Development sometimes can lead to the loss of historic properties, but in many cases, it’s nature and neglect that threaten the state’s heritage.
Colorado Preservation Inc. in 2006 added five sites to its list of Most Endangered Places. The list was established in 1998 to raise awareness about the buildings and places.
In the past nine years, 55 sites have been placed on the list. Of those, eight have been saved, 37 are in progress, eight remain critical and two have been lost. This year’s additions:
Daniels Schoolhouse
Milliken, Weld County
Tiffany VanderSchaaff’s persistence has paid off. For the past three years, she has nominated the old schoolhouse on the edge of Milliken for the Endangered Places list. Community members backed the plan too, forming a historical society last year to save the school.
James Daniels came to the area in 1869 and donated a block of farmland for the one-room school, built in 1911. When the school closed in 1959, the Daniels family reclaimed the building, reportedly the only remaining brick schoolhouse in Weld County.
It is also unusual, says VanderSchaaff, because the teacherage (where the teacher lived) still stands behind the school, as does the privy – a two-seater.
As Milliken grows and expands, so do commercial enterprises, which are encroaching upon the acre of land where the schoolhouse stands.
“Several residents remember going to school there. We’ve caught it early enough that there’s still a lot of local history available,” says VanderSchaff.
Commodore Mine
Creede, Mineral County
During the 1890s, when silver sold for $1 an ounce, the Commodore Mine was a nearly $200,000-a-day operation.
Built along the Amethyst vein, which was about 5 miles long and legendary for its high-grade ore, the mine helped put Creede on the map.
Ken Wyley worked there from 1974-1976, long after ore prices – and the town’s population – plummeted. During those years, Wyley was underground, along the honeycomb of shafts and tunnels, hoisting miners to different levels and hauling out about 150 tons of lead, silver and zinc ore and rock every day, he says.
Before the Commodore closed in 1976, miners enjoyed limited celebrity status. Locals and tourists would wait in town bars for mining to stop at 3 p.m. Miners, still wearing their hard hats and lights, dirty and smelling of the ores they worked with all day, would drink beers, tell stories and hand out specimens to other patrons, Wyley, 57, says.
Mining is a hard job, a dangerous one. “It breaks your body down. You don’t find a lot of old miners who made it through that tough life.”
The same is true for Commodore’s picturesque ore houses, which stored precious metals. Erosion and runoff flooding have damaged these and other icons. “It’s important to preserve this heritage, and preserve the buildings for posterity,” Wyley says.
Como Depot
Como, Park County
In 1860, one-third of Colorado’s population lived in South Park. Gold was the reason.
The boom was short-lived, says Gary Nichols, director of Park County Tourism, and “if the railroads hadn’t come, we wouldn’t have a population at all.”
Two trains each day stopped at the Como Depot, a hub for the Denver, South Park and Pacific Railroad, carrying people, supplies and correspondence. Ore and agricultural products – especially South Park hay, which was shipped around the world – rode the outbound freights.
Built in the late 1880s, the depot still contains the original freight doors and interior paint, ticket room and many fixtures. Also nearby in Como, named for Lake Como in Italy, are the hotel and roundhouse.
Nothing like this trio remains in Colorado, says Nichols, because “the area hasn’t been developed, and it’s like stepping back in time.”
Climate spelled the demise of the railroad. Decades ago, winters were brutal, and trains would be stuck for days and even weeks at a time, waiting for 30-foot snowdrifts to be cleared. Once, claims one author, mountain lions that had found protection in snowsheds along the route had to be removed before the trains could run.
Wicked winds continue to ravage the depot, which has stood empty since 1938. “There are a lot of neat buildings in Como, and this one’s just withering away,” says Pat Mauro, president of the Park County Historical Society.
Georgetown School
Georgetown, Clear Creek County
In 1867, Georgetown was in the midst of a silver craze. Not everyone was thinking about getting wealthy: Many considered education a priority and raised money to build a brick school.
“They didn’t build a fine town hall or government building. The Fire Department was built out of wood,” says Cynthia Neely, with Historic Georgetown Inc. The school, built in 1874, was referred to as the pride of Georgetown during the 1880s.
“We’ve done lots of preservation, but here in the middle of all that is a building that has not been tended and is the singularly most important building in our community,” says Neely.
Buff Rutherford, who just turned 77, went to school there until the fifth grade. That year, 1939, the building was closed.
Rutherford’s family lived only a block away, but he just couldn’t seem to be on time. “The school custodian would ring the bell (signaling the start of school), and he would wait until he saw us before he rang. It was always about 8:05 a.m.”
Owners currently use the building for storage, but the structure is rapidly deteriorating. Three towers, including a central one that held a bell and four clock faces, have been lost, say Gary Long, an architect working with Historic Georgetown.
Colona School and Grange
Colona, Ouray County
Wanda Miller understands the importance of a community meeting place. The Colona School, built in 1915, also began hosting members of the town’s newly formed Colona Grange 259 in 1916.
Through the years, even after the school closed in 1948 and the Grange bought the property in 1963, community concerns were discussed, deals were made and love shared in the two-story building that contains the original stage and curtains, a gym and reminders of the era – two-digit phone codes.
Countless dances, wedding receptions and even family Thanksgiving dinners have taken place here, says Miller, 81, who attended the school and has been a Grange member for 55 years. The structure stands strong, but wear and tear have taken its toll. During World War II, low-flying aircraft boomed over the area, and anything that had been loosened then, especially patches of plaster, fell off during a strong earthquake in the early ’50s. Double banks of windows are “so tempting” to vandals, and in many cases, wood has replaced glass.
“There’s nothing like it where people can meet between Montrose and Ridgway,” says Miller. “There are not many of us in the Grange, and we would like to fix up the building for the community.”
but in many cases, it’s nature and neglect that threaten the state’s heritage.
Colorado Preservation Inc. in 2006 added five sites to its list of Most
Endangered Places. The list was established in 1998 to raise awareness about the buildings and places.
In the past nine years, 55 sites have been placed on the list. Of those, eight have been saved, 37 are in progress, eight remain critical and two have been lost. This year’s additions:
Daniels Schoolhouse
Milliken, Weld County
Tiffany VanderSchaaff’s persistence has paid off. For the past three years, she has nominated the old schoolhouse on the edge of Milliken for the Endangered Places list. Community members backed the plan too, forming a historical society last year to save the school.
James Daniels came to the area in 1869 and donated a block of farmland for the one-room school, built in 1911. When the school closed in 1959, the Daniels family reclaimed the building, reportedly the only remaining brick schoolhouse in Weld County.
It is also unusual, says VanderSchaaff, because the teacherage (where the teacher lived) still stands behind the school, as does the privy – a two-seater.
As Milliken grows and expands, so do commercial enterprises, which are encroaching upon the acre of land where the schoolhouse stands.
“Several residents remember going to school there. We’ve caught it early enough that there’s still a lot of local history available,” says VanderSchaff.
Commodore Mine
Creede, Mineral County
During the 1890s, when silver sold for $1 an ounce, the Commodore Mine was a nearly $200,000-a-day operation.
Built along the Amethyst vein, which was about 5 miles long and legendary for its high-grade ore, the mine helped put Creede on the map.
Ken Wyley worked there from 1974-1976, long after ore prices – and the town’s population – plummeted. During those years, Wyley was underground, along the honeycomb of shafts and tunnels, hoisting miners to different levels and hauling out about 150 tons of lead, silver and zinc ore and rock every day, he says.
Before the Commodore closed in 1976, miners enjoyed limited celebrity status. Locals and tourists would wait in town bars for mining to stop at 3 p.m. Miners, still wearing their hard hats and lights, dirty and smelling of the ores they worked with all day, would drink beers, tell stories and hand out specimens to other patrons, Wyley, 57, says.
Mining is a hard job, a dangerous one. “It breaks your body down. You don’t find a lot of old miners who made it through that tough life.”
The same is true for Commodore’s picturesque ore houses, which stored precious metals. Erosion and runoff flooding have damaged these and other icons. “It’s important to preserve this heritage, and preserve the buildings for posterity,” Wyley says.
Como Depot
Como, Park County
In 1860, one-third of Colorado’s population lived in South Park. Gold was the reason.
The boom was short-lived, says Gary Nichols, director of Park County Tourism, and “if the railroads hadn’t come, we wouldn’t have a population at all.”
Two trains each day stopped at the Como Depot, a hub for the Denver, South Park and Pacific Railroad, carrying people, supplies and correspondence. Ore and agricultural products – especially South Park hay, which was shipped around the world – rode the outbound freights.
Built in the late 1880s, the depot still contains the original freight doors and interior paint, ticket room and many fixtures. Also nearby in Como, named for Lake Como in Italy, are the hotel and roundhouse.
Nothing like this trio remains in Colorado, says Nichols, because “the area hasn’t been developed, and it’s like stepping back in time.”
Climate spelled the demise of the railroad. Decades ago, winters were brutal, and trains would be stuck for days and even weeks at a time, waiting for 30-foot snowdrifts to be cleared. Once, claims one author, mountain lions that had found protection in snowsheds along the route had to be removed before the trains could run.
Wicked winds continue to ravage the depot, which has stood empty since 1938. “There are a lot of neat buildings in Como, and this one’s just withering away,” says Pat Mauro, president of the Park County Historical Society.
