identified as Laney Malavolta.

“While Laney’s physical presence was suddenly taken from this earth, all that know and love her can take comfort; Laney’s soul will live forever in her favorite place, doing her favorite thing,” said her family and Justin Rangel, her boyfriend, in a joint statement. “She would not have wanted it any other way.”

La Plata County Coroner Jann Smith released the identity and autopsy results shortly after the attack.

Malavolta was found dead west of the 5800 block of County Road 203, in a wooded area near Whispering Pines Bible Camp, north of Durango and near Trimble Lane (County Road 252), according to the La Plata County Sheriff’s Office.

During an examination, a state wildlife pathologist found human remains inside the stomachs of two black bears found nearby.

Both the necropsy results from the bears and the autopsy results performed on Malavolta confirmed Malavolta’s death was the result of a bear attack, Smith said.

“They grabbed her by the neck,” she said. “It was extensive damage.”

The official cause of death was a perforating injury to the neck. It was ruled an accident by Mike Arnall, who conducted the autopsy, and Smith, who assisted.

Malavolta was apparently on a walk with her dogs, according to the Sheriff’s Office, which spoke with Rangel. Rangel told the Sheriff’s Office he returned home about 8:30 p.m. and found the two dogs outside their home, but Malavolta was missing. He searched for her and found her body about 9:30 p.m. He then called 911 to report the incident.

Wildlife officers suspected a bear attack based on the trauma and obvious signs of consumption on the body and an abundance of bear scat and hair at the scene.

Three bears, the sow (female bear) and her two yearlings, were discovered near the woman’s body after a search by Colorado Parks & Wildlife officers, which included a team of U.S. Department of Agriculture Wildlife Services trained tracking dogs.

No human remains were found in the stomach of a second yearling euthanized with the other two.

Malavolta worked as a wine sales representative with the Republic National Distributing Co.

An experienced and knowledgeable operator in the backcountry, Malavolta’s “greatest joy” was to be outdoors, the family’s statement said.

Sparse snippets of Malavolta’s life could be gathered from social media. Her father’s girlfriend, Kim Strain, asked for prayers and support for the family.

Her boyfriend told police he got home around 8:30 p.m. and the dogs were present but his girlfriend was not there.

Before that, according to Colorado Parks and Wildlife information, bear-caused deaths in Colorado were extremely rare, but included the following:

July 25, 1971: A honeymooning couple was attacked while tent camping near Grand Lake in Grand County. A large older bear entered the tent, injured the woman and pulled the 31-year-old man away from the campsite. The man was killed. The bear was later found and destroyed. Further examination of the black bear found that it had worn, abscessed teeth and a plastic bucket in its stomach.

Aug. 10, 1993: A 24-year-old Buena Vista man was attacked and killed after a male bear broke into a camper 20 miles north of Cotopaxi in Fremont County, presumably in a search for food. The camper tried to stop the attack by shooting at the bear, but it only injured the animal. The bear was injured by a bullet that grazed its rib cage, possibly increasing the intensity of the attack. A 250-pound, very aggressive male black bear with a fresh bullet wound to the rib cage was trapped and destroyed six days later. A necropsy on the bear revealed human remains in its digestive system.

Aug. 7, 2009: A 74-year-old woman was killed and partially eaten by a bear or bears at her home near Ouray, in Ouray County. As sheriff’s deputies were investigating the scene, they were approached by a 250-pound, 5-year-old male black bear that exhibited aggressive behavior. Deputies shot and killed the bear after it approached them and showed no fear of people. Results of the necropsy on that bear were inconclusive as to whether it was involved in the original incident. Early the next morning, federal wildlife officers killed a 394-pound, mature male black bear that approached the home and exhibited aggressive behavior. A necropsy on the large older boar revealed human remains and remnants of clothing in its digestive system. A CPW investigation determined the victim illegally fed bears through a fence in her yard.

Time changes the meaning of 'massacre'

 

“This Front Range towering over Columbine is taller than the highest peaks in all of Appalachia. Roads and regular habitation stop suddenly at the base of the foothills; even vegetation struggles to survive. Just three miles away, and it feels like the end of the world.”
― Dave Cullen, Columbine

Company town Serene erupts in Violence

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Today we contemplate the unthinkable. Mass shooting, after mass shooting, and again, and again, and again. After more than two decades, I still remember a co-worker's pain in re-telling the story of his son's experience in the library at Columbine High School, on April 20, 1999.  It is bizarre to consider what some call "the first Columbine Massacre" happened nearly three-quarters of a century earlier. Though, not the same circumstances, time has a way of letting us forget — and infinitely worse, I think, changed what we would call a massacre. 

 Take us back to Serene in 1927:

"Unions were once again in disrepute. Any individual or organization who said out loud or implied that this wasn’t the best of all possible worlds, was an “anarchist,” Bolshevik,” or worse, wrote Perry Eberhart in piece for the Denver Posse of Westerners. That set the stage of the times.

"The death of 20 persons, including five miners, three guards, one bystander, two women and nine children in a tent city just outside of the southern Colorado coal town of Ludlow on April 20, 1914, had won sympathy and recognition for the United Mine Workers. Since that time the UMW had become ineffective through inner bickering, inept leadership, apathy amid a timid and abortive strike in 1924," he said.

"By 1927, Colorado coal miners needed a friend. Safety measures in the mines had not improved. Wages and hours (sometimes 10 to 12 hours a day, six days a week) had improved little since Ludlow."

"The Wobblies — the popular term of the times for the union miners — saw the situation aa a golden opportunity — perhaps their last opportunity – to regain stature in Colorado. The Wobblies’ official name was the International Workers of the World. The IWW was born during the early years of this century to unite the blue collar workers of the world and to better their conditions. With such leaders as Eugene Debs and “Big Bill” Haywood (well known in Colorado,)IWW quickly spread to most industries, including mining, throughout the nation and elsewhere. Its militant activities and its spread at the time the Marxist philosophy was rising around the world, led many to equate Wobblyism with Marxism. The bosses encouraged the belief, and eventually were able to discredit the IWW. But while it was here, it made its presence known and it fathered many longer-lasting and effective movements. And, while it was here, its fortunes and influence rose and fell with the situation at hand."

The situation seemed ripe in Colorado in 1927. The UMW wouldn’t or couldn’t demonstrate any effectiveness. So the IWW surfaced as the spokesman for the coal miners in Colorado.

"The Wobbly leaders made their demands to mine owners throughout the state. They petitioned the governor and other officials. They attempted to force an audience with owners and officials. They made and implied dire threats. A problem situation became critical when they were continuously ignored — by everybody. The mine owners refused to recognize the IWW as spokesman for the miners or anyone else. They called the Wobblies “crooks,” “outlaws,” ”Reds,” “imported trouble-makers,” and worse. Governor “Billy” Adams and most of the newspapers sided with the mine owners," wrote Eberhart.

Finally, Wobbly leaders set October 8 as their last day of talking and their first day of striking.

Governor Adams came back immediately and strong. He said such a strike would be illegal and would not be tolerated.

On Oct. 8,. 1927, several miners in the Boulder area made good the Wobbly threat, walking off their jobs in coal mines around Lafayette, Louisville and Superior. It quickly spread to coal mines throughout the state.

Although the strike was statewide and many of the Wobbly leaders (local and imported) headquartered amid the countless coal mines in the Waldenburg, Trinidad area, a major focal point of the strike soon became the Columbine Mine. 

A small company coal town about five miles northeast of Lafayette, with the somewhat, out-of-character name of Serene was attached to the Columbine operation.

"Jim Fillas, former maitre d’ of the Denver Press Club, is one person who remembers Serene well. Fillas lived in Lafayette at the time. His father worked in the Columbine Mine for several years and went out on strike when it was called. Jim and his teenage buddies would follow the strikers around hoping to “snitch” a sandwich prepared for the strikers by their wives. Three or four years later he would drive a laundry truck to all of the mining camps in the area. Fortunately, Fillas has a photographic memory. He can reel off names and numbers of way-back-when like very few people – and they check out," wrote historian Eberhart.

"Fillas and some of his “old time” friends believe the strike concentrated on Serene because the Columbine Mine was one of the bigger mines in the area, but the town was smaller and more isolated than most other miner's enclaves. (the population in 1929 was 1,100). Serene was easier to cut off from the outside world and from outside workers. And, despite its name, dingy little Serene epitomized the conditions the miners were striking against.

"Each day a growing number of striking miners would make the rounds, picketing the other nearby mines – the Morrison, the Imperial, the Puritan, the State – then the bulk of them would gather at Serene, mull about, planning, scheming, and making hateful, threatening glances at the activity inside the fortress of Serene."

"Serene was a fortress, now an armed fortress. Shortly after the strike began a barbed-wire wall was set up around the entire town. There were two gates, one on the hill overlooking the mines and just next to the superintendents house. This was at the end of a block-long narrow road with barbed wire walls, called “no-man’s land.” The other gate was at the lower end of town, at the end of Main Street. Most of the activity during the strike was near the upper gate, although both gates were blocked several times," Eberhart described.

"A giant searchlight was set on a tipple (a large skeletal contraption that loads coal cars — by “tipping” the shuttle of coal from the mine) and it swept the area continuously during the hours of darkness. Armed guards patrolled Serene 24 hours a day. At first they were hired company guards (or “goons”), then local deputies, then…"

Strike activity in other areas of the state helped fire the tension at Serene.

On Oct. 17, Walsenburg businessmen raided the IWW headquarters, burned all the records and told Wobbly leaders to get out of town.

Oct. 21 headlines in the Boulder Daily Camera said the Walsenburg jail holds 60 picketers – “twenty of them chattering women.” A coal shortage was developing in the Boulder area and elsewhere in the state.

On Nov. 4, Governor Adams, in his almost daily appeal to “decent” miners to get back to work, said all IWW leaders throughout the state would be arrested on sight.

The same day, the growing tension at the Columbine Mine made the headlines as pickets stopped and “had words” with miners working at the mine; Eight local deputies were on duty at Serene.

Monday morning (Nov. 7) dawned to find several hundred picketers choking the roads into Serene. And, newspapers said, there was “vicious intimidation” of all miners who attempted to get through. Only one “Missourian” made it by drawing his gun and threatening to shoot his way through if necessary. The Columbine closed down.

It reopened the following day, but with only about half the regular work force, the 125 or so non-striking miners living within the confines of Serene. Headlines said the picketing was “near violent” and the intimidation of workers was increasing.

On Nov. 8 picketers blocked the roads to Serene with 150 to 200 autos. Weld County Sheriff Ben Robinson and his deputies – with drawn guns broke the blockade by escorting working miners through the picketers. Two picketers were arrested.

Despiete that, picketers broke through the gates of Serene led by what newspapers described as a screaming “Amazon.” The woman urged the men to charge and destroy the tipple despite the guns of the guards. The men hesitated and finally withdrew.

Many women paraded and picketed at the side of their striking husbands. Two or three were always at the fore-front at Serene. The newspapers referred to an “Amazon.” It’s doubtful that this was Mrs. Beranek, although it’s possible the newspapers exaggerated. But Mrs. Beranek was a small woman, although she bore 16 children and claimed to be the head of the “largest family in Boulder County.” She appeared almost daily in the front line of the picketers, vigorously waving the American flag.

For the first time National Guard airplanes were used to scout striker activity on the ground.

There was a growing number of stories of working miners being beaten on their way home, or of “joyriding” strikers taking “pot shots” at miners and their homes with rifles. Strikers reported similar offenses against them and their families, but they were hot reported in the newspapers.

Many of the daily stories concerning Serene and the Columbine Mine mentioned or implied the foreign character of the strikers. A story on Nov. 9 said deputies saw only two “Americans” among the hundreds of strikers. Although most all of the rest were Bulgarians, Mexicans, Greeks and Italians, and “many of them incapable of conversing in the English language.”

"On Nov. 9, Sheriff Robert Blum of Boulder County and four of his deputies were sworn in as state officers, to give them more authority and to more freely participate in the activities at the Columbine Mine in Weld County. It didn’t help matters," wrote Eberhart.

The work force continued to fluctuate at the Columbine Mine, depending upon the workers able to get through the pickets and if the resident work force was not intimidated by the gathering strikers. Anywhere from 500 to 1,200 strikers and their families would gather around Serene each day, threatening to crash the gates.

They again made good their threats on Nov. 12 when between 500 and 600 strikers ignored the pleas of the “state police” and the deputies, and stormed the upper gate led by a drummer and Mrs. Beranek waving her flag, and paraded through the town of Serene.

On Nov. 14, six officers were attacked and beaten when they attempted to arrest the strike leaders. The Columbine closed down again.

As a result of the incidents of the preceding days, Governor Adams warned the strikers that the guards were given orders to shoot if the premises were invaded again. To demonstrate the seriousness of the order, two machine guns were placed within Serene and aimed at the upper gate and long alley behind it. One gun was mounted about half-way up the water tank directly facing the gate and the other was mounted on the tipple below the gate and near the searchlight.

But given the machine guns did not seem to deter the strikers. They almost crashed the gates on Nov. 16, but cooler heads prevailed.

On Saturday, Nov. 19, an estimated 1,200 strikers were turned back from the gates of Serene by the loud, desperate plea (and threats) of Sheriff Robinson.

On Sunday, more than 1,000 strikers and members of their families held a rally in Barker Park. Among the speakers was a Mrs. Robinson, who had been jailed in Walsenburg, who told the crowd not to worry about the machine guns. She knew from experience that the guards would never use them. Other main speakers were “Duke,” a high IWW official brought in from Seattle, and Adam Bell of Lafayette, the top IWW leader in the Boulder area. They and the other speakers said fiery things like “the time is ripe” or “it’s now or never” or “we can not allow this, situation to continue.”

Louis Sherf, Chief of the State Law Enforcement Squad, was acting “on a tip,” according to newspapers, when he called out every available man to be at Serene on Monday morning. It is said there were 21 men on duty that morning.

Before dawn on Monday, Nov.  21 (a miner’s day began at 5:30 a.m. and a striker’s day began at 5:30 a.m. or earlier) a large force of strikers picketed the Morrison Mine, the Puritan and then the State Mine, and began their march to Serene, a little more than a mile away. By the time they reached the long fenced road of No Man’s Land, an estimated 500 to 600 had gathered.

Several stories evolved from the confusion of the next few moments.

One popular version passed on by some old timers is that Mrs. Beranek, only, first walked down the long, lonely alley to the gate with her flag in her hand. As she approached the gate, a guard approached from the other side, his rifle ready. Mrs. Beranek asked if she could come in and march through Serene. The guard said “no” and told her to return to the others. Thereupon, this version goes, Mrs. Beranek promptly began climbing the fence. Before she reached the top, the guard struck her on the head with his rifle butt, and she fell to the ground unconscious at the foot of the gate, the American flag in the dirt beside her.

Then, and only then, did the other strikers surge forward… not to storm the gates, it is claimed, but only to retrieve Mrs. Beranek and the American Flag.

"As pointed out, this is a popular version. Some swear by it. With all the emotion and hatred of the time, one could possibly adapt the most supercharged version as the truth. This story has all the elements of a great American epic," says Eberhart.

The guards’ version, which is the one that was generally published in the newspapers, was that it was IWW leader and “trouble maker” Adam Bell who came forward alone. Shots were fired over his head to warn him. He called to the others to move forward – that the shots were only blanks. Then he acted out the little drama attributed by others to Mrs. Beranek.

"Some others who reflect more calmly on the past, think it was more of a unified charge down the alley. Mrs. Beranek and her American flag, and Adam Bell were probably in the forefront. They always were."

There is also some confusion regarding what happened during the long seconds immediately preceding the firing… and the firing itself.

Newspapers say that the oncoming strikers threw all kinds of rocks and debris at the guards. And that the guards fired several shots over their heads and shouted many warnings. It was even said that there was “hand-to-hand” combat before the shots were fired, and that when “forced to fire” the guards did not use machine guns but rifles.

The first two actions, the rock throwing and the warning shots, were possible, although some recall bitterly that there were no warning shots. No guards were injured, so the rock-throwing must have been off course, and the “hand-to-hand” combat seems technically infeasible, since the strikers vastly outnumbered the guards. And what about the fence?

The newspapers even referenced the controversy about the machine gun fire, going so far as to say that “strikers claim” machine gun fire was used. General consensus of all those interviewed was that there was “no doubt” at least one machine gun was used.

Jim Fillas’ father was still picketing at another mine and was not at the Columbine. Jim and a friend were on their way, walking from the State Mine, about a mile away, when he heard the gunfire break the cold, black silence. He is one who says there is little doubt there was machine gun fire. And, although he was not on the scene, he might be in a better position to know than those at the site of the bedlam. He didn’t see it but he could hear it, and “you certainly can tell the difference between machine gun fire and rifle fire.”

Everyone agreed that it was all over within seconds.

After the dust and the din had cleared, several strikers, including at least two women (Mrs. Beranek was not one of them), lay on the ground at the gate of Serene at the end of what would be known long after as “Death Alley.” Many had minor wounds but 23 were seriously injured enough to be taken to nearby hospitals, mostly Longmont. The seriously wounded included one woman, dressed in miner’s overalls. She hovered between life add death for days, but did survive.

Three men died at the scene or within minutes of the shooting. Two more died within the next 48 hours. Mike Ridovich fought for his life until Nov. 29, when he became the sixth victim.

Reaction to the “incident” was widespread and varying. Governor Adams acted immediately. He angrily blamed the striking miners for the bloodshed, declared martial law and called out the National Guard.

A “war parley” was held at noon the same day at nearby Erie and hundreds of striking miners attended. The mood was almost unanimous in gaining revenge, taking over the Columbine and “stringing up the murderers.” Miraculously, further tragedy was averted when “Duke,” the IWW leader from Seattle who had only the day before urged heated action, now very persuasively talked them out of their disastrous course.

A mass funeral was held for four of the victims in Lafayette a couple of days later. The cemetery was far too small to accommodate the hundreds of miners and their families who also attended. The overflow jammed the entire community, and the slow procession past the graves lasted for hours.

And there were demonstrations all over the country. On Nov. 26, 160 of New York’s finest had all they could do to contain the some 300 persons gathered in Union Square to protest against the “Colorado murderers.”

Also in newspapers throughout the country, including the New York Times, and magazines such as the American Mercury, Nation, Literaty Digest, and others.

The militia called to Serene was composed of three companies from Fort Collins, Loveland and Denver. Most of the guardsmen were very young and most were students. In fact, newspapers often referred to them as “student soldiers.”

As the Wobblies told it:

It was a sad November morning
And the sun began to shine
When a bloody struggle took place
At the gates of Columbine.

Peaceful miners with their families
Marching with our flag that waved
Were met by Company machine guns
That’s the game they played.

They murdered the men and women
They did the things the Kaiser did
They used machine guns, bombs and rifles
They opened fire from places hid.

It’s the first time in our history
That our flag was shot down
It was carried by a miner
Who laid dead upon the ground

Governor Adams gave the order
That the state police be sent
For protection to the mine scabs
Who were working for a cent.

All the world cried out in agony
Get that Scherf and all his gang
They’re the leaders of this tragedy
They are guilty, they must hang.

Those who run the Columbine, condemn them
For what happened to our people
They took hands m placing the guns
Which were fired from the tipple.

All the world now. is a witness
And will write it down on histories page
That assassins murdered those poor miners
For fighting for a living wage.

The Columbine and Ludlow massacres
Have made the weak and dead arise
In this great I.W.W.
The whole world will organize.

For the slaying of our members
Who were innocent and peaceful
We shall make this union stronger
Through the world forever grateful.

The State Police retaliated in kind:

It was a sad, November morning
And the run began to shine
When the Wobblies all went crazy
At the gates of Columbine.

Crazy Wobblies and their families
Marching with their Wobblie flag
They were met by well meant warnings
And the game we played was fair.

Only whim the Wobblies resisted
Did we open fire on them
And then with rifles and pistols only
And none of us were hid.

We did not drive by in a Ford coupe
And shoot at you and yours
Yet you holler about fairness
But you’re just a bunch of liars.

All the world now is a witness
And will write it down in verse
How the dumb and foolish Wobblies
Committed suicide and called a hearse.

The militia sergeant’s advice to a rookie on the slag pile:

A dull grey sky above you
A darker earth below you
A whistling wind that sighs and moans
And gives back’ a sigh so low.

What’s that that creeps below in the weeds?
What’s that in the sky above?
Why do you jump at the slightest sound
And cock your rifle at the coo of dove?

The slightest sound will make you shiver
And make your blood run cold.
Why do you hang so close to your rifle?
A soldier on guard should be bold.

You say you expect a fight tonight?
Well what of it, you should care
You say you’re afraid you might be shot?
Well what’s the use of throwing a scare.

Don’t worry kid, you’ll come through,
And don’t be afraid to fight.
You’re just a rookie, now, old son,
But keep’ your nerve, and now “good nite.”

There were no budding Shakespeares at Serene, but the feeling was there, says Eberhart.

The militia was camped at Serene for three or four weeks, making regular patrols by truck to other “hot spots” in Boulder and Weld Counties. Later they camped at Louisville and Frederick, and divided up the patrols. From time to time small squads of soldiers would remain at certain mines until a threatening situation eased.

There were several minor incidents and many tense situations that could have easily exploded into another “Ludlow Massacre” or worse.  It didn’t happen.

And the strike just petered out. The few weeks the Militia remained on the scene, the mines regained their full work force. Mine owners continued to ignore the Wobblies. It was no secret that known IWW leaders were “black-balled” in Colorado mining camps after that. It was the last the IWW was heard from in Colorado – and almost everywhere_else. Otherwise, the working miners dropped out of the “lost cause” and, if they could find it, went back to work. And the Militiamen returned to school or their jobs.

Some scars didn’t heal for years – but people survive, changing some from the experience.

And Serene went back to work. In fact, in a few years it flourished. Another Columbine shaft was opened and more workers were needed. The population topped 2,000 and Serene had a suburb down below the tracks, called Chihuahua. The baseball field was here, and the Serene-Chihuahua team was one of the better teams in the area. The Columbine Casino, on Main Street, was one of the busiest places around.

The Columbine had opened in 1914 in what seemed to be an endless seam, or layer, of coal in this section of Boulder and Weld Counties. Despite the strike and ongoing legal problems in the early 1940’s which closed the mine from time to time, the Columbine remained a major producer until 1945, when it was finally closed down for good. It was the last mine the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company closed down in Colorado. Many of the houses were already empty and their occupants, had moved. Between 1945 and 1950, much of the remaining population moved away and many of the remaining buildings were sold and moved or torn down. By 1950 the population had fallen to 200, and like the last residents of most upcoming ghost towns: they had no place to go.

"The town became a virtual ghost town during the 1950’s and the “ghost town killers” moved in: time, weather and vandals. Target shooters who carry such righteous bumper stickers as “The West Wasn’t Won with a Registered Gun” but who are destroying the few remains of the Old West by shooting up everything in sight, had thoroughly “shot up” the last few buildings at Serene. A couple of buildings had been burned down by vandals. Some bricks, wiring, and “ghost town wood” had been taken from some other buildings, hastening their demise.

"An official of the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company said they are tearing down the last few buildings to realize a small profit from salvage. “If we don’t do it, the vandals will,” he said. He said local teenagers held a rock concert on the site a year or two ago and “there went two buildings.” (At least we know that Serene had a little music in its life,)" wrote Eberhart.

"Perhaps it is just as well – remove the last remnant of this hunk of Colorado history. We have a tendency to forget our unhappy moments, whether they be important to our development or not."

Serene had a dingy, unhappy lifetime.

Certainly, she also had a great many happy and significant ones – to some people.


To the historian Eberhart,  who has chased ghost towns throughout the West most of his adult life, Serene was not “just another ghost town” – it was family.

Ghost-towners get their leads to a new ghost town from countless sources: old maps, books, directories, friends, fellow ghost-towners, complete strangers, etc. I was “put on” to Serene by “Pappy.” Pappy is my stepfather, Carl Howard Haberl.

When Governor “Billy” Adams called out the National Guard the day after the shootings, a sergeant in Loveland Troop “C” was a budding reporter named Fred G. Eberhart (who just happened to have left at home, among other things, a three-year-old son with a name very similar to mine). A sergeant from the Denver company was the above, Carl Howard Haberl. (Another Denver “student soldier” during this period was William “Uncle Bill” Shay, a lifelong friend of Pappy and his adopted family, longtime curator at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, and one of the top experts in Western military history.)

Although Pappy was a member of the Denver Cavalry Troop “B,” he had been working at the mines in Cripple Creek at the time, was sympathetic with the miners, and had strong misgivings about being called for this sort of action.

At Serene and other activities during those trying days at the end of 1927, he met and became fast friends with Sgt. Eberhart. Later he would meet Mrs. Eberhart (whose nom de plume was Eve Bennett). Ten years later he would marry her and take on the horrendous responsibility of helping her raise six livewire children.

"It was only because I was involved in seeking out ghost towns elsewhere that I didn’t look into Serene years ago. Once I did, I became totally absorbed, not only because of its family relationship, but also because of its unique name, and its well-hidden but significant past," wrote Eberhart.

"I was disappointed that Pappy didn’t seem to share my excitement as he returned to Serene after all these years. Although he has lived in the Denver-Boulder area all of his life, he never deemed it necessary to revisit the 'historic town' nearby. The weather helped dampen his enthusiasm. Although it was the spring of 1971, it was cold and blustery, the wind went right through a person.

The cold wind probably helped take him back those 44 years since he was last there. The student soldiers camped in an open field just south of Serene. It was a particularly cold winter and the sharp wind was constant. He remembered that the “wind cut through everything you wore and you wore everything you had.”

That wasn’t the only reason Puppy remembered Serene as the “Hell Hole of Creation.” He remembers the water was terrible and the food was worse. The guardsmen devoted a large part of their time and energy to the rituals of dysentary and diarrhea. The facilities to attend these epidemic conditions were not the most alluring.

"All in all, one may understand why. Pappy was not overly excited about returning to Serene. It didn’t invoke fond memories," says Eberhart.

"There was some disappointment also, on my part, in the difficulty Pappy had in orienting himself after we arrived in what was left of Serene. But, thinking about it, that could could be understandable, also. After all, it had been 44 years, and when Pappy was last here, as an “outsider,” Serene was a “big city” with scores of buildings all over the place. Now there were only six ruins left."

His Pappy remembered that much of the town’s activity revolved around Main Street, and the railroad tracks, about a block west of Main Street. No trace remained of either.

Another account from Colorado Encyclopedia, saw it this way.

"The strike was five weeks old and strikers had been conducting morning rallies at Serene for two weeks, for the Columbine was one of the few coal mines in the state to remain in operation. On Nov.  21, 1927, five hundred miners, some accompanied by their wives and children, arrived at the north gate just before dawn. They carried three United States flags. At the direction of Josephine Roche, daughter of the recently deceased owner of the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company, the picketers had been served coffee and doughnuts on previous mornings."

That morning, the recently disbanded state police known as the Colorado Rangers were recalled to duty and would meet the picketers and bar their path. The miners were surprised to see men dressed in civilian clothes, but armed with pistols, rifles, riot guns and tear gas. The Rangers were backed up by rifle-toting mine guards stationed on the mine dump. The Head of the Rangers, Louis Scherf, shouted to the strikers, "Who are your leaders?" "We're all leaders!" came the reply. Scherf announced that the strikers would not be allowed into the town, and for a few moments the strikers hesitated outside the fence. There was discussion, with many of the strikers asserting their right to proceed. Serene had a public post office, they argued, and some of their children were enrolled in the school in Serene. One of the Rangers was reported to have taunted, "If you want to come in here, come ahead, but we'll carry you out."

According to the Colorado Encyclopedia account, "Strike leader Adam Bell stepped forward and asked for the gate to be unlocked. As he put his hand on the gate, one of the Rangers struck him with a club. A sixteen-year-old boy stood nearby and was holding one of the flags. The banner was snatched from him, and in the tug of war that followed, the flagpole broke over the fence. The miners rushed toward the gate, and suddenly the air was filled with tear gas launched by the police. A tear gas grenade hit Mrs. Kubic in the back, as she tried to get away. Some of the miners threw the tear gas grenades back.

The miners in the front of the group scaled the gate, led by Adam Bell's call of "Come on!" Bell was pulled down by three policemen. Viciously clubbed on the head, he fell unconscious to the ground. A battle raged over his prostrate form, the miners shielding him from the Rangers. Mrs. Elizabeth Beranek, mother of 16 children and one of the flag-bearers, tried to protect him by thrusting her flag in front of his attackers. The police turned on her, bruising her severely. Rangers reportedly seized Mrs. Beranek's flag too.

Police admitted to using clubs in the skirmish. In Scherf's words, "We knocked them down as fast as they came over the gate." Miners would later say that the clubs were lengths of gas pipe. A striker belted one Ranger in the face, breaking his nose. A pocketknife-wielding miner cut another on the hand, while other strikers pelted the Rangers with rocks. Blood gushed from a cut above one Ranger's eye, when a rock found its mark. The police then retreated.

Enraged, the strikers forced their way through the wooden gate. Jerry Davis grabbed one of the fallen flags, as hundreds of angry miners surged through the entrance. Others scaled the fence east of the gate.
The police retreated, forming two lines at the water tank; 120 yards (110 m) inside the fence. Louis Scherf fired two .45 caliber rounds over the heads of the strikers. His men responded with deadly fire directly into the crowd. The miners scattered. Twelve remained on the ground: some dead, some injured.

"At least two, and possibly three machine guns were available at the mine. Miners later claimed that their ranks were decimated by a withering crossfire from the mine tipple – a structure where coal was loaded onto railroad cars – and from a gun on a truck near the water tank. John Eastenes, 34, of Lafayette, married and father of six children, died instantly. Nick Spanudakhis, 34, of Lafayette, lived only a few minutes. Frank Kovich of Erie, Rene Jacques, 26, of Louisville and 21-year-old Jerry Davis died hours later in the hospital. The Flag of the United States Davis carried was riddled with seventeen bullet holes and stained with blood. Mike Vidovich of Erie, 35, died a week later of his injuries.

"The state police later testified that they had not used machine guns in the fight. The miners and some witnesses testified that machine guns were used. Some witnesses identified a mine guard who had climbed the tipple and may have operated the machine gun mounted there, providing one possible explanation for the discrepancy in testimony. However, the machine gun near the watertank was reportedly manned by one of Scherf's men," says other accounts.

 

UMW labor organizers and others in Lafayette, Colorado, [1913 or 1914]

United Mine Workers of America (UMWA) members gather in the 400 block of East Simpson Street in Lafayette, Colorado, with Rocky Mountain Fuel Co. executive E.E. Shumway. Left to right: Matthew Morrow, UMWA District 22 Wyoming; Jack Ramsey, Wyoming; Edgar Wallace, editor of UMWA Journal, Indianapolis; John McLennan, President UMWA District 15; Edgar Edmund Shumway, President Rocky Mountain Fuel Company; Bert Slocum, Boulder, Colo.; Frank J. Hayes, UMWA International board member and vice president; John R. Lawson, UMWA International board member from District 15; John P. "Jack" Cassidy, Lafayette town marshal. Background at right is the I.O.O.F. meeting hall which was destroyed by fire in 1914. At left is the W.H. Frantz general store.

Denver Public Library Special Collections.