Weekly Register-Call/ Gilpin County News

Looking back to the ‘50’s from a student’s perspective

Growing up in, Black Hawk, Colorado, a small community was an experience that I only began to appreciate after I was married and lived in a larger community.

Black Hawk was once a town known for its mills, which processed the gold for the “Richest Square Mile on Earth” located in Gilpin County, territory of Colorado. I can only imagine the twenty four hour a day noise that rumbled through the gulches and bounced off the mountains when all the mills were in operation.

The narrow gage train rain daily from Golden, Colorado, up through Clear Creek Canyon to Black Hawk, bringing more miners and taking back the gold. Saloons were open 24 hours a day and the beds in the hotel were rented by the eight hour shift. Sheets were changed once a week. Men made a fortune in a week and lost it in a night. Women were scarce and the rugged life brought early deaths in the high altitude of 8,500 feet.

Soon the miners began to send for their families and with the families came the, churches, schools, and opera houses. Once I read an article that said “families bring culture to mining camps, turning them into towns.”

A school house was built by 1860, right next to the church in Black Hawk. You can still see the church and school sitting on the hill overlooking the town.

The gold veins petered out, and some of the miners left to find another boom town. By the time we moved to Black Hawk in 1952, it was almost a ghost town. Most of the men worked in Denver or for Coors Brewery in Golden. Gone were the glory days.

I started the second grade in the four-room two-story school house, which was only using one room. It had a wood/coal stove on one side, and to sit near the stove it was too hot, but to sit on the other side of the room it was too cold. First through eight grades were all in that one room and in my remembrance there was less than 30 students. Our teacher, Miss English, was of an age where most teachers retire. She was single, came from Indiana, and lived in Central City a mile away. We, as a community, were lucky to have Mrs. Garwood, the music and art teacher. She also lived in Central City and taught at all the Gilpin County schools. It was a long drive to some of the schools, as the town of Rollinsville was at least 20 miles away.

Some of the uniqueness of being in this one room school house was that every morning a man from town would bring a jug, made out of pottery with a silver colored spigot to the school house. I learned that this was the school’s drinking water, as our school did not have indoor plumbing. The bathrooms were interesting. In the hall just outside our room, was a wide, windowless flight of stairs that led to the second floor. Across the unlit, same-width upstairs hall, was a set of double doors that opened to the out doors, revealing a long flight of stairs that led to the outhouses. The outhouses were really one building, divided into two sections with two doors; one door was marked girls and the other boys. On a cold, snowy day this flight of stairs seemed to stretch to eternity. Of course they were not swept clear of the snow, which caused them to be approached with caution. I had been in school about two months when the three of us second graders, which was the entire class, decided to make that big climb to the outhouse. As we entered the downstairs hall and looked up the stairs, we saw a young girl. Well almost saw a young girl, as we could see right through her. The other two girls recognized her as a classmate who just that summer, had fallen off the school yard wall and had her young life cut short.

They were not afraid, so I was not afraid. They talked to her and told her who I was and asked her if she was okay. She then nodded and faded away. I was so young I did not realize I had just seen a ghost, but ever since that day, I have never been afraid of a ghost. In my young mind, they were just people who had died and not left yet.

The community would have pot luck dinners now, and then and dances in what once was the church, but now was used as a gym. Christmas time was my favorite pot luck dinner, because a special menu was created by the women in charge of the occasion. Each family was asked to bring a certain dish, or bread, or dessert. The ham and turkey was furnished by the school board. Looking back, I realize that many children today do not have the opportunity to get to know their community as the people of my one room school house did. We knew that Mrs. Mueller made the best yeast rolls, Mrs. Ruth Blake made the best cake, the ham was cooked by Mrs. Mildred Blake, Miss English brought the soda pop, and my Mom brought green beans with bacon and almonds. The list goes on and on. After dinner, we would have a school play that was directed by Mrs. Garwood, and then Santa would appear with a bag of toys. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how similar he looked to the sheriff. When the last Christmas carol was sung and people started to go home, this signaled the beginning of Christmas, and excitement filled the cold night air.

One day when I was in third grade we had an unusual occurrence, which started when eighth graders Henry Fisher and the Berillo boy got into a fight on the school ground. Apparently Henry delivered a low blow to the Berillo boy where boys should not be hit, and as soon as he could stand up, he walked home and told his mother. Mrs. Berrillo was a busy housewife and this was her day to bake bread. By the time she arrived at school without her son, school was back in session. As I remember it happened something like this – suddenly the school room door sprang opened, and there she stood her hair in curlers, the apron covering her dress was dusted with flour, and in her right hand was a rolling pin. The words from her mouth could have only been understood by someone of her nationality, which I believe was Spanish or Mexican. Today I realize that it was a good thing that I could not understand what she was saying, for the words were not fit for my young ears. We all turned to look at her, and then saw that Henry Fisher had jumped out of his seat, and started running around the room. Mrs. Berillo was right behind him still yelling in that strange language, and now and then saying in English “My boy, my boy.” They must have run around the room three times before Henry Fisher exited the door. In the meantime, Miss English, who wore dresses with long full puffy sleeves, was standing by her desk, her arms were rising and falling in tune to her saying “Now Mrs. Berillo, now Mrs., Berillo,” over and over again. Just for a moment in time, I thought that Miss. English was going to take off flying like an angel. When it was all over, the students were laughing so hard that Mrs. English had us walk around the room until we could gain control of our laughter.

I was in fifth grade when one day all of the students were late for class. It was early spring – a sunny, warm morning with no wind. The North Fork of Clear Creek was still frozen over, creating a nice size skating pond.   As if that wasn’t enough distraction, the wild donkeys certainly were. The donkeys were turned loose by the miners when the mines closed so they wandered the mountains and usually came into town with the spring days.

I am certain that every parent told their children to stay away from the donkeys. Did this advice matter when it was an accomplishment for which others would admire you if you could catch one of the donkeys and ride it for more than five minutes? Not in the least. On this particular day as my sister and I walked around the last curve and the town came into view, so did the frozen pond. Some of our fellow students were skating on the pond. Then the donkeys approached the creek by way of the steep mountain on the opposite side of the creek. The game was on; yes we heard the school bell. We did not stop chasing the donkeys until one of the boys caught the donkey and was riding it across the frozen pond. The ice broke, and into the waist deep water fell the boy. The donkey, remaining on the frozen pond, kicked up his back feet and took off. The school bell tolled again for the fourth time. All the students knew Miss English was not going to be happy with us. Nevertheless many of us stayed to help the boy out of the water, and his best friend walked him home to change clothing. The rest of us faced Miss English. To our dismay, after a short lecture about how important it is to be prompt, she decided that she could not punish all of the students, so she made each of us promised never to let this happen again. True to our word, we never did.

By the time I entered sixth grade, I was well versed in how the older students could help the younger students, and what we learned from helping them. It is a lesson that I valued the rest of my life. I knew that not everyone learned the same way. What I struggled with in second grade was exactly what other students in second grade struggled with. I also learned the children who were taught the alphabet in first grade could sound out words a lot better than those of us who were taught word recognition by memorization.

Two years before, the seventh and eight grade students had been moved to Central City, to attend Gilpin County Junior High. That left less than 20 students in the school. It was this same year in the spring time the secret of the school was exposed; Miss English would send the students out for lunch recess, and then fall asleep at her desk. She had done this since the beginning of the school year. Linda Blake, Christine Muller and myself, the whole sixth grade class except for Harry Moore, would watch the time and ring the bell signaling the end of recess. When the students settled down at their desk, we would start them on their school work. One day Mrs. Mildred Blake, head of the school board, came to the school unexpectedly and Miss English was still sleeping. For some reason, at the next month’s school board meeting, it was unanimously decided to not renew Miss English’s contract.

In many ways it was the end of an era, gone were the pot luck dinners, community dances and school plays. The new teacher, a young man, began his career in the fall of 1957, and I moved on to Junior High.

In closing, I would like you to know that after standing empty for many years and then being used as a storage building for the county schools, the old school house was renovated. It is now the police department and the church is the annex. When I am in Black Hawk, I often go to the police department, and speak with a police officer. I tell the officer that I attended school there and ask them how they are getting on with the ghost. The officers always seem surprised that I know there is a ghost and give me a variety of answers. I then suggest to the officers to introduce themselves and ask how she (the ghost) is doing. On a return trip to Black Hawk, one officer told me the suggestion worked and her papers were no longer thrown around the room, nor did she have problems finding her keys or purse at the end of a shift. My guess is the ghost of that young lady is still waiting for the bell to ring and class to begin.