CHELLEE COURTNEY. Born 1951.

Transcript of OH 1664V

This interview was recorded on July 10, 2010, for the Maria Rogers Oral History Program. The interviewer is Caitlin McKenna. The interview also is available in video format, filmed by Caitlin McKenna. The interview was transcribed by Caitlin McKenna and Tara Kelly.

ABSTRACT: Chellee Courtney’s family has history in Gold Hill dating from 1877. In this interview she details both her family history and Gold Hill history, ranging from the early history of such Gold Hill institutions as the Gold Hill Hotel (now the Bluebird Lodge), the Gold Hill Inn, and the Gold Hill Store; to the telling of Gold Hill legends, to modern day associations that keep Gold Hill history alive. She also speaks what life was like for a child in Gold Hill during the 1950s and 1960s, about the character and community spirit of the town, and the effect of fires on mountain towns.

[A].

00:00 (Today is Saturday, July 10, 2010, and I’m with Chellee Goudge Courtney at the Gold Hill Museum. Chellee has written two texts on Gold Hill—one is called Early Beginnings: Gold Hill, Colorado 1859-1952 [interviewer mistakenly says 1859-1852], The Untold Story, and she’s also written The Glory Days of Gold Hill. [Correction by narrator: she is not the author of The Glory Days of Gold Hill; she is a contributing writer to the book, along with Lynne Walter.] Her family first came to Gold Hill in 1877. She is currently president of Historic Gold Hill, Inc. She is secretary of the Nederland Area Historical Society, and she is writing a new book on Gold Hill that focuses on the town from 1852-1950. )

(Could you please tell me where you were born, and when?)

I was born in Boulder, Colorado, in 1951 at the Sanitarium Hospital, which is now, I believe, Mapleton Rehab Center.

(What were your parents’ names?)

My father’s name was Leo Lilliburn Bush, and my mother was Maxine Goudge Bush.

(And where did you grow up?)

I grew up in Boulder in the wintertime and Gold Hill in the summer.

(Who were you living with in Gold Hill when you were here in the summer?)

Basically, I was living with my grandmother and my mother. My grandmother was Cary Leona Livingston Goudge, and we lived in the Richards cabin on Main Street.

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(Did you go to school down in Boulder or did you go to school up here?)

No, I went to school in Boulder. I went to Foothills Elementary, Casey Junior High, and Boulder High School. My mother did go to Gold Hill School for a little bit, but mostly she went to Salina. My mother’s brother, Edwin—he was Gold Hill School, totally.

(Did your mother grow up here?)

Yes. My mother was born in Boulder. She lived in Gold Hill for the early years of her life. Then grandpa moved the family to Portland for a little bit, but then came back. Then they relocated in Boulder.

(Portland, Oregon?)

Portland, Oregon.

(And are you currently married?)

Yes, I am. I’m married, I’ve been married for 38 years to the same guy—Philip Lindley Courtney. We met when he was getting his masters at CU and I was working at National State Bank in Boulder.

(Could you tell me how your family arrived in Gold Hill, and the background on that.)

Okay, well it all started back in Cornwall, England. My great-grandmother came from St. Blazey. The man she married came from Galina, Illinois. It was amazing that they met up after they immigrated into the United States. They were married in New Jersey, and they migrated out to Colorado. According to my grandfather, my great-grandmother did not care for Colorado that well. I was always told that they loved it so much on their honeymoon that they decided to stay. Well, my grandfather says that wasn’t true. That they first came to Central City, and she didn’t like it—she went back east. My great-grandfather went back to get her, brought her back, and then they settled in Caribou. That’s where they lost their first-born child. The little baby’s buried up in the Caribou Cemetery somewhere.

Then it all depended on what mine was turning a profit. They went to Summerville, they would go to Crisman, Salina, back to Summerville—but they finally went to Gold Hill about 1877, and that’s where they stayed. They lived in a house up on the eastern ridge. You can see it if you look east when you’re on Main Street up there. My grandfather was born in the cabin that Linda Laughlin owns at the moment. Well, that’s about it.

In about 1900—well, Annie Bennet Goudge—her name was Annie Bennet, and she married Edwin David Ned Goudge. They bought the Gold Hill Hotel in 1900. It was doing pretty good— Annie had worked there prior. Edwin went to Cripple Creek to work in the mines, and when they acquired the hotel in the 1900s, it did pretty good until about 1910. And of course mining started to fizzle out again. Great-grandpa was coming down with consumption, which is a miners’

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disease, a lung disease. They went to Boulder, they lived in Boulder, and at that time the hotel was boarded up. It was vacant.

04:56 (And by hotel, do you mean what is now the Bluebird Lodge?)

That is correct. The Bluebird Lodge. It was built in 1873 by Wentworth. Anyway, in 1920 they sold it to the Holiday House Association, which is the Bluebirds. And in about 1922 the Bluebirds put the porch on, and in 1926 the inn was built by Tim Walter, another famous Gold Hill family. They used the hotel until about the late ‘40s. It was for sale in the very late ‘50s, in the early ‘60s—I think 1962—it was bought by the Finn family, and they’ve had it ever since.

(Do you have any stories from when—it was your great-grandfather who owned the hotel?)

Yes.

(Do you have any stories from back then? I spoke with Shivaun Finn and she was telling me some of the ghost stories that—)

There was a rumor—or a family story—that my great-aunt—let’s see that would have been—I’m trying to think—it was Aunt Martha and Aunt Nell—that she roller skated on the third floor of the hotel. And I’ve always wanted to get with Lynne Walter and have Bryan let us go up on the third floor and camp out and see if we can see her ghost or something. Because supposedly people can hear roller skating up there. I’d like to check that out.

(That’s pretty cool.)

Then, there was a story about my grandfather. He was very mischievous and everything. He decided that he was going to dig a hole in front of the hotel. He had just seen an African movie, or read a book—I think he read a book—about how they caught animals in Africa. So this was in the early 1900s, because gramps was born in 1898. He dug this great big hole, and he was waiting for a certain patron of the hotel to come out and be captured in this hole. He had put a blanket over it or something to disguise it. And Annie, his mother, found out and she was not a happy person about that. The woman that grandpa had his target on was this really massively overweight woman that he considered to be an elephant! And he was going to catch this elephant.

Thank goodness it didn’t happen, but she stopped it in time.

And then my aunt—I think it was my Aunt Nell—there used to be a really beautiful tree, close the hotel. She got a hold of my great-aunt Martha’s love letters. Great aunt Nell would climb up in the tree—they were sisters—and she would read the letters to the town. Aunt Martha couldn’t get her. So that was embarrassing.

(Were the love letters from one of the residents of the town?)

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Probably a miner in the area, yeah. She was very beautiful—she went through four husbands.

(Could you tell me a little bit about how mining influenced your family?)

Well, that’s kind of the core of my family, on my mother’s side. Edwin David’s father was a miner in Cornwall—John Alfred Goudge. Of course, with the economics back then and everything, he migrated over and of course Edwin David was born. During that time, they usually followed their father’s occupation, and it was a very easy occupation to get into. Hard work—it was extremely hard work. So he became a miner, thus my grandfather was a miner. My mom said, “No way.” And she didn’t follow suit. None of the children did, from grandpa. But by then mining was not that known, or a lot of the mines had shut down. It wasn’t that profitable at that time.

But mining probably influenced my branch to come to Colorado. I’m very grateful for that, because my heart’s in Colorado.

(What did your mother’s generation end up doing for their careers?)

I’m sorry, what was my mother—?

(What did your mother’s generation—her brothers and sisters—end up doing for their careers?)

Oh, well okay. My mother ended up working several jobs. She has the nickname of “One Day Murphy.” She really didn’t care to work. But the one job that she really enjoyed, that she kept for many years, was working at the Boulder Public Library. She really, really enjoyed that. She was in the overdues department. She was a party of one, and it really suited her quite well. She worked for Marcelee [Gralaap] and they became really, really good friends.

My father owned Bush’s Drive-In, along with my uncle. Which is now Mustard’s Last Stand. So we three kids worked at the Drive-In. We have a very heavily restaurant background.

My mother’s brother, Edwin—he moved to Portland, Oregon, and was in the lumber business. Her sister, A unt Donna—she went to Long Beach, California, and she ended up marrying my uncle Mac, and believe it or not, I didn’t know what uncle Mac did. I knew he had a boat—a ship—and he was in the service. But beyond that, I really don’t know what he did. As far as Aunt Donna working—I don’t recall Aunt Donna working.

10:42 (What was it like working at—was it—)

Bush’s Drive-In.

(Bush’s Drive-In. Could you tell me a little bit about that?)

That really was a lot of fun, I thought. My sister, Nikki—she was the one that worked there the most. But when Nikki—Nikki and I are about six years apart—so when I was in ninth grade,

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Nikki got married and moved off with her husband. So I graduated from dishwasher in the kitchen to a waitress. I really enjoyed it. Bush’s Drive In had about—I’d say maybe five tables and eight stools at a counter.

I really enjoyed people, I really enjoyed talking to the tourists. I met a lot of neat people. Probably the most enjoyable memory I have of that place, that really made an impression on me was when they were filming the remake of Stagecoach. That was with Ann-Margret, it was back in the 60s. The directors and some of the crew came in to the drive in, and I was waiting on them. They were telling me about how much they enjoyed Boulder County. They were filming up on 52—County Road 52—and I asked them, I said, “How do you like Ann-Margret?” Because she was the up-and-coming star. She wasn’t very well known at that time, but she had done Bye Bye Birdie. One of the producers looked at me, and he said that she was very difficult and demanding, but she could be workable. And I thought that was so interesting, that he would tell me that. Because I was only about 14-15 at the time. I was pretty green.

I really enjoyed—I met a lot of college people come down to the drive in. I remember when the hippies came in to Boulder. That was not a happy time for a lot of the merchants in downtown Boulder. It was kind of a scary time, because even though they preached love and everything, there were a lot of riots up on the Hill and stuff.

(What was it like being a teenager when the hippies came in? Were you scared or was it exciting—)

I really thought it was kind of interesting. I’m the kind of person that really takes advantage of situations. So I really wanted to tap into this energy. I never was a hippie—I never took drugs. To this day, I really don’t know why, but I never did. I was more interested in the character of people, and what made them do what they did. I loved talking to all these people from San Francisco and Haight-Ashbury. I even talked to some Hells Angels bikers—I’m sure my father was having nightmares. He thought I was going to jump on the back of a motorcycle and take off.

They would all congregate up at Beach Park, up on the Hill. I skipped school a lot—maybe not as much as my daughter—but I did skip school. It was interesting to figure out their philosophies and why they took drugs. I met a lot of runaways, which I thought was really sad. I don’t know—to me it was a time that I don’t regret, and I’m really glad I experienced. The only regret I do have is that I didn’t go to Woodstock. That’s the only regret I have.

(So when that happened you were in high school and you were working at Bush’s Drive In?)

Yes.

(And that’s B-u-s-h?)

Yes.

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(So did you work there in the summer too? Or were you up here in the summer and going down? When did you—what did your childhood look like, in terms of Gold Hill?)

Before I became a waitress—before my sister was married and stuff—I spent my summers up in Gold Hill. My earliest memory is maybe seven or eight years old—being up here. We would spend almost every weekend up here, and sometimes I would spend three or four weeks in a row. I don’t have the resident history that some people have up here, but due to my family’s history and everything—even though I don’t live here now, I consider it my second home. I have a lot of personal friend here, I oversee Richard’s cabin and stuff. So I do have a place to spend the night if I have to. I can always sleep here in the museum.

Gold Hill is very dear to me. I didn’t spend as much time as I would have liked to when I was a kid, but I spent enough to get a really good foundation.

15:25 (And you said it was your grandmother who lived up here—did your grandfather live here when you were younger too? Was he still alive?)

My grandfather was Wilbur Dewey Goudge, and he was the son of Edwin David. He’s the one who dug the hole in front of the hotel. Grandfather was born here in Gold Hill—born at Linda Laughlin’s cabin. He was raised here, lived in Gold Hill, was one of three graduates in 1912 from the Gold Hill School. He worked in several of the mines—the Alamakee, the Slide, the Eureka—my grandfather said the if you knew where you were going, you could go into the shaft at the Alamo Key and you could work your way through Horsfal Hill and you would end up outside the Eureka Mine down by Boulder Falls, which is now earthed over. He said, “You have to know where you’re going.” He also told me that it looked like a jewelry store inside. There’s a massive amount of gold in there, but the problem is you can’t get it out profitably.

I thought my whole world had come to an end when my grandfather passed away. We were extremely close. He kind of oversaw me in Gold Hill. He just always told me, “Don’t worry about the two-legged. Worry about the four-leggeds when you’re in Gold Hill.” He was the one who taught my brother and I to look out for mountain lions, which—I don’t ever recall seeing any wildlife of that nature when I was here.

Mineshafts were a big issues. He taught us how to be aware of the mine shafts—not to fall down in them and stuff like that. He was really a wonderful man. He built the Log Cabin Inn in 1927— a little bit after the [Gold Hill] inn. And that’s the current structure that’s in Gold Hill now where the town well is in front of. It’s right across from the inn on Main Street. It’s owned by Rick and Karen Sinner. They have totally refurbished it, redesign—no, not redesigned—restored it. I’m very grateful to that family. My mom is extremely grateful to them because if it weren’t for Rick and Karen, I think that cabin would have just been in a terrible disarray state.

My grandfather built it. There was a store in the front part and living quarters in the back part. Unfortunately, there are no known interior photographs of the store. There’s a few of the exterior. My mom does remember the Bluebirds coming over. My grandfather had a slot machine in the store. The Sheriff at the time—and I don’t remember his name—he would always

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call my grandfather up and say, “I’m coming up to Gold Hill, I’m going to come to your store. So I really don’t want to see anything I’m not supposed to see.” So grandpa would take the slot machine, and put it in a box, and put it back in the store room, and put a blanket over it, and disguise it. Then the Sheriff would come up and everything’s fine!

Well, one time, grandpa didn’t quite get the slot machine taken care of properly in time, and they had to confiscate it. It broke my mother’s heart. She, to this day, loves slot machines. She remembers a lady—I wish I could think of her name—she was a Bluebird teacher. She would come over and put nickels in the slot machine. She would spend a lot of money. My mom said that she would just love to hear those nickels go in that slot machine and pull the handle. I wish I could think of her name.

Mom remembers a lot of the Bluebirds. Mom would say that she would be sitting on the front porch of the store—and my mom was about seven or eight—she would look over there and she would see the Bluebirds hanging their underwear outside their windows to dry. Mom thought that was so funny. As a child, she thought that was so interesting, that they would hang their underwear out for the whole town to see.

And then my Aunt Iris—who married Bill Richards, of the Richard cabin—she used to bake pies for the Bluebirds. There’s a case right there—that round, circular case—that came out of the Gold Hill Store and that did house the pies for the Bluebirds that my aunt baked.

19:59 (So is that cabin—the one that’s in front of the Bluebird and the inn—is that where you spent your summers?)

No. When I was up here that cabin—my grandfather sold that cabin, I think in 1950, which broke my mother’s heart. He sold it to—I want to say the Grupp. G-r-u-p-p. I can’t remember exactly, but when I was up here it was rented out. To this day I don’t know why I didn’t take more of an interest in it. I mean, it was right there. I remember running around with Paul White. Paul White was an Indian boy that Frank and Barbara Finn had adopted. So Paul was kind of my buddy when I came up to Gold Hill, and we were always getting in trouble. I remember running on the porch of the cabin, I remember running around it, but not to really stop and think about it, that that was grandpa’s cabin. The only real memory I have of that time is one time Paul and I ran into the inn. And Barbara was sweeping the floor and she came unglued. I mean, she saw us— because we had muddy shoes—she came unglued, and she really let us have it. Yelled at us to get out, you know and everything.

I don’t think I was quite in Barbara’s favor for many years, because I was kind of a rambunctious type child. We kids would divide up on teams and we would just have a good time, you know. I remember throwing things at Brian Finn. I don’t know why—I think it’s Paul’s fault. I think that Paul was the instigator in that.

(You don’t think Chris [Finn] was the instigator?)

You know, it’s funny, I don’t really remember Chris, but I know he was in that group—I really

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remember Brian. And I don’t know why. There was a tree house in back of Grandpa’s store across Pine Street in that open field, pretty close to Chris Gibson’s—where she lives right now. It was a great tree house. I don’t remember who started the tree house, but when my brother and I found out about—or discovered it—it had two stories. Well, we put on a third story of that tree house. My brother lived in that tree house, I mean, when we came up to Gold Hill that’s where he lived. He ate his lunch up there, everything. We would congregate at that tree house, all the kids. We would divide up on teams and play war or something. Get in trouble.

I also remember that there were a lot of loose horses. Now, whether they were wild or they were owned by people who just let them loose, I don’t know. But they were just loose. I remember grabbing a horse, jumping on it, riding it for a while, you know? It was a lot of fun.

(Yeah, I bet.)

And I remember one time I was staying at Richard’s cabin, and it was getting dark. I had to go to the bathroom, and they had the outhouse, outside the cabin. So I went into the outhouse and I was making noises like a horse. I was just dorking around. And I started to get out of the outhouse, and there was this huge horse standing right there. It scared me—it was getting dark and I see these huge eyes looking at me. I wouldn’t get out of the outhouse. I would not move. And here I was, stuck in this outhouse with this horse that I had no idea if it was friendly, if it was going to kick me or whatever. So it took me, oh I’d say a good half hour before I finally was able to get out. I think mom came looking for me, you know. And grandma saw the horse and she shooed it off.

(The monster horse!)

Yeah, you know, you’re seven, eight years old, you think about these weird things.

But the well that’s on Richard’s property—when I was older, and my sister was engaged to her now husband, Stan—he actually pulled up the bucket of the well. And there was a rainbow trout in it. A live rainbow trout. So, that tells me, somehow some way—who knows what happened? Either somebody threw a fish down the well—

(Could it have been Paul White?)

Yeah, it could have been Paul [laughs]. That kind of makes more sense.

But that cabin does have the history of being a Chinese laundry—due to the natural spring under the cabin. So, there is a slight chance that fish got his directions mixed up and ended in the well somehow. But anyway, it’s a mystery.

(Could you tell me a little bit about Paul White, and how you became friends? Do you remember much about him?)

I vaguely remember Paul, and in my later years I did ask Barbara Finn about him. She told me

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that he moved back east and he’s a lawyer. So, he did make something out of himself. But when I knew him, we had really bad chemistry together. We got in trouble. We fed on each other’s ideas, and possibilities. He had the energy, and I had the energy; so we were those of the thought of mind of ‘why not?’ not of ‘what if?’ So we did a lot of ‘why nots?’ and we got in a lot of trouble.

25:28 Then one summer I came up, and he wasn’t here. I haven’t seen him since. So, that’s when he must have moved back east or something. But he was really a lot of fun. And if you ever hear this, Paul, I’d love to see you again! Cause he was cool.

(Were there many younger children that came up for a few summers and then left?)

There was a lot of summer children, but then there were some locals that lived here year round— of course because of school and everything. It’s really funny, I don’t remember a lot of names, I just remember that our teams were at least eight kids a piece. So there was a good 16 to 20 kids hanging out here at various times of the summer and whenever they were available.

We used to walk up to what is now the Colorado Mountain Ranch up there that’s owned by the Walker family. We used to go swimming in the swimming pool all the time. We’d walk up and never think twice about walking up there—go swimming on a summer day, then come back and have a barbeque or something.

(That was Trojan Ranch then?)

I’m not sure, I think it was Trojan Ranch. I don’t think it became ‘Walker’ until Mike Walker, and he graduated with me at Boulder High so, it must have been still called Trojan, because his dad owned it.

(When you were at Boulder High, did you go to Boulder High with many of the kids you grew up in the summers with here?)

Again, I don’t remember, Mike. In fact I don’t even remember him in high school. The graduate class of 69’ of Boulder High was over 500. I knew who people were, I could put a name to a face, but to really know them, I didn’t. I didn’t know Rick Sinner in high school. I knew who he was, but I didn’t know him.

(You graduated the same year?)

Yeah, Rick and I; and Richard Geesaman up on Pine Street. And again, I knew who he was, but I didn’t really know him. That was during the hippie time, so I wasn’t really at Boulder High a lot.

(Just hanging out with Hell’s Angels!)

Yeah, I was doing _____!

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(So when did you come back to Gold Hill and sort of realize how big a part it was of you and become interested in the history?)

Well, I got married in ’72 in Boulder, and then in ’73 we moved to Ohio. Then we moved to California, and then we came back to Colorado in 1991. By that time I had two children, and I really wanted them to know the family history because now we were back in Colorado, back in Boulder county. I really wanted them to know my roots, and my mother’s roots and that side of the family. So I started bringing them up to Gold Hill, and took them out to the cemetery, showed them the graves, showed them where I lived, and where grandma lived, where great grandma lived, where great-great grandma lived. And where grandpa was born—their great grandfather. That kind of sparked it for me, and I thought, I’ve spent so much time away from Boulder County that I really had a craving for it.

So, it started with the Gold Hill Club; my mom was doing pretty good health wise in the early ’90s, and she got me going to the Gold Hill Club. Lynne Walter joined, and Lynne and I became really, really close buddies at that time. We spent a lot of time together in Gold Hill throughout the year. I treasure those times very, very dearly. I really got to know her very well and she’s a hoot. She works here at the museum and everything, and she’s one of my dearest friends.

From that point, it was kind of a hunger that couldn’t be quenched. I tried to get my mom to remember as many stories as she could. I got a few from my grandmother before she passed away in ’93. Then I met key people: I met Rebecca Waugh, Dina Carson. I became friends at Carnegie Library, and it just kind of blossomed.

30:00 Then I found out Rick bought my grandfather’s cabin, and then the ball started rolling. It’s been rolling ever since.

(Could you explain to me sort of what the Gold Hill Club does?)

The Gold Hill Club started approximately 1922. It was a group of women who were just totally appalled at the state the Gold Hill Cemetery was in. They were trying to think of ideas on how to spruce it up. Somebody come up with the idea of starting a club, and so by 1923 the Gold Hill Club was formed. It's been going strong ever since. I was president for a number of years. The current president is John Sand. My grandmother was president, my great-grandmother was a charter member, she was one of the originals along with a couple of her daughters. I met a lot of interesting people through the club. Roland Wolcott is a member. Roland, in his early 90s, is a mass of information. Joe Weaver, again his mining heritage is wonderful. So it's another contact that you can get, and you can kind of put the pieces together of the mining history and of Gold Hill.

(And the Gold Hill Club is separate from Historic Gold Hill, Incorporated, correct?)

Correct.

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(Could you tell me what Historic Gold Hill, Incorporated, what its purpose is?)

I came on board about 2000, I think it was, to Historic Gold Hill, Inc. At the time Barbara Finn was president. She called me one night—I remember her calling—and asking me if I would be interested in being on the board. My first thought was, "This is really Barbara Finn? You want me? You chased me out of the inn [when I was a child]. You didn't like me; you could hardly tolerate me."

And I did, I called her on it. I said, "You don't like me."

And she said, "I didn't like you as a child." She said, "You have matured; you have grown up."

And I thought, "Oh, okay, well, we'll give it a shot,” you know. So, I came on board, and I became secretary, and worked on that for a number of years.

Then unfortunately, Barbara passed away, which was kind of hard on all of us. Fred took over as president, and then it just kind of evolved to me for some reason. I thoroughly enjoy being on the board. I feel we have a really great board of seven people. Some are locals, some are not. But they all have ties to Gold Hill. We all have a deep passion for preserving history. We all have a deep passion for working on the museum and developing the museum as best we can. The museum is probably the number one division of Historic Gold Hill, Inc.

We have other things that we do. We're going to start working on the cemetery, trying to keep it up in conjunction with the Gold Hill Club. We do a lot of town activities. We have the Joe Weaver Above Ground Mining Tour, that we do. We do a lot of educational programs for schools and stuff. We're always open to ideas. We want to serve the community. We want to stay in good with the community, because everybody enjoys being in Gold Hill, and we want to keep it that way.

(What do you think makes Gold Hill so unique?)

It's timeless. I think the people here all agree to the point where they don't want paved roads. Which I think is fantastic, because to me that was the era that I was in. That's the era that my mom was in, so yeah, I'd like it to stay like that. The newcomers that have come to Gold Hill, miraculously, they feel the same way. They want to keep this time—timeless, keep it the way it was, freeze it in time.

Gold Hill can be a little bit territorial, but to me, that’s okay because it’s a protection. I think that when you love something so dearly, you have to protect it. They’re not snobs, don’t get me wrong, they’re not snobs, and they’re very gracious to tourist and to strangers, and everything. But they do have a code here, and it’s a very wonderful thing.

(What do you mean that there is a code? Could you embellish on that a little?)

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Keep it simple. Keep the riff-raff low. No paved roads. Keep it as historical as possible. Don’t go crazy with modernistic structures. Because we have the historical zone here. They are always trying to preserve why Gold Hill started, why Gold Hill was here. No dogs on leashes, but yet respectful. They just work together as a community.

35:10 I have to admit—I live in Nederland, and I’ve lived in other small towns and stuff. I really feel that Gold Hill is on the top of the list for congeniality. I mean, people really get along with each other here, and they accept everybody for who and what they are, whether they agree with them or not. I think that’s really wonderful. They are always doing something, they’ve always got a town picnic or some type of shindig going on, or a rhubarb festival, or something. I mean, it’s just really cool.

(So, compared to other mountain communities, you know, Nederland is quite a bit bigger than Gold Hill, but say Jamestown or Allenspark, how do you Gold Hill compares to those communities? What do you think is distinctive about it in comparison?)

The camaraderie. I really do. Nederland is a big town, and so it’s hard to get everybody on the same page, whether they have different issues or not, whether political or not. It’s also a transient stopping place. People change there all the time. I mean, you’ve got your summer people—they may not come back. Eldora has quite a turnover with workers and stuff. There is a certain body of hard core people that live there year round—which I am one. I live there year round. But everybody has a little bit different view on what they want Nederland to be.

For example, the sidewalks that were just put in: there’s people that really like it, and there’s people that were really, really against it, because it’s a mining town. They did not want those sidewalks. I don’t know, a lot of people think Nederland is becoming a mini-Boulder. They think that it’s getting too political. It’s almost like you find paradise, and then you destroy it. There are some things I agree with and some things I don’t. You will find that in any community, you will, but I think Nederland has gotten to a size where it’s becoming more prominent.

Gold Hill has maintained--well, the original Gold Hill has maintained it’s size pretty well. You do have the suburbs out there by the cemetery, and everything. But, it just seems to blend better. I don’t know, it’s just a chemistry.

(When you mentioned that people are upset that Nederland is becoming more like Boulder, is there a fear that Gold Hill will become more like Boulder? And what does ‘more like Boulder’ mean?)

‘More like Boulder’ means that it’s very political. It means that instead of the heart, it’s the head. You run away from things. You move from Boulder because of, and then you come up to Nederland or Gold Hill, which I haven’t heard in Gold Hill yet, and I hope it doesn’t happen. But, in Nederland I hear, “Okay, that’s why I left Boulder, because I didn’t like this, and now it’s happening in Nederland.” Sometimes it’s happened because of the same person who left Boulder. It’s very comical and ironic. It’s almost like man is destroying himself or something. Whereas, I haven’t seen that yet in Gold Hill, and I think with the town council and everything, I

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think they really try hard to keep this fresh and timeless, and a big family. Maybe that’s a key word, ‘family.’

(So, in terms of keeping it timeless, has that affected tourism in Gold Hill? Do you feel that there has been a difference in tourism up here from when you were a child till now?)

I think there is more tourism, I do. When I was here I don’t recall seeing a lot of tourists. But then Gold Hill wasn’t like it is now. When I was in there, there weren’t very many stores. Well, of course, there isn’t here either, but I don’t recall it being the place to go. Now, Gold Hill has been advertised with the Gold Hill Inn, you know, and everything. And also, because of past historic figures. We’ve had a few popular singers come through Gold Hill—stayed in Gold Hill. And we’ve respected their privacy. I just received an email from someone about the museum, and they were not happy that we did not have certain artifacts from past singers that lived in Gold Hill. Well, partly it’s because they don’t want to be known for that here. They want to be known as just them, you know, nothing ties them into their rock and roll history. I think Gold Hill is really good about protecting that for whoever it is that comes through Gold Hill. But it does get out.

40:18 Famous people have gone to the Inn; Brian and Chris have gobs of famous people that come through, and I think that the word gets out, and it’s becoming a smaller and smaller world. Whereas, in my time you didn’t have web sites, you didn’t have computers or anything, so it really wasn’t advertised that much, and it was kind of harder to get to Gold Hill. The roads are a little bit better; you have better cars. It doesn’t take hardly at all to get here from Nederland. Even though I come down ‘52, which is a real hoot. So, I think that’s a major difference.

(Do you think that Gold Hill history is unique in certain ways? And what are those ways?)

I think every area is unique; they have their own story to tell. It’s just that I’m part of Gold Hill’s, so of course I’m prejudiced. I’ve done some research in some other mining towns that I found fascinating—you know, Breckenridge is just so interesting, Leadville can just blow your mind away. But, because my heart’s in Gold Hill, of course, I favor Gold Hill.

There’s been lots of stories—mining stories, some tragic, some interesting. Town stories, the fire of 1894, it’s amazing that Gold Hill still is standing, it is.

(Could you tell me some of the stories that you think are most important to Gold Hill history?)

There’s a document done by Elmer Curtis Swallow and Blanch Swallow, that documents one of the fires of Gold Hill. That is a very sacred document because they actually experienced the fire. That was a fire that was started by some careless campers out west of Gold Hill that actually were warned to put out their campfire. They thought they did, and they didn’t do it properly, and it created this massive fire that camp just close to Gold Hill. If conditions wouldn’t of changed, Gold Hill would have been wiped out, totally wiped out.

The first Gold Hill was wiped out of a fire of 1860. The first Gold Hill was located on top of

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Horsfal Hill. Rumors are the Ute Indians started it. Well, it’s never been proven, and back in those days it was very easy to blame Indians for everything. Maybe they did cause a lot of the trouble, but I think it was over populated, or over emphasized that the Indians did this and did that. Whether they started the fire or not, it’s really never been proven, but that was what was stated. And it totally devastated the orginal Gold Hill.

(Have you ever found in your research evidence of the interactions between the Gold Hill residents and the Utes—or—I suppose the Navajo were down—?)

It was the Ute Indians up on top of Horsfal Hill, basically. There was one story I found in the Rocky Mountain News. Legend had it that it had a little different ending. Old Man Barker, he was up on top of Horsfal Hill—a miner—and he encountered a band of Ute Indians, and he was shot in the hip with an arrow. And that it true, that is in the Rocky Mountain News paper. However, it was said that he died from that injury. According to the Rocky Mountain News article a few days later, he was recovering from that injury. Now maybe later on he could have died, but I never have found any article or any obituary that said that he’d actually died from a Ute attack.

But after he was attacked by the Ute’s, to get this stolen band of horses, a posse was formed, and they chased the Indians over the pass, over there by Central City. They couldn’t get the Indians, but it was one of the only known real documentations of an upfront encounter with the Utes. I’m sure there was more, but they didn’t really come out and bother the miner’s that much from what I’ve read in the Rocky Mountain News.

45:07 (What are some examples of things that people value about Gold Hill history?)

That it’s theirs. A lot of proud families knowing that they are related to the ones that developed this area. Because mining is what brought people here first. Then it was agriculture, and of course, water was valued as much as gold later on. And of course, now it’s snow. Everybody wants snow.

(Well, so people value the resources up here and they’re prideful in their community?)

Yeah, they do, they really do. They take it very seriously, very protectively. The family stories carry down, they’re willing to share them—thus the museum. We get donations all the time from people—two weeks ago I got a phone call from a family that surprisingly live in Aurora, and they’re ancestors of—or relatives of Elmer Curtis Swallow. So, they came up here and just showed us so many pictures and photographs and documents. That was just a gold mine for us. My grandfather and Elmer were really good friends, and I remember Grandpa talking about him, and I remember meeting him a couple of times along with Tim Walter. So, we’re a little protective of our family history here, and we value it just tremendously too.

Somebody’s knocking on the door.

(Do you want to get the door?)

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Do you want to pause it, and let me see what’s going on?

[break in recording]

47:08 (So we’re back from the door answering. So, we were talking about some examples of how people value Gold Hill history. How do you think the residents up here, the people who visit, the people who have a stake in Gold Hill, how do they express that?)

They’re really involved with the town’s activities. They have been so wonderful supporting this museum. I mean, last year we had our sesquicentennial—our one hundred and fiftieth birthday. The whole town came out, supported the museum, supported the school. No matter what function is going on, I’m just overwhelmed at how many people—local people, stop what they are doing. They come out and they support, whether it’s the fire department or the Gold Hill Inn, or the Gold Hill Hotel—just any cause, you know, if someone gets hurt, or something—it’s a marvelous community in my opinion, I just can’t praise them enough.

They’re very supportive of preserving Gold Hill. The history, for those who have family history, of course. Those that don’t have family histories, their children learn about it in school. Teachers are great to pass on the knowledge of the mining, and what made Gold Hill the way it is. I think they also value their privacy. They highly value their way of living up here. Again, they are not snobs or anything, not at all, but it’s a little bit different living than what you’d encounter in Boulder. It’s a free-spirit living, granted, but it’s a very respectful.

(Can you think of any stories from the past since you’ve lived up here, that sort of exemplify the community spirit of Gold Hill?)

Well, when they had the [Black] Tiger Fire. I was living in California at the time, but I remember being very impressed how the communities came together—not just Gold Hill, but Jamestown, and Salina—all the little mining towns that are just like little gems of the mountains. They all came together, and they really put on a lot of benefits. They really gave a lot to the one’s that lost their homes, and tried to ease their pain. That just really impressed me, because here—people don’t have a lot of money here, and the ones that do have a lot of money, they’re really very generous too. But it really amazes me how people give; it just really impressed me with the Tiger Fire, I remember that.

50:11 (What year was that?)

Oh, it was when I was in California—I want to say; I don’t remember.

[laughs] (Can you give me a decade?)

I want to say the 1980s. Because I was in California at that time, so it’s got to be in the 1980s. You can see where a lot of the damage still is. Canyon fires, they’re always doing benefits. If someone gets injured or something, they do benefits. Supporting the fire department—that’s a

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biggie—because, I mean, fire is a tremendous danger up here. Just to have the volunteers that come and be part of the Fire Department; it amazes me how many locals are on the Volunteer Fire Department. They give of their time in and of themselves, and they’re so willing to help the community. They are not burned-out, and that just really impresses me.

(You spoke a little bit earlier about some of the more famous singers or prominent people that have stayed up here, and I realize you were talking about that as in, you give them privacy by not putting them up here—would you mind telling me who they were?)

I don’t know all of them. Of course, I do know that Dan Folgelberg was one, but he was also in Nederland. Stephen Stills—from Crosby, Stills and Nash—he was another one. Crosby himself; I’m sure Brian and Chris could probably tell you more, because they would come in to the Inn and stuff.

And there has been people that weren’t singers, that were novelist or political figures, and they would pass through Gold Hill. Now some of them—Stephen Stills—lived around the area. I believe he was a fire fighter for Gold Hill, if I’m not mistaken. But again, you just kind of let them be. That’s what they want. So, people of Gold Hill are very respectful; that’s what they do.

(Do you remember stories of specific guests who stayed at the hotel when your grandfather owned it?)

Eugene Fields, the writer and poet; a lot of them are old figures from long ago. Again, I don’t have access to the current Gold Hill Hotel register, you’d have to get that from Brian. But, I don’t recall any family stories of any famous people, because, basically by the time my great grandparents sold it to the Bluebirds, and it was exclusive Bluebirds, and then I think the famous people were after the Finn’s bought it.

(Or even just any guest that they remembered as being spectacular in some way or another?)

There was a rumor, and I don’t know if it’s proven or not, and I haven’t found any evidence that it is true, but there was a rumor that President Roosevelt had stayed at the hotel. I am not so sure I buy that, but you never know. I really don’t broadcast that because I have no evidence. It was just something said.

(Well, I’m interested in the lore of Gold Hill, as well. Are there any stories, that as a historian you might not be able to verify, but as a resident it’s kind of fun to think about them?)

Well, there is one that I was told a long time ago, and I don’t even really remember who told it to me. I want to say my grandfather, but—Slaughter House Gulch, some people take great offense in referring to that. To me it’s folklore, there is no validation to it what so ever. But I find it interesting. And that is, there is gulch called Slaughter Gulch. And basically what I was told, was when the Chinamen came in here to re-dig the miner’s ditch, that when they were finished, they were rounded up and taken over to the gulch and executed, thus Slaughter Gulch. Like I said, some people take great offense in that. I have not found any historical story, document,

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newspaper article—anything that supports that. I believe when the Chinamen were done, they just moved on to another mining community. So, I’m thinking, it was started by some old-timer or something maybe as a ghost story for children or something.

55:06 There are some other ghost stories. There’s the ghost story of the Richards’ cabin.

(Could you tell me that?)

Well, supposedly, when you walk by the Richards’ cabin late at night, really late—midnight, 1:00 in the morning—the upstairs window’s curtains will pull apart, and you’ll see the face of old man Richards looking down on the community, and telling everyone to stay off his property, and get out or you’ll be beheaded! Being that he was my cousin, I don’t know, I’m not so sure about that. He was a nice guy; he was always nice to me!

(Well, this kind of wraps up all the questions that I had for you, is there anything that you would like to talk about that I haven’t asked you about?)

Well, there was a couple of stories of my grandfather on the Goudge family. I talked about the one, him trying to catch the fat lady. When he was a small child, there were gypsies around here. There were gypsy caravan’s, and all that type of stuff. There was a gypsy caravan that came to Gold Hill, probably in the very early 1900s, before the Quaker revival. All of a sudden my grandfather was missing. Annie, my great grandmother, could not find him anywhere, and she started to worry. Well, my grandfather, Wilbur, he had a friend—an Indian friend—he was a Comanche—and they called him Match. My grandpa called him Match. Well, my great grandparents, Annie and Edwin, they went to this gypsy caravan that was at the edge of town, and they asked, “Have you seen our son? He’s missing—Wilbur’s missing.”

And they said, “No, no, we haven’t seen him.”

So, they take off, and Match, this Indian, he got very suspicious of this gypsy caravan, and so he followed them out of town, and stopped them, and literally went through every single wagon, and he found my grandfather hiding in one of the wagons. My grandfather was going to run away and join the circus.

So, Match made him come back. Match was older than Gramps, of course. And he made him come back to his parents in Gold Hill. I wish that I could have had a picture of this Comanche Indian, that apparently was quite a friend to the family.

(That’s a great story.)

Yeah, that’s one of the stories that I really treasure, that my mom told me.

Then the other story was when Grandpa was at school at the Gold Hill School, and his older sister, Ethel, was in school with him. I think she was older. And Wilbur—Gramps—got in trouble, and the teacher was going to spank him.

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Ethel stood up and said, “You can’t spank my brother.”

And the teacher goes, “Fine, I’ll spank you instead.”

And so, he spanked Ethel, and let my grandpa go free! So, I thought that was something.

(That’s a good story!)

Those are a few funny ones. But I can’t think of anything else, unless you have anymore questions.

(Well, no, this has been great, you’ve been very eloquent, and I’ve really had a lot of fun doing this interview. So, thank you very much.)

Well, you’re very welcome.

58:44 [End of Part A. End of interview.]

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