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Commissioner Shootings in Grand Lake
Commissioner Shootings in Grand Lake

Article contributed by Abbott Fay & Steve Sumrall

July 4, 1883 was a tragic day of unprecedented magnitude in the history of Grand County. The booming mine town of Grand Lake had managed to move the county seat from Hot Sulphur Springs a year earlier and there was growing animosity between the “lake” and “springs” residents.

On that fateful day, County Commissioners Barney Day and Edward P. Weber, supporters of Hot Sulphur Springs as the County Seat, had breakfasted with County Clerk Thomas J. Dean.  As the three left the hotel beside the lake, they were ambushed by four masked men. After the smoke cleared, it was determined that the perpetrators were John Mills (the 3rd County Commissioner), Sheriff Charles Royer, Undersheriff William Redman and his brother, Mann. 

Day died instantly, Weber died the next morning, and Dean died from infection on July 17th.  But Day fired back back, killing one of the masked assailants, who later turned out to be Commissioner Mills.  The other three escaped.

The sheriff and undersheriff had quickly returned to Hot Sulphur Springs and shortly after, they were sent for to investigate the very crime they, themselves had committed!  Sheriff Royer shot himself on the night of the 15th and his body was discovered the next day.

Dean later testified that Mills shot Weber, Redman shot Dean, Day shot Mills and Readman and Royer shot Day.

Undersheriff Redman disappeared shortly thereafter, apparently shot.  A body was found later on the Utah border thought to be Redman but there was no positive ID.  The body was suspected to be Redman from the size of his feet. Whether he killed himself or was murdered was never determined, but nonetheless, if it was Redman, he was the sixth victim of the Grand Lake Commissioner shoot-out.  It is interesting to note that all three commissioners killed had been appointed to office rather than elected.

Ironically, the county seat was moved back to Hot Sulphur Springs several years later.    

Sources:
Abbott Fay. To Think That This Happened In Grand County!, Grand County Historical Association, 1999
Robert Black. Island in the Rockies, Pruett Publishing, Boulderm CO 1969.

 

Good Eye Bill and the Deadly Feud
Good Eye Bill and the Deadly Feud

Article Contributed by Fran Cassidy

 

The Depression of the 1930's had its effect all over the United States even to the remote ranches in Colorado.  Although it would be difficult to prove that the hardships from the Depression had a bearing on the New Year's Eve killing near Radium Springs the uncertainties of the time were a constant worry for everyone and often caused short tempers and heavy drinking in spite of the prohibition laws.

 

In the afternoon of December 31, 1934, rancher Archie Davis, age 56 was killed by one blast from a 10-gauge shotgun.  William Breitinger, age 70, was the shooter.  Breitinger was said to be an Australian who had homesteaded 25 acres of good farmland with a flowing spring that bordered the

Trough Road
which was, and still is the direct route from Kremmling to State Bridge. Breitinger was known as "Good Eye Bill."  It was rumored that he lost the other eye to a shot glass thrown at him in a Kremmling bar fight.  Good Eye was visited by three area loggers around on that New Year's Eve.  They were Joe Penna, Clarence Reiff and a fellow named Van Pelt. He invited them to lunch.  They spent some time chatting and drinking Good Eye's special brew made from rhubarb. Archie Davis rode up on horseback and appeared at the door.  Good Eye told his visitors he didn't want Davis in the house but that didn't stop Davis.  He entered uninvited with a bottle in hand, which contained spirits.  Davis offered a shot to the visitors, which they accepted, but Good Eye refused to drink with him. 

 

The three visitors left and headed for the nearby forest and Good Eye asked Davis to leave.  There was a history of bad feelings between the two.  Maybe Davis was trying to make up with his neighbor and he again offered Good Eye a drink.  The spirits likely came from Archie Davis' two brothers, Barney and Clint who were reported to be bootleggers.  Even though Good Eye continued to refuse the offer, Davis finished the bottle, went to the horse saddle, got another bottle and mounted his horse.  Good Eye thought he was rid of him but a moment later he was shaken by rifle fire.  Bullets were ricocheting through out the cabin, hitting coffee cans in the attic and bouncing off the cast iron stove.  In fear for his life, Good Eye grabbed his 10-gauge shotgun just as one of the rifle bullets went down one barrel exiting just above the trigger.  Then Davis again shot through the door and kicked it in. Good Eye Bill pulled the trigger on the good barrel later the other barrel misfired. Archie Davis was blown out of the doorway and dead before he hit the ground.

 

 The loggers returned to the cabin and noticed that Good Eye had a bloody arm.  He described what had happened and pointed to the body. Penna suggested they take Good Eye to town and advise the Sheriff.  An area sheep rancher, William Foley, was passing by with his flock and saw Davis' body.  He stayed with the others until Sheriff Mark Fletcher arrived on the scene.  It took Fletcher 9 hours by horse and car to investigate the shooting and get Good Eye to jail in Hot Sulphur Springs.  The Coroner, Cliff Efmoil was advised.  He called for an inquest jury to be held the next day, New Year's Day.  Good Eye Bill did not have a good night in jail.  He repeated his claim that the shooting was self-defense.  The inquest was held.  Along with the loggers, Foley and Sheriff Fletcher, witnesses included Good Eye's friend, Charlie Free who went to the cabin New Year's Eve and again New Year's Day looking for shell casings.  These were presented at the Inquest.  The Jurors included Jesse Norris, sheepherder, Horace Brown, shop keeper, Carl Breeze, bank employee, Frank Jones, rancher, Guy Dillingham, a quiet fellow who was appointed chairman of the jury.  Good Eye Bill was acquitted in short order but the episode caused Bill to leave the area.  He said he was too afraid to live on the homestead.  Charlie Free, son-in-law of the famous Grand County Sheriff, Solomon Jones, bought the property.  To this day there is a sign over the entrance road reading "Good Eye Bill."  The cabin which was partly built into the hillside is still there and the spring still flows.

 

 

Sources:  The Denver Post  January 2, 1935

               Grand County Historical Assoc. archives

               Inquest reports

 

Granby Rampage
Granby Rampage

On June 4th, 2004 an armored D-9 Caterpillar was used by disgruntled Granby businessman Marv Heemeyer in a rampage that caused an estimated $5 million in damage and left part of the town of Granby in rubble. Heemeyer's slow-moving, 90 minute demolition, fueled by his anger at local officials and business owners who supported construction of a cement batch plant, left 13 buildings demolished or damaged and ended when he committed suicide inside the cab that he had welded shut. The buildings targeted included the town hall, the library, the electric company, a bank, the newspaper and the home of the former mayor. The town of Granby was spared any human injuries or loss because of the complete evacuation of the town through the reverse 911 system and many local law enforcement officers who went door to door to warn the townspeople. The town of Granby immediately launched fundraising efforts to offset the losses suffered by targeted businesses and citizens and the destroyed buildings were mostly rebuilt by the following year.

Kremmling Bank Robbery
Kremmling Bank Robbery

Article contributed by Robert Peterson and Elsie Fletcher Ruske

 

The summer of 1933 offered more excitement than usual. First there was a lost child who kept most of the Fraser Valley busy searching for several days. Just two days later, the town of Kremmling was visited by two criminals who came to rob the local bank.

Bank heists at gunpoint were becoming a popular form of crime thanks to men like John Dillinger and Baby Face Nelson. This particular hold-up would be Grand County's first experience with the phenomenon.

A short time before noon on August 29, two men came into the Bank of Kremmling, with pistols drawn. On entering, they walked to the cashier's office, which was separated from the lobby by a waist high wall. Three men, bank president F. C. Jones, cashier Carl G. Breeze and a customer, were in the office at the time. They were held at gunpoint by one robber while the other went to the teller's cage, which was occupied by Mrs. Ethel Hackwith, assistant cashier. The robber forced Mrs. Hackwith to turn over all the money in the cage and then demanded that she open the bank vault.

"I can't," she said. "The door is on a time lock and won't open until an hour from now." Discouraged, the two men decided to leave. They forced the teller to accompany them and commandeered her car for use in their getaway. They had collected only $1770.74.

In fact, the vault had not been locked and the door could have been opened with a simple push. Ethel Hackwith's quick thinking had saved the bank some $5,000, and she became an instant heroine with her picture on the front page of the Denver Post.

The robbers had overlooked a second source of loot when a second customer had entered the bank with a handful of cash that he was expecting to deposit. He was not robbed but was simply forced to stand quietly until the culprits left. He was reported to have said: "I was never so insulted in my life. You'd think my money was no good."

The president of the bank notified Sheriff Fletcher as soon as the robbers and Hackwith were gone. Several carloads of Kremmling citizens along with the town deputy set out in pursuit of the crooks within 15 minutes. The trail led south over the river toward Dillon. The pursuers almost immediately found Mrs. Hackwith where the robbers had dropped her off and then proceeded on with her car.

Information from a passing motorist led the pursuit southwest onto the Trough Road, and all roads in the region were under surveillance. The newspapers had a good time writing about what might happen. One Denver paper wrote:
"POSSE CLOSE ON BANK GANG
Kremmling Bandits Trapped High in Hills and Gun Battle Imminent"

A ridiculous article followed that described the posse as being composed of pioneers of the region, all of whom were "used to the two-gun method of gun-fighting" and were "dead shots with a rifle."

The car was found and later one robber was apprehended by Sheriff Mark Fletcher, tried, convicted and sentenced to 12 to 20 years in the penitentiary. The second robber was picked up in Wyoming on suspicion of robbing a post office in Verse, Wyo., a month or so before the Kremmling job. He was sentenced to a three-year term in a federal prison.

- The above is a short version of the Kremmling Bank robbery in 1933. For the entire story and other accounts of the tenure of Mark Fletcher as Sheriff of Grand County from 1924 to 1944, read "A Western Sheriff, The Biography of Mark Fletcher" by Robert Peterson & Elsie Fletcher Ruske, available at the Grand County/Pioneer Village Museum.

 

Spider House Tragedy
Spider House Tragedy

Nestled on a quiet lane in Old Grand Lake City sits the intricately crafted home of Warren C. and Mary O’Brien Gregg, known today as the Spider House – a testament to a remarkable woodcraftsman and his tormented wife.

Warren (Watt to his friends) was a dreamer and in the 1870s he left his first wife and a young son in Wisconsin and headed for the Colorado Territory seeking his fortune in the mines of Gilpin County.  Upon returning to Wisconsin his first wife died of fever, leaving Warren a widower with a small son.  Holding tight to his dreams of the west, Warren eventually ended up in his native Indiana where he met and married 20 year-old Mary O’Brien, in 1884.   By 1888 Warren packed his new family into a prairie schooner and headed west.  Like so many other pioneer women before her, Mary bore a child along the trail, a second son whose short life would send Mary down a dark and tortured path. 

The family arrived in Middle Park late in the summer of 1888, built a small homestead on the eastern slope of the Stillwater drainage and the newborn died shortly thereafter.  Though the years would bring more children, Mary would never quite recover from the loss of her second son. They continued to scratch out a living in this harsh and isolated land, where winters were long and supplies were meager. 

Warren spent much of his time searching for game and exploring this new country. The Gregg’s moved numerous times, finally purchasing a plot of land from Old Judge Wescott on the west side of the lake.  Warren built his family an admirable house, with intricate detail and spider-like webs of wooden elements.  Despite the warmth and comfort of this new home, and the close proximity of neighbors, Mary’s depression deepened. 

Then on a sunny Sunday in 1904, while Warren was working in his woodshop and oldest son Lloyd was having Sunday dinner at Judge Westcott’s, Mary took a gun to her four remaining children and then turned the weapon on herself.  The children died instantly while Mary lingered on for four days.  The five victims of this tragedy, one girl, three boys and Mary herself are buried together in one grave in the Grand Lake Cemetery.

Warren lived in the Spider House for another 29 years. With his son Lloyd, he continued building homes and stone fireplaces.  He succumbed to heart failure in 1933.  Mary O’Brien Gregg finally found peace in the quiet grace of the little town cemetery surrounded by her children.  Almost a century later, as the tall pines whisper their mournful winter song, the Spider House still sits nestled on that quiet little lane.

Sudden Death in Old Arrow
Sudden Death in Old Arrow

A shooting in the Old West I know was not much like the shootings on television today.  There was no glorification of the bad man. Killings were usually like the fatal shooting of Indian Tom on that 6th of September, 1906, in old Arrowhead (or Arrow).  Nobody called anybody out.  Nobody told anybody to draw or asked him if he was wearing a gun.  It wasn’t a fight. It was a killing.  

1906 Arrow had six saloons, a grocery store, one small hotel and a livery stable.  But two thousand people picked up their mail there.  The woods were full of tie-hacks: the three sawmills hired may lumberjacks and teamsters, most of them Swedes, who seemed to make the best lumbermen.   I had arrived in Arrow the 18th of April that year to work as a teamster for my brother Virgil, who had been operating a sawmill there for about a year.  I was just sixteen. 

My brother Dick, the tallest Lininger, had been Virgil’s foreman.  Virgil had also bought the only hotel in Arrow.  My mother, two sisters and my little brother Gilbert and I came from our farm in Osawatomie, Kansas, so that my mother could run the hotel. My brother Wesley came at that time too: he planned to buy a lot and build a café.  Whole families often followed the first member who had come to these early Colorado towns.   I soon discovered that driving logging horses needed a lot more technique than driving a small farm team, but Virgil was patient, and I soon received a raise to $2.75 a day as top teamster.  

 The town was a wide open as it could get.  My first introduction to the violence was the day my brother Dick fired three drunken lumberjacks.  They drew their pay and went to Graham’s saloon to get drunker. As dick passed the saloon later, one of the men grabbed a quart whiskey bottle, and ran out and struck Dick behind the ear, knocking him cold.  The three then proceeded to kick him around.  Dick’s roommate Charley came to my brother’s rescue.  When Dick came to, he started for the hotel.  Charley guessed what he was after and beat him to the six-shooter. “I’ll make sure you can taken them one at a time” Charley promised him.   I came along just as my brother knocked the pick from the pick handle.  Something was up! In less time than it takes to tell it, Dick had three drunks out cold. 

Mother patched Dick up.  I think this was her introduction, too.  A man couldn’t stay boss long if stayed whipped.   Every other Sunday was a holiday for me although I always saw to it that I put in enough overtime to bring my monthly paycheck to $75. That September Sunday I was dressed in my holiday garb – tan peg-top dress corduroys, light blue wool shirt, Western hat, and high-laces boots as befitting a teamster who drove four or six horses hauling logs from timber country to the saw mill.  When I drove six horses, I rode one of the wheel-team horses and held the lines over four.  If I drove four horses, I rode the wagon and sat on a sack of hay.  

About noon, I stopped in front of the MacDonald saloon to talk to Ed MacDonald, one of the few saloon men my mother didn’t disapprove of.  After all, Ed had come to Colorado as a TB and couldn’t do heavy work; filling glasses over a bar was about the only light work in those old mountain towns.  Later Ed owned the famous MacDonald Ranch on the South Fork of the Grand Rover – now Colorado River- and managed boats on Monarch Lake just above his ranch.  He always served great dinners and good food.   While Ed and I were talking, Indian Tom rode up.  He was a flashy cowboy of the old school, a very good looking man with predominantly Indian features although he was only half Cherokee. When riding, Tom always wore leather chaps, spurs, and a big Stetson.  As wagon foreman for Orman and Crook, contractors for building the Moffat Road, he was a very important figure, for he had charge of all their wagons and teamsters.   The greeting between Ed and Tom was cordial. 

Everyone liked Indian Tom.  When Tom learned I was a teamster for my brother Virgil, Tom showed a much keener interest and invited me in to MacDonald’s for a drink.  Ed rescued me.  “Oh the kids doesn’t drink; but he might like a cigar”.   As they ordered drinks, I puffed away in my best imitation of a Kentucky colonel; however I soon excused myself, saying that I had to target my 30-30 rifle for the upcoming deer season. I puffed until I was out of sight. The corn silk I had scorched behind the barn paid off. I didn’t disgrace myself, nor had I broken my pledge to my mother not to gamble, use profanity, drink, or perform any act inconsistent with the conduct of a gentleman.   I took my rifle northwest of Arrow to Fawn Creek. 

It was a beautiful fall day.  The aspen were just beginning to turn.  Fawn Creek Gulch had been burned over many years before by the Indians who hoped in this way to discourage settlers, and the aspen were all young, straight and shimmering in the way that has never ceased to delight me.  The fire thirty years before had made the gulch an excellent place for deer hunting because the new growth gave the deer some inviting protection, but the terrain was open enough for a hunter to locate his game.   I figured I’d have to shoot from at least 200 yards, so I planned to target for that distance.  I tacked a piece of cardboard I’d cut from my brother’s Stetson hat box (he never took off his Stetson off anyway) to a tree and stepped off the 200 yards.  That 6-inch target looked pretty small but after each three shots, I’d examine the target.  Finally satisfied, I took a long walk looking for deer sign, tracks, or droppings.  I found good sign but no droppings.   About feeding time for the horses, I went back to the barn in town to feed the four, Cap, the big bay, Bird, the glossy black (those were my two wheel horses- t e ones next to the wheel); Kate, the little lead horse; and Bud, her mate.  

Virgil had bought Kate, a grey mare weighing about 1400 pounds, at a very reasonable price from the Adams Express Company because she had run away at every opportunity and had destroyed several wagons.  He couldn’t run away now pulling Cap, Bird and a load of lumber with her, but her high spirits made her an excellent leader. The heavier team, always used as the wheel team, weighed about 1700 pounds each.   I was very proud of this unusually fine team.  Virgil had trained Cap and Bird so that after they were harnessed in the barn, they could be turned loose to go to the watering trough, drink long and thirstily, then walk out to the wagon, back into position by the tongue, and stand ready to have the breast straps snapped in place and the tongue attached.     When tourists trains stopped and hundreds of passengers stood around the eating places looking the town over, I’d drive slowly by, and then stop to rest the team a minute, to give the dudes a chance to see a good, four-horse team. Then with a single “Yup!” I’d pull all the lines tight, and they’d start as one horse while the tourists explained and pointed.  

That Sunday after I put a gallon of oats in their food box and shook some hay into their manger, I left the barn and started up the steps alongside the depot.  It was still light; the sky hadn’t even begun to color.   Time to head home for supper.  I’d have to be up, hitched and pulled by seven the next morning. We’d probably have roast beef or roast chicken with noodles, since it was Sunday.  Mother would be cooking on the big wood-burning stove at the hotel, and my sisters would be taking the heaping platters to the tables where everyone would pass them around.  Probably there would be hot biscuits.  

Suddenly a shot cracked just above me and across the street.  I knew instantly it had come from the Wolf Saloon ahead.  It wasn’t common to hear shots in those days.  You hear more in a 20-minute Western on TV than you heard in a couple of years unless a few boys rode into town on a Saturday night to shoot up the air.   I broke into a run and could see a man lying on the board walk in front of the saloon.  As I got to him, one of the ladies I wasn’t permitted to mention came out and fell to her knees beside him. Raising the man’s head, she tried to pour whiskey down his throat.  With a queer, paralyzed feeling, I realized it was Indian Tom.  I reached for his wrist.  His hand was warm as life, but there was no pulse. Several men ran our.  “Ragland got him!” one of them shouted.  

We carried Tom’s body into MacDonald’s and laid him on a roulette table that was in the back room for repair.  Somebody went to wire for the sheriff at Hot Sulphur Springs.  Word soon reached Orman and Crook’s, and the Indian’s many friends began to jam into Arrow.    Indian Tom and Ragland had evidently had words during the afternoon and had quarrels once more before at a rodeo.  The women from the saloon said that when Indian Tom left after the quarrel, Ragland had stationed himself, gun in hand, inside the saloon door.  Everyone agreed that Ragland knew he wouldn’t have had a chance in a fair fight with Tom.  The moment they heard Tom’s spurs outside , Ragland pushed the door slightly open and shot point blank through the aperture along the hinge.  The he ran out the back door.   We searched the town inside and out for Ragland. The sheriff joined is in the search late that night, but we found no trace of him.  Just after midnight a wire came for the sheriff. Ragland had turned himself in at Hot Sulphur.  We learned later he had run to a ranch down below, borrowed a horse and ridden for his life.   A coroner’s jury was called. 

My brother Virgil, named foreman, took a firm stand.  The only verdict he intended to take out of that room was murder, and, after only a few hours, that was their verdict.  After three days, Ragland was released on $3,000 bond posted by his father, but you may be sure he didn’t show himself around Arrow.  His attorney, John A. DeWeese, got a change of venue from Grand County to Jefferson County at Golden, claiming an article in the Middle Park Times of September 7, 1906, reporting the verdict of the coroner’s jury, made it impossible for Ragland to get a fair trial in Hot Sulphur.  The article said in part: Four witnesses for the prosecution, and seven for the Defendant were examined, making eleven in all.  The testimony of the witnesses on both sides failed to show that the shooting was justifiable.  According to the testimony, the fatal shot was fired when Reynolds (Tom) had his revolver in his scabbard and when he did not even see Ragland who was standing opposite the cut-off. (As told to Donna Geyer by A.W. Lininger)                     

The End of Texas Charlie
The End of Texas Charlie

Article contributed by Abbott Fay

Charles Wilson, a punk nineteen year old, came to Grand County in 1883.  he called himself "Texas Charlie", and always wore a sombrero.  He was infatuated with the literature of tough outlaws and with his flamboyant style, he attracted two other cronies into a small gang of bullies.

 

One day in early December, 1883 the gang invaded a saloon in Hot Sulphur Springs and threatened the life of the barkeeper, then went to a general store and pistol-whipped a randomly chosen customer.

 

Threatened with arrest, Charlie challenged the local constable by tearing up the warrant.  The hoodlums left town but chose to return on December 9th.  They dismounted at the Justice of the Peace office and drew their pistols.

 

Suddenly, Charlie's revolver was shot out of his right hand and his buddies pulled back.  When the kid from Texas picked up his weapon with his left hand, he was gunned down by fire from many directions and finally lay dead in the dust.

 

A post-mortem investigation was held and everyone admitted hearing gunfire and seeing the body, but no one knew which of the "leading citizens" of the town had fired.  The jury returned the verdict: "We find that said C.W. Wilson came to his own death by gunshot wounds at the hands of some person or persons to us unknown".  His partners had left town and were never seen again in Hot Sulphur Springs.

 

The kid from Texas was buried on a hill in an unknown spot rather than in the town cemetery.

 

Source:  Robert C. Black, Island in the Rockies, Granby, CO, 1969   

 

 

 

The face of the 1883 Grand Lake Commissioner Shooting
The face of the 1883 Grand Lake Commissioner Shooting

By Amy Ackman Project Archaeologist - 2018

I work in Cultural Resource Management (CRM), which means I document any man-made occurrence that is 50 years or older. I’ve recorded anything from prehistoric stone tools to 1940’s cans and glass. As a CRM archaeologist, I’m a data collector. Our job is to protect the archaeological record by gathering data and determining the significance of it.  In 2011, I worked on a project near Jensen, Utah, just across the border from Colorado. During this project, I came across an unmarked grave. There was a headstone, but no name. I eventually found from historical documentation that the grave was that of a man named William Redman.

Redman was the undersheriff who took part in the Grand County Shooting of 1883 that involved three county commissioners, a county clerk, and the sheriff. Three men died during the shootout, two men died of their injuries after the fact, and the sheriff committed suicide out of guilt. Two weeks after the incident, Redman was the only living participant. He was on the run from the law and actively hunted by the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. A full month after the shootout, Redman was found dead in Utah at the side of a road with a bullet in his head.   

I knew Redman was part of the Grand County Shooting and poured over any sources I could get my hands on; books, websites, newspaper articles; any tidbits of information that might answer questions. Like a detective, I wanted to understand how Bill Redman was involved in the gunfight and how he ended up in Utah.  I found the story and a picture of William Redman and I was ecstatic that a site I had recorded was associated with such a tale.

William Redman was ruggedly handsome with high cheek bones and pronounced jaw; the clothes and countenance of a miner. The more I learned about him, the more questions I had. How old was he when the photo was taken? At a time when it was such a privilege to have a photo taken, why is there a photo of him and not other prominent men in the county? I wondered about his motivations. Was he the ruffian newspaper articles touted him to be?  Archaeology is about understanding the past. Most of the time we are forced to interpret the past with only a few pieces of material that are left behind. The more material and data we have, the more we can understand.

In the case of William Redman, there are questions surrounding his death that give rise to the possibility that the man in the grave is not Redman at all. If the opportunity arises to excavate the grave, his photograph will assist in his identification.  Archaeology not only studies the past but works to preserve the past for the future. Now, I hope that a family member of yours is never being researched by an archaeologist for being a ruffian and a murderer. But, like an archaeologist, I would encourage you to preserve as much as possible for those in the future who would care to learn about the past.

The Selak Hanging
The Selak Hanging

Fred Selak was a descendant of early settlers in Grand County.  He built a cabin three miles south of Grand Lake where he lived alone.  He helped his brothers in various enterprises including mining, a general store and a sawmill.  Selak was known to be a prosperous citizen who lent money to others and there were rumors of hidden cash and gold in his cabin.  He was also known to be an avid coin collector. 

When Selak failed to pick up his mail for several weeks, the postmaster visited his cabin July 26, 1926. After not getting a response to his knocks, the postmaster summoned an employee of Selak's with a key.  When they opened the door, they discovered the cabin in shambles and Selak missing.  Sheriff Mark Fletcher was notified and a nephew of Selak's called in the Denver Police Department. 

As the investigation progressed, a .22 caliber slug was extracted from the wall and blood was found on an easy chair, but further investigation ruled these clues inconsequential as they were dated to many years prior. Sheriff Fletcher conducted a massive manhunt on August 16th and the body of Fred Selak was found on the second day by a deputy's dog.  The body was hanging from a tree and evidence showed that, because of a sloppy knot, Selak did not die quickly of a broken neck but rather suffered a slow strangulation.  The murder had taken place a month earlier and the body had stretched until the feet were touching the ground. 

Arthur Osborn, 22, and his cousin Roy Noakes, 21, became prime suspects after showing off old coins and trying to spend them for minor purchases around Grand Lake.  After interrogation by the Denver Police, both confessed to robbing and killing Selak.  Later, Noakes claimed that the confessions were coerced by the police. 

The suspects were kept in the Denver jail until their trial on March 7, 1927 and Sheriff Fletcher had to take great precautions against a possible lynching.  The only motive for the murder seems to be based on a land dispute years earlier in which Osborn was arrested for a violating fence line.  Both suspects were found guilty and sentenced to death.  After many appeals, the convicted murderers were hung in Canon City on March 30, 1928.  

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Topic: Biographies

Ellen E. Crabb, Parshall Postmaster

Ellen Elaine Engelhaupt was the first of nine children and was born in Chambers, Neb., on July 13, 1912, to Michael and Ollie Engelhaupt. She attended schools in Sterling and Crook, Colo., driving a pony trap to school when the distance was too far to walk. She graduated from Sterling High School at age 20, as one high school year was spent recovering at home from rheumatic fever. In 1919, she also missed her first grade year recovering from the Spanish Flu.

She met James Samuel Crabb, a resident of Crook and they eloped on Jan. 29, 1934. They farmed outside of Crook until 1941 when they joined partnership with Joe Spacek, growing winter wheat at the Company Ranch on the Williams Fork.

After building a house in Parshall, Ellen was commissioned in 1948 as Post Master. The Post Office was operated out of the Crabb's house. Being the Post Master, Ellen was in the position to be the contact person for needs and emergencies in the community. As she approached retirement, Ellen worked diligently to obtain another Post Office site in Parshall, which would guarantee continuous service to the town and surrounding community residents' emergencies in the community.

Ellen was known for her green thumb and her sewing arts.  Throughout the summer months, her yard was in constant bloom and a source of pride for her and her family. She sewed clothes for her daughters, knitted or crocheted gifts for family and friends, and in her retirement years, designed and made quilts as a hobby. She won numerous ribbons for her craft at the Middle Park Fair.

She was member of the Williams Fork Demonstration Club, a past Worthy Matron of Eastern Star Starlight Chapter 129, and in retirement worked with Grand County Social Services on behalf of the senior citizens. She worked diligently for low-income senior housing including development of the Silver Spruce Senior Apartments in Kremmling.

Ellen and Jim had in common their love of music and dancing. Often at local dances others would step aside to watch Ellen and Jim. They would dance at the Trocadero Ballroom in the old Denver Elitch Gardens where other dancers would also create a circle around them to watch their foxtrot. Ellen and her husband of 58 years, Jim had three daughters: Frances, Leota and Margaret.

Topic: Biographies

Joseph Wescott

Joseph Wescott was born in 1838 in Nova Scotia and reared in Iowa.  By 1865, he was in Middle Park, squatting, half-blind and semi-alcoholic, in Hot Sulphur Springs with his friend Charlie Utter.  

Having come to Colorado to get relief from rheumatism, he passed his time in creative writing, fishing, drinking, and shooting his revolver.  In 1868, after being induced to sell all of his claims of 160 acres around the hot springs, he left Hot Sulphur Springs to go to Grand Lake.

In 1870, a group of Arapahoe Indians arrived in the area and there is an unverified report that Wescott, Jack Sumner, and three fishermen killed “not less than five” of the Indians.  Soon after this incident, Wescott settled into developing a rustic resort with cabins, rafts, canoes, and skiffs on Grand Lake.

By 1879, he had three buildings on the West Shore. In July 1880, disaster struck when Edward Phillips Weber, an attorney, took over Wescott’s original filing as his own.  Weber claimed that there were “flaws in the filing” and forced Wescott out.

Nevertheless, on June 26, 1888, Wescott filed a plat for “Grand Lake City,” on the lake shore south from the inlet.  He designed the area for summer visitors rather than as a residential community. 

Wescott later wrote a famous poem about the legend of Grand Lake, and how the spirits of the lost Ute women and children can still be heard wailing on foggy mornings at the lake shore.
 

Jacob Pettingell - An interview from 1931

Transcribed by Dan Nolan

In 1880, Jacob Pettingell moved to Grand County at the age of 20. He spent the rest of his life here serving as postmaster, notary public, insurance agent, abstracter, legal counsel, justice of the peace and county clerk. The following is part of an interview conducted by his son-in-law Victor Frey in 1931.

Company of soldiers 
"When I came here, there was a company of U.S. soldiers camped at the old Barney Day ranch; this ranch is a few miles below Parshall, Colo. I think they left that fall. The Meeker Indian Massacre was in ‘79 and these soldiers were sent here in anticipation of further trouble. In addition, the govern­ment sent Springfield rifles to all settlers with ammunition.  We were curious about these new guns and went up on the hill to try them out; before we realized it, we had used up about all the ammunition. At this time some of the Utes came to Sulphur and vicinity to hunt and fish, and to trade. 

Fish & game 
Both fish and game were very plenti­ful in the early ‘80s. On account of severe weather, the settlers usually laid in their winter’s supply of grub early in the fall. At this time they would take several loads of game out to Empire and Georgetown, trading same for grub and provisions.  C. H. Hook, who ran the stage, would pay 25 cents per pound for fish, taking it out to market and selling it for 50 cents per pound. Some persons made as high as $15 per day by fishing. There were no state game laws then. 

Town of Kremmling 
Around 1880 or 1881, there was one little store and a building or two, located across the River (Muddy Cr.). This store belonged to a man named Kremmling.  About 1891, John Kinsey laid out the town of Kinsey City. Later, Kremmling moved his store and post office across the river to this townsite and the name was changed to Kremmling, Colo. There were some ranches in this locality and some of the ranchers names were Bill Kindell, Tracey Tyler, Jim Hetherley, and Dr. Hillery Harris.

Williams Fork
There was only about one ranch here owned by Joe Coberley. There was, of course, no town of Parshall. 

Town of Grand Lake
Old man Wescott lived here; a family by name of John Shafer and Ike Burton. Hot Sulphur Springs had been the county seat and headquarters for supplies for all the mines up Bowen Gulch. Grand County included all of Jackson County at that time.  About 1881, when the mining boom commenced up Bowen Gulch where the towns of Lulu, Gaskill and Teller City sprang up, they decided to move the county seat to Grand Lake since this was much closer. The county seat remained there until 1888 when it was moved back to Hot Sulphur Springs. The old town of Gaskill was located at the mouth of Bowen Gulch; Lulu was about three miles above Squeaky Bob’s ranch, now the Phantom Valley Ranch; while Teller City was on the other side of the ridge in North Park. 

Sandy Campbell and Jim Bowen were the first prospectors. The price of silver was high, and most of these mines were for silver. These mining towns sprang up around 1880-81. I originally came west to spend about three months in Middle Park, hunting and fishing, but when the mining boom struck this locality, I became interested. I grubstaked two men; later I took up a claim above the old Wolverine mine for silver and mined for 7 or 8 years. It was a paying proposition while silver was up in price but on account of the long freight haul and drop in price, the mine was later abandoned. Estimated population dur­ing boom days: Gaskill 150; Lulu 200; Teller City from 1,200 to 1,500. It was claimed that Teller City had 27 saloons. My personal recollections are that they might have had as many as 20 at one time.

The Famous Foot Race 
About once a month, the miners would all come down to Grand Lake for celebra­tions. There is no use to say that considerable liquor was disposed of. During the winter of 1882 a man named Sharp had been working at the Wolverine mine; he had beat them all at foot racing early that spring when the snow went off; these miners thought they had a world beater at foot racing.  While down at Grand Lake on a monthly celebration, they were all bragging about this man Sharp. At this time Harley McCoy was living at Grand Lake and he spoke up and said he had a man named Montgomery who could beat Sharp in a foot race. Sharp went into training at Gaskill; Montgomery at Grand Lake. Bets were originally around $100 and increased to nearly $8,000 on this proposed foot race. The race was pulled off July 4 on the main street of Teller City. Montgomery won the race by about 7 feet and Sharp kept right on running to the end of Main Street, then out into the timber. There was a horse tied there for him and a man waiting to divide up the swag—Sharp was never seen again. The gang at the Wolverine mine took their defeat like good sports, the other bunch paying for all they could eat and drink for a number of days.

The Mock Trial
Usually there was quite a bit of fun and excitement during the mining boom, but once in a while the boys would get a little lonesome on Sundays. This was one of those particu­lar Sundays when they craved a little excitement. There was a tourist and his party who had come in from around Boulder to fish and hunt. The boys confided in the judge and they arrested this man by an old location certificate and he was charged with horse steal­ing (a pretty serious offense in those days).

They held open court and the house was packed, not only with local people, but about 20 tourists were present. The defense attorney spent much of his time describing the wonderful scenery around Grand Lake and Colorado in general. The prosecut­ing attorney prosecuted hard and produced a witness who claimed he actually recognized the accused man and stated there was no doubt but what he was the guilty party. About the time the jury was to have the case, it was framed that I should commence a heated argument across the room with Gil Martin. When I jumped up and called Martin a liar, he opened fire with blank cartridges across the room: I commenced returning the fire. There was a great commo­tion, people actually jumping out thru the windows and a wild scramble thru the doors. The frightened defendant escaped into the timber. It rained all that afternoon. We later succeeded in convincing his partner that it was a joke, so he finally brought the de­fendant in that night, dripping wet and still badly frightened. They all pulled out of Grand Lake before morning.

First Courthouse
This was a small frame building about 12’ x 14’, one room. It has been moved and is now one of the cab­ins belonging to the Corner Cupboard. The Commission­ers then let a contract to Tom Johnston to build a new court house with jail behind, as quickly as possible. There was a sawmill at Grand Lake and plenty of lumber. Johnston put on a large crew; they start­ed in one morning; the next day they moved into the new court house building. John­ston put up this building in a little over one day, sufficiently for them to move in and use it. This building is now John Zick’s restaurant building. 

The Duel 
The commissioners were Barney Day, Webber and Mills, an attorney from Teller City. The sheriff was Chas. Royer and under-sheriff Bill Red­man. Cap Dean was the clerk pro-tem. Mills and Webber had been close friends but had a falling out over the Repub­lican State Convention the year before and since then had become bitter enemies. It is reported that there had been differences between Bar­ney Day and the sheriff and under-sheriff. 

The commissioners met at Grand Lake on July 3, 1883; they all agreed to adjourn un­til July 4 because Mills had an important case in court that day. Mills went to court but Day and Webber went to the Nickerson House and held a commissioners meeting there. At this meeting they raised the amount of bonds for county officers, making same so high they knew none could comply. As I recall, the sheriff’s bond was around $50,000. This caused the sheriff and under-sheriff to throw in with Mills. The next day was Fourth of July and many people were shooting out into the lake, there being considerable noise. Cap Dean, Barney Day and Webber left the Young Hotel (where I was also stopping) and started down town. No one knew just what did happen or who fired the first shot. There were some extra shots in that direction: someone thought they saw a man fall to the ground; we all ran down to the spot which was about 500 yards from the Young Hotel. 

Mills was lying in the road; Barney Day part way in the water; both Dean and Web­ber had been carried into the hotel. Day and Mills died instantly, while Webber lived until around 2 A.M. the next morning. I sat by his bedside. Cap Dean lived 4 or 5 days although he was shot to pieces. I sat beside Dean’s bed and asked him who did the shoot­ing and he replied that he did not care to say. Later, he described one tall man with a handkerchief over his face who attacked him and it fit the description of Bill Redman. It was thought that Mills opened up the attack by firing his rifle. The sheriff and undersheriff both es­caped. They first came to Sulphur and tried to organize a posse but the people seemed to mistrust them and they left the country. Later, Chas. Royer, the sheriff, committed suicide. Bill Redman had been a great pal of Royer’s and when he picked up a paper reading about Royer, he also com­mitted suicide. Therefore, this cost the lives of 6 men.

Firsts in Grand County:

The First Newspaper
The Middle Park Times was founded in 1881 at Grand Lake by John Smart and George Bailey. They called it the Grand Lake Prospector. It was moved to Sulphur in 1889 and called the Grand County Prospector. One day, in 1890, I walked into the newspaper office and was talking to Willard Minor, then running the paper. I told him that I thought Grand County Prospector was a h-l of a name for a county newspaper and sug­gested they change this name to “Middle Park Times.” They took this action and the paper has been known by this name from then on. About 1897, I bought out this paper and edited it for three years.

The First Auto
It was a Thomas Flyer driven from Denver to the Grand Hotel at Sulphur by Harold Brinker, who later on became a famous race driver. This was in 1905. It caused no end of excitement in our small town. Brinker kindly took several of the young people for a ride out to the old horse race track. My daughter, now Mrs. V. H. Frey, was one of the persons and she often mentions the thrill that first auto ride gave her. The car was driven in over the old Berthoud Pass road. 

The First Train
In the fall of 1905 the tracks were laid as far as Hot Sulphur Springs and at this time the first train came in two sections; there were about 1,000 people with a band. The community gave a barbecue and fish fry.

The Grand Hotel 
This was contracted for by my friend Mr. Chapin and myself, and finished in the year 1905. I ran same for a number of years. The first Forest Service office was located in this building and J. C. Stahl was the Supervisor. Later the forest office was moved to Fraser; it was there a short time, then moved back to Hot Sulphur Springs. 

Conclusion
From May 10, 1880 to the present time, February 7, 1931 I have watched the following towns spring up in Grand County: West Portal, Fraser, Tabernash, Granby, Grand Lake, Parshall, and Krem­mling. The Williams Fork locality has also settled up. The old mining towns of Gaskill, Lulu and Teller City came, and then died away. Ranches have developed over most of the county. Stock raising, both sheep and cattle, has become a fixed indus­try. The county, during this time, has shipped out an enormous amount of timber. Like else­where, the auto has developed rapidly and we have many miles of splendid mountain pass roads. There is an abundance of fish and game, although not so plenti­ful as the early days. Every town in Grand County is growing slowly but surely, with the possible exception of one railroad town. Grand County is well off financially and it has the very brightest prospects for future prosperity.

 
 

 

 

 

Topic: Granby

The Naming of Granby

Granby Hillyer was born in Cartersville, Georgia on July 7, 1874. The third of six children, born of Shaler Granby Jr. and Lelia (Holloway) Hillyer, and the grandson of the Rev. Shaler Granby Hillyer, Sr. who was born in Granby, Hartford County, Connecticut. When Granby was 13 years old the Hillyer family moved to Washington, D.C. where Granby graduated from public high school. He then entered government service and at the same time studied at George Washington University, receiving a Bachelors of Law Degree. A postgraduate law degree was awarded in 1896 from Columbia University School of Law. He moved to Colorado in 1898 settling at Lamar (Prowers  County) launching a 40+ year legal career. On June 16, 1900 he married Miss Annie Creaghe, from a prominent southern Colorado pioneer family, and a daughter of an Apache County, Arizona sheriff. To this union were born 3 children St. George Creaghe, Granby Francis Ridgeway Jr., and Helen Edna Dolorine (Jane) later Mrs. Albert Hunt of Boston, Massachusetts.

Granby Hillyer was a member of the Republican Party. He served as Lamar City Attorney, Prowers County Attorney, and Deputy District Attorney. He was also affiliated with the Elks, Masons, Sons of the American Revolution, and Woodmen of the World fraternal organizations.

At 28 years of age, the citizens of Prowers, Baca and Las Animas Counties, elected Granby Hillyer to serve in the 14th Colorado General Assembly, House of Representatives, making him one of the youngest elected officials in state legislature history. He served one term from 1903-1905. During this tenure he plotted the streets at no cost for the Frontier Land and Investment Companies newest town on the Denver, Northwestern & Pacific Railroad (The Moffat Road). In doing so, Mr. Hillyer was honored by having the Town of Granby, Grand County, Colorado named for him.

Governor Carlson appointed Mr. Hillyer as the Third Judicial District Court Judge, at Trinidad, Colorado from 1914-1916. Her served as the United States Attorney for Colorado from 1922-1925. Afterwards he enjoyed a large private law practice in Lamar and Denver.

In 1928 at Lamar, Granby Hillyer was a speical prosecutor in the "Fleagle Gang Case".  On May 23rd, the First National Bank was robbed, resulting in the loss of four lives.  The case has been credited by the F.B.I. as the first robbery solved from a single fingerprint.

The Denver Post on July 21, 1931 page 9, reported "Granby Hillyer Is Disbarred By Federal Courts." In a decision reached by the United States Circuit Court of Appeals, predicated by a Colorado Supreme Court tribunal, of neglecting the interests of his clients in a number of cases.

Tragedy then struck the Hillyer family twice with the loss of St. George Creaghe in June 1932 and October 1933, Granby Jr. was killed in an automobile accident near Lamar. They both were attorneys. St. George and Granby Jr. were born 16 months apart and passed away 17 months apart. Both funeral services were held at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral in Denver, with the same set of pallbearers for both young men. They were laid to rest at Denver's Fairmount Cemetery. Their father Granby Hillyer, joined his sons on January 2, 1942, passing away at Denver Mercy Hospital, after suffering a heart attack at age 68.

The name Granby also comes from Great Britain, one of the original references was for the "Marquis of Granby," John Manners. A Member of Parliament from 1754 until his death in 1770, he also was a popular army officer and hero of the Seven-Year War 1756-1763, obtaining the rank of Lieutenant General. In 1766, he was named British Commander-in-Chief of the Army. John Manners once had his hat and wig shot off during a cavalry charge, thus leading to the British expression, "to go baldheaded at something." He had his office attacked by the pseudonymous political writer "Junius." The Marquis of Granby resigned most of his offices and died in debt.

Curiously, Granby Hillyer had an uncle and a brother named Junius.

Topic: Water

Moving Water from Point A to Point B

Most serious ranchers had more than one ditch and most built one or more reservoirs. Hilry Harris, Munroe C. Wythe, Samuel H. Burghard, and John A. Coulter entered the first water claim in the county on September 20, 1874. This came out of Sheep Creek above the head of Gore Canyon.

There usually was some natural irrigation; but the challenge of getting the water from the creek required laborious construction of diversion dams, headgates, and ditches, the earliest ditches being dug by hand and often taking up to four years to complete. Later, ditches were dug using teams and scrapers. The grade was figured out initially by simple gravity flow, letting a trickle of water move down the ditch. Soon ranchers refined the process, using a 16’ long board placed with a 1/8" slope, determined by a carpenter’s level. A.F. and Roy Polhamus surveyed a great many of the water ditches, especially those impressive ones in West Grand County, some of which even had tunnels involved. Most small ditches supplied just one ranch, but if a ditch had to cross another ranch, that rancher usually got a share. And some of these ditches were long!

For instance, Dr. Henry Hoagland, on the Blue River, anticipated getting water close at hand from Spruce Creek. Instead, he discovered an old timer had previous rights that forced him to go back into the mountains and build a 13-mile long ditch. Hoagland had figured on spending about $7000; in the end, the actual cost was $26,000! His crew dug the ditch around side hills and across valleys using flumes and siphons. Then his real troubles began. Terrible leaks and washouts occurred everywhere. Finally he hauled in adobe and put this in the bottom of the ditch, rented sheep, and drove them day after day up and down the ditch to pack it. After a couple of years of using this tamping process, the ditch held. Other ditches were even longer. The Church Ditch at Willow Creek and the Wheatley Ditch on the back Troublesome were both 16 miles long.

The Company Ditch (aka the Williams Fork Ditch), eight feet wide on the bottom, was another long one. Built between 1903 and 1907, it cost $44,000 and had a decree for 150 cubic feet / second. The ditch went uphill and down, requiring many flumes and bridges. One flume was actually 1200 feet long! Subsequent breakdowns, leaks, and slides were so frequent and repairs so extremely costly that old-timers have said the reason the Company Ranch went broke about 1920 was the expense of The Ditch. The Lyman Ditch (or the Curtis), started about 1891, was just as complicated as the Company Ditch. Crossing high above the Williams Fork River, the ditch eventually needed cement piers to carry the pipe (1928). This ditch had so many slides, leaks, and washouts, that it had to be inspected once or twice daily! Siphons were required over draws. Flumes, sometimes ¼ mile long, might be 25-30 feet high, and one flume was actually 177 feet high; but these heights were necessary to maintain the elevation.

Flumes, being of wood, rotted and were guaranteed to leak. Sometimes wind blew a portion of the flume down. Finally the county put in big pipes to help the ditches across the Williams Fork. It might be noted that, when water leaked out of ditches, a side benefit was that ranchers along the way could use the "lost" water. Along with the ditches came reservoirs.

Fred DeBerard had four reservoirs on the Muddy: the Albert, the Binco, Milk Creek, and a low one that flooded the Jones place near Kremmling. All were dirt, of course. The Hermosa Ranch on the Little Muddy had water rights through the Sylvan Ditch and Reservoir Company and they built the Sylvan Reservoir dam and the Hermosa Ditch starting in 1911 and completing it by the spring of 1916. The Stein Ditch, started in 1897, was another large ditch, this one later purchased by the Taussig family. These ditches were all built originally to provide water to meadows and fields for ranching purposes. For years, people hauled in water for baths and household use, but that gradually changed. Leon Almirall, near the Horseshoe Ranger Station on the Williams Fork, decided that he wanted water for his home, so he built a 1700’ pipeline to his house, added an inside bathroom, and was shocked when the line froze the first winter – it was only three feet deep. He called in workers who dug down and insulated the line with manure and straw. It froze again. Finally, Almirall gave up and buried the line six feet deep. Now he had his water!

On Ranch Creek in the east end of the county, E.D. Shew cut a ditch upstream from his house, placing it along the edge of the creek, but directing the water back into the main channel near his house. At that point, he put a little water wheel that pushed the water up the hill to his cabins -- and furnished electricity besides. Eventually he replaced the water wheel with a gas engine. There was a similar water wheel, used for the same purpose, up in Hideaway Park.

Water was used to transport lumber as well. A flume ran down the mountain into Monarch Lake, in the days when the Monarch Company was timbering there. There was a flume along St. Louis Creek, carrying lumber from the camps upstream. Perhaps the most ambitious flume ran from Western Box Sawmill. This area is now under Meadow Creek Reservoir. In 1906, the Deisher Lumber Company paid Nathan Hurd for a right of way through his land and built a flume with a 2% grade down Hurd Creek. Logs were placed in the flume and a horse harnessed to the last log. The horse then pushed the logs down the flume with the help of the water. Three years later, the mill was moved to "Sawmill Meadow" on Meadow Creek.

In 1911 construction on the seven-mile-long Vaver Flume began, with 117 cubic inches of water allotment. This flume ran down Meadow Creek and over to Tabernash, carrying partially processed logs for further manufacture. A flume rider checked along the way, making sure there were no jams, and phone line allowed the rider to report troubles. Hikers can see remnants of both the St. Louis Creek flume and that one coming down Meadow Creek today.

Topic: Towns

Winter Park

The town of Winter Park was first settled in 1923 and incorporated in 1978. It came into existence as a construction camp during the building of the Moffat Tunnel. The west portal is located here, hence the original name of West Portal.

As early as 1929 hearty winter sports enthusiasts were getting off the regularly scheduled trains there to ski the trails that were being developed. Regular weekend service on a special ski train began in January 1938. That same year, the U.S. Forest Service gave permission to the City and County of Denver to develop land near West Portal for winter sports, constructing ski-tows and trails. Winter Park ski area was formally opened in 1940.

With the consent of postal authorities, West Portal’s name was changed to Winter Park to publicize the ski area.  Benjamin F. Stapleton, the mayor of Denver at the time, championed the cause of the name change to help publicize the winter sports of the area. The town has now grown into a classic resort town and the ski area management has been recently turned over to the Intrawest Corporation by the City and County of Denver.

Topic: Mountains

Mountains of Grand County

The mountains of Grand County may not boast any of the famous “fourteeners“ (14,000 feet and above), but Middle Park is defined by some of the most majestic ranges in the state. These include parts of the Front Range, Gore Range, Rabbit Ears Range, and the Williams Fork Mountains.

The only range Grand County can call entirely it's own is the Never Summer Range. It's highest point is Mount Richthofen (12,940 feet). Other major peaks include: Mount Howard (12,810 feet), Mount Cirrus (12,797 feet), Mount Nimbus (12,706 feet), and Nokhu Crags (12,485 feet). The name Never Summer is translated from the Arapahoe name, Ni-chebe-chii, which means “the place of No Never Summer“. The cloud names of Cirrus and Nimbus, and Stratus and Cumulus were the idea of James Grafton Rogers, a founder of the Colorado Mountain Club.

The Never Summer Range stretches for ten miles from Cameron Pass to Bowen Mountain. This range is darker and harder due the tremendous heat produced when the peaks were a localized center of volcanic activity.

Christmas at the Crawfords

Jimmy and Maggie Crawford settled in Hot Sulphur Springs in June of 1874.  They left their farm in Missouri with their three children, John not yet two, Logan 4 and Lulie 7 years old to begin a new life in Colorado. The one room cabin was built of round logs and had a sod roof.  In several places outside light could be seen between the logs. The floor was packed earth covered with elk skins which had a tendency to smell while drying out after a rain or melting snow.  The sod roof was far from water proof.  When the children came down with scarlet fever Jimmy promised to cover the roof with wood shingles and had gone to Billy Cozens' sawmill to make them.  Mr. Cozens was very helpful and even gave Jimmy a rusty iron stove to take back home.  Rusty or not, to Maggie it was like new.  She was most appreciative.  The shingles were carefully stacked by the cabin but never made it to the roof.

Jimmy carefully explored the area for suitable pasture land for his small cattle herd.  His explorations took him further and further to the west of Hot Sulphur Springs and as fall approached he became desperate to locate suitable grazing pasture before the snows.  Although Jimmy would return home every few weeks, the time in between his visits became longer and longer as he moved his cows to the west.  Maggie was faced with many hardships in his absence.  Ute Indians would quietly appear, seemingly from nowhere, and ask for food or as in one instance, ask to trade a pony for the little boy John which she of course adamantly refused.  Maggie was able to keep friendly relations with the Utes but never comfortable when they appeared.  The conversations were limited to jesters, hand language and a variety of facial expressions.

But this is a Christmas Story. To begin with, mountain men, prospectors and just plain loafers from Georgetown would stop by the Crawford's for a meal when they were in the area.  Maggie would never refuse them.  A few weeks before Christmas four prospectors enjoyed a well prepared venison stew with Maggie and the three children.  Lulie, the seven year old told the visitors how she was going to hang a stocking at the foot of the bed for Santa Claus to fill with toys and candy.  Her two brothers shook their heads in agreement.  Maggie said, "Lulie, I really don't think Santa Claus could find us way out here in Colorado!"  She knew there was nothing she had to fill the stockings except maybe some sugar candy which would likely be a disappointment for each of them.  Their Christmases in Missouri were memorable with presents, candies and fruit.   One of the four prospectors listened intently to Lulie as she described the Crawford's last Christmas in Missouri.  He had introduced himself as Charley Royer.  Charley was a 22 year old, recently from Kentucky now working in the silver mines near Georgetown. After a very satisfying lunch the men left and a heavy snow began to fall.

By Christmas Eve the snow was deep and drifts were high. The temperature dropped  below zero.  Although Jimmy had promised to be back for Christmas, Maggie thought the snow too deep for him to travel.  He had located what he called the perfect pasture far to the west and had made a land claim close to a bubbling sulphur spring.  He told Maggie it reminded him of the sounds steamboats made on the Missouri River and named his land claim, "Steamboat Springs."   Alone with the children, Maggie read the bible story of Christmas.  Before dropping off to sleep, Lulie said, "I know Santa Claus will find us, I just know he will!"  Maggie sadly shook her head.  Hours later, close to midnight, there was a gentle knock on the door.  Maggie cautiously opened the door hoping it would not invite trouble.  To her surprise it was the young Charley Royer.  He held out a gunny sack and said, "Mam, I've brought some oranges, hope they haven't froze, some candy and a few toys for the children.  Please tell them Santa Claus did know where they lived.  I remember how important Christmas was for me and I wish you and your family a Happy Christmas."  He turned and walked back into the darkness.  Charley Royer had come 60 miles from Georgetown in the bitter cold and heavy snow to make three little children happy on Christmas morning with oranges no less, in the middle of winter, toys and candy, a Christmas they would never forget. Jimmy made it home on Christmas day to add to the joy.  The following year and many years after the Crawfords had Christmas in a comfortable ranch house in a place called "Steamboat Springs."  As for what the future held for Charley Royer, well that's a story for another time.

Joe on Melody, Joe and Dad in 4th of July Parade, Joe and Howard 4th of July Parade

4th of July Parades in Granby

Joe on Melody, Joe and Dad in 4th of July Parade, Joe and Howard 4th of July Parade

In 1947 my family moved to Granby, Colorado; I was 5 years old. My Mom (Eloise) and Dad (Howard, “RED”) Beakey, ran the Texaco gas station where the Chamber of Commerce parking lot now sits. I have a sister named Sandra Sue, who was 3 at the time.

In 1948 Mom and Dad bought me a mare named Midge, and that is the beginning of my joy of growing up in Granby. I rode Midge all over Granby and surrounding area. In the winter I would pull kids on their sleds and skis with a rope tied to the saddle horn. In the spring of 1949 Midge produced a filly foal that we named “Lady Blaze.” The following 4th of July Rodeo Parade, 1949, I rode on Midge and my friend, Howard Ferguson, rode behind me and led Lady Blaze in the parade. A local farrier had made lace up booties with metal bottoms for Lady Blaze so she wouldn’t damage her hooves while being led in the parade. You can imagine the sound of those booties hitting the pavement as we rode down Agate Ave., and the enjoyment of the crowd lining the parade route. At that time the rodeo grounds were in the area of N Ranch Road. The Granby Fire Department awarded me with a $3.00 check for being “The Most Typical Cowboy Under 12.”  I was totally amazed and still, at the age of 79, have that check!  I did give Howard $1.50 in cash, though, that day for his part.

The following year, 1950, Mom and Dad bought a Pinto filly from Tex Hill, the Foreman of the Little HO Ranch east of Granby. Tex rode the Pinto into the gas station office one day and asked my Dad if she was gentle enough for me. Dad said yes, and I became the proud owner of my second horse, which I named Melody. That year (1950) my sister, Sandra, rode Midge and my Dad rode his hunting horse, Spike, and I rode Melody in the Rodeo Parade. Prior to the rodeo Dad (who hadn’t ridden Spike in a long time) got bucked off into a pile of rocks and got pretty banged up. Sis rode up and asked Dad (who was laying on the rocks) “are you dead Daddy”?

Sis and I rode all over Grand County, riding along US 40 to 10 Mile Creek to fish the beaver ponds; we would be stopped several times to have our photos taken by the tourists. Tourists always seemed amazed to see little kids riding on horseback way out in the country.  We always brought home from our outings some nice Brookie trout. Sometimes we would ride out to The Little HO Ranch and spend a few days there with playing real live cowboys with Tex, while Sis would help his wife around the house.

In 1951 Tex Hill brought a full sister to Melody, named Patches, for Sis to ride in the parade, so, we rode side by side. That same year Eddie Linke Jr. asked me to ride his racehorse in the rodeo race. We went to the rodeo grounds several days for me to get used to the horse. Of course, the horse was not as gentle as Melody, so I fell off several times before getting use to him. The best part is that I did win the race, and was happy and proud riding Eddie’s horse.

In 1952 I once again rode Melody in the Rodeo Parade, which was sad for me as it was the last one, I attended before we moved away from Granby to Arvada.  Mom and Dad sold both the horses. I guarantee several tears flowed because of that.

One of the other great things I enjoyed was going to a cow camp in the summer. A friend of my parents, Rocky Garber took me to cow camp that was behind Trails End Ranch on Willow Creek Pass. We packed our supplies in on pack horses to a small log cabin. I was so excited to be a cowboy, moving cattle from one grazing spot to another, even getting covered with mud pulling a heifer out of a mud bog. The second time I went to cow camp was with my Dad’s cousin Louis “Newt” Culver, who in my mind was the greatest cowboy ever. The cow camp was below “Devils Thumb” east of Tabernash. It was a log cabin next to a creek and had corrals to keep horses. Once again, I loved the excitement of being a cowboy. We would go to the high meadows checking on the cattle and occasionally have to chase an ornery bull back to the herd. In the evenings Newt would train horses to be good cow ponies. When they were gentle enough, he would let me ride one while he rode another that he was training.

So, some of my greatest memories of my life are the years I spent in Granby and Grand County, not a better place for a kid to grow up! I graduated from Salida High School in 1961 and our family moved back to Granby. Mom and Dad had the Texaco Station in Fraser. I joined the Air Force in 1962 and retired after serving 26 Years.

By Joe Beakey - Poncha Springs April 2022

Topic: Skiing

Skiing

Grand County was one of the first areas in Colorado to enjoy sport skiing.  While mail carriers, loggers and other workers used the "Norwegian Snowshoes" as necessary winter transportation, it was a natural progression to begin racing down the slopes for fun.

An 1883 newspaper noted that in Grand Lake "Coasting on snowshoes has taken the place of dancing parties.   Quite a number of ladies are becoming adept at the art.  First class snowshoers, B.W. Tower and Max James are the best; or at least they can fall more gracefully then the rest".

According to famous Hot Sulphur Springs champion Barney McLean, that town had three jumping hills in the 1920s and held the first Winter Carnival in the West there in 1911.  By 1925, Denver sent special "snow trains" there for the recreating tourists.  Skiers such as Bob McQueary and Jim Harsh competed in statewide events along with skiing "veterans" Horace Button and McLean.  Grand Lake's Jim Harsh became the first Coloradoan to qualify for the U.S. Olympic Team.

In 1932, the Grand Lake Ski Club held its first winter sports week on Denver 25-January 1st.  Featured was a motor sled with an airplane engine which pulled skiers over the frozen lake are speeds of 90 miles per hour.

Colorado's first ski tow was opened at the summit of Berthoud Pass in 1936.  Berthoud Pass operated on and off throughout the next 60+ years but was finally closed and the lifts dismantled in 2002.  

What became the resort of Winter Park featured skiing at the West Portal of the Moffatt Tunnel and the Winter Park Ski Area opened as a result of efforts by Denver Parks & Recreation Director George Cranmer. Early lodging resorts in the area, then known as Hideaway Park (now Winter Park), included Sportland Valley, Timberhaus Lodge, and Millers Idlewild Inn.  Eventually trains made daily runs to Winter Park, loaded with intrepid skiers.  Steve Bradley invented the first effective snow packer on the slopes of Winter Park.

With a strong record of winning high school ski teams, Grand County accounted for a remarkable number of skiers who later took park in FIS (International Federation of Skiers) meets and U.S. Olympic teams.

A later ski area, now know as Sol Vista Ski Basin (formerly Silver Creek Resort) opened in Granby in the 1980's.  World class cross country ski areas in Grand County include Snow Mountain Ranch and Devil's Thumb Ranch.

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