Secrets in the Shadows: A Mystery at Black Mountain, Colorado

1894 found Spencer Penrose and his partner Charles Tutt immersed in the Cripple Creek gold rush. They worked tirelessly to extract gold from their COD (Cash on Delivery) mine and broker real estate deals in the gold camp. Spencer’s brother, Professor Richard Penrose, a renowned expert in geology and mining, would occasionally visit the two partners in Cripple Creek, offering them valuable advice on the operation of their gold mine.  

Sometime in 1894, after a few too many drinks at Johnny Nolan’s saloon, the three men decided to escape from the town’s hustle and bustle and embark on a prospecting trip to the scenic Black Mountain area in Park County.  Leaving from Cripple Creek with minimal equipment, the trio planned to stay for a week. 

After riding about two days and covering 40 miles, they entered a canyon with blood-stained walls—scarred with the remnants of a gun battle, a chilling reminder of the bloodshed that occurred there years ago. The sounds of the wind whistling through the canyon seemed to echo the cries of the fallen warriors.  The canyon opened into the Black Mountain area, and seeing nothing there to warrant any prospecting, the three men rode on to look for a favorable spot for camping before nightfall claimed them. 

Stopping, around 5 p.m., they stood before a strikingly large and impressive house. It was a surprise for all of them. Its construction implied wealth and success. They stopped at the property’s entrance, where a broken gate and damaged fence hinted at neglect. As the three men looked around, they found the house’s front door and several windows open, with no signs of life. The sight of scattered debris and broken glass hinted at the possibility of a sinister event. The sound of the wind whispered through the towering pines, creating a haunting symphony that pierced the silence. The soft scent of damp earth and decaying aspen leaves mingled with what they saw and enveloped them in an atmosphere of mystery and intrigue. 

Image of what the abandoned house in the Black Mountain area of Colorado may have looked like when the Penrose brothers and Charles Tutt came upon it in 1894. Art by the author using AI.

The three men entered the house. One room opened to the right, its door slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of what was inside. Another room opened to the left. A hall staircase separated the two rooms. Someone had evidently used the room to the right as a library or den. The silent rows of dusty bookshelves, holding a dozen forgotten books, looked like a tomb of lost stories. A mineral cabinet, holding some specimens, was built into the wall; someone had thrown other glittering mineral specimens onto the floor. A well-used riding crop, the leather polished smooth, hung beside a pair of elegant fencing foils and masks. This dusty room held the faint scent of leather and metal and echoed with the absence of laughter and life; only the rug on the floor hinted at past warmth. Then came a cold and unsettling surprise.

A chill snaked down their spines as they saw a woman’s long brown hair spread across the floor, its presence heavy with unspoken dread. Someone had squeezed the hair, hacking the ends off with a dull knife—the cuts jagged and rough—and then violently threw it. “Well, we had come there for mineral, not murder,” said Richard Penrose.  The entire scene was dreadful. 

As twilight descended, casting long shadows, the Penrose brothers and Tutt walked outside and saw kitchen utensils scattered across the ground. Peering into a barn they saw, that like the house, it was deserted. As it was getting late in the day, the trio decided not to investigate further, but rode on beyond this abandoned property into the open country a few miles away in order to select a spot to camp before night settled in.

At nine o’clock a loud snap of a twig sounded over the comforting crackle of the campfire, making everyone jump up from their blankets, where they’d been enjoying the fire’s warmth after their supper. A weathered prospector, his face tanned and lined, walked into the camp with a Winchester rifle slung across his shoulder. A burro, laden with supplies, followed close behind. “Hello partners; what luck?,” said the prospector. The conversation soon turned to the abandoned house. ‘Well boys, said the visitor, “I saw it go up. And the owner was always around. He was one of them English dude arrangements, wore an overgrown cap and yellow boots—kind of a sport. Never took no notice of nobody. Had one of them God Almighty airs with him.”   As recounted by the prospector, the Englishman spent money on the house and furnished it with items he hauled in from Balfour and Alma. The prospector claimed the English “dude” left for three months and then came back with a woman. “I’ve seen them many a time riding together, and damn me, I never saw such hair as that gal had. It was just about two years ago this spring, they both skipped God knows where. Some say they didn’t skip.”  According to the prospector’s account, another Englishman, an older man, showed up at the house. “That was the last of the young fellow and the girl with the fine locks.”  The prospector said that rumors suggested the old man was her husband, and she had run away with the younger Englishman. The old man—her husband—had followed and caught up with them at the Black Mountain property, after which the house was abandoned. 

The Penrose brothers and Tutt were lost in thought after the old prospector’s chilling tale. A hush fell over them as they listened to the whispers of the wind in the trees. The crackling fire cast an orange glow on the faces of the group as they sat around the campfire, pondering the old man’s tale. What happened to the woman? Why was her hair cut off? These questions lingered in their minds: why had the owners left the house and its sprawling grounds behind? The unanswered questions hung heavily in the chilly night air. The old prospector spent the night with the three men, saying he would not stay overnight at the Englishman’s house “for all the gold in Colorado; for the damn place is haunted.”

As dawn broke, the old prospector, armed with his Winchester, disappeared into the shadowy hills of the Black Mountain district with both his burro and his tales. The three men from Cripple Creek eagerly mounted their horses and left. The horses’ hooves resonated in the air, stirring up a cloud of golden dust that danced in the sunlight as they rode back to the gold-crazed Cripple Creek mining district, where ambition and the promise of riches fueled the energy of the town. 

In the years that followed, the Penrose brothers and Charles Tutt forged a path of tremendous success through minerals—copper and gold—and found their way into the history of the West and the American imagination. No one heard or wrote anything more about the mysterious woman and her lustrous locks. The old prospector slipped into oblivion.

Acknowledgments: I thank Bob Carnein for his insightful comments and help improving this manuscript.

References and Further Reading:

“Mystery of Colorado.” The Denver Press, September 7, 1894. p.6.

Veatch, S. W., 2017, The World’s Greatest Gold Camp: A Concise History of the Cripple Creek Mining District, in L.C. Kleinhans, et al., eds., Gold and Silver Deposits in Colorado Symposium: Golden, Colorado, Colorado School of Mines and others, p. 78-83.

Rockhounds and Legends: A Youthful Encounter with Richard M. Pearl

 By Steven Wade Veatch

 

        The year was 1966, and I was 12 years old. I was a relatively new member of the Colorado Springs Mineralogical Society (CSMS) and learned that Richard M. Pearl (1913-1980), a respected member of the society, would present a program at one of its monthly meetings. This was an opportunity I did not want to forgo.
        I had been reading several books written by Pearl, a professor of geology at Colorado College. The first Pearl book I owned was a gift from a family friend, Hermine Weber, who was Mrs. Julie Penrose’s private and personal maid. She purchased a copy of How to Know the Minerals and Rocks for me at the gift store in the Denver Museum of Natural History after we spent the day looking at the museum’s rock and mineral displays.

Figure 1. Richard M. Pearl was a professor of geology at Colorado College. He started teaching at Colorado College in 1946. He went from “Professor” to “Professor Emeritus” in 1978. Photo courtesy of Colorado College Special Collections, Tutt Library. From Pearl’s papers.

        Pearl wrote at least 40 popular geology books. My favorite was Colorado Gem Trails and Mineral Guide. In those long-ago days I was constantly trying to get my parents to take me on rock-collecting trips based on this book. I also read Colorado Rocks, Minerals, and Fossils several times. I referred to Successful Mineral Collecting and Prospecting regularly. These and other books written by Pearl deepened my lifelong interest in Earth science and maintaining a rock, mineral, and fossil collection. I still have these books today on my bookshelf. And, I still collect rocks, minerals, and fossils.

Figure 2. Colorado Gem Trails and Mineral Guide. Several editions of this quintessential guide to Colorado gem trails fueled many rockhounding expeditions by those who read it. 

With anticipation, I counted the days for the night to arrive when Pearl would speak. My parents drove me down to the meeting. We parked and walked inside the IBEW building on Spruce Street, where the CSMS held their meetings back then. Inside, the room buzzed with anticipation as members of the CSMS took their seats, their chatter punctuated by the occasional clink of rock samples on tabletops. It was an evening we had all been looking forward to—Richard M. Pearl, the renowned mineralogist and author, was our speaker.
        Pearl, a balding man wearing a well-pressed white shirt and a tie, arrived with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime among rocks and minerals. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he took in the eager crowd. I remember how he carried himself—not with the air of an untouchable academic, but with the warmth of a teacher who genuinely loved sharing his knowledge.
That night, Pearl discussed Colorado's mineral resources, mentioning gold, silver, and gemstones. He recounted his explorations across the state, his voice filled with the reverence one reserves for old friends. And, of course, he had stories—about prospectors who stumbled upon mineral deposits, about the science behind some of those deposits, and the wonder they inspired.
When he finished, the room erupted in applause. Questions came eagerly, and he answered each with patience, his enthusiasm never waning. Someone asked about his book, Colorado Gem Trails and Mineral Guide, and he chuckled, admitting that even after years of research, there were always new discoveries waiting.
        Afterward, as members gathered around to show him their latest finds, he examined each specimen with genuine interest. He treated every piece—whether an exquisite amazonite or a simple smoky quartz crystal—with the same respect, making each person feel their curiosity was as valuable as the specimens themselves. In my memory, this night with Pearl sparkled like an open geode.
        That night, Pearl left me with more than knowledge. He inspired me with a renewed sense of wonder, confirming that the study of the Earth’s riches can fuel a life-long pursuit of knowledge and curiosity. As he shook my hand before departing, I couldn’t help but feel that I had not just met an expert—I had met a kindred spirit, one who understood why I searched for beauty revealed in rocks and minerals.

Finding Zircons in North Cheyenne Cañon

By Steven Wade Veatch

A long-forgotten Colorado Springs rockhounding memory reawakened for me as I looked at a vintage postcard (figure 1) that shows the crossroads of High Drive and the Colorado Springs and Cripple Creek District Railroad, also known as the Short Line Railroad. It was just a short distance from here that I had stepped away from my motorcycle to take a deeper look at the area. On the edge of a steep slope, the shape of some crystals leaped to eye and mind.

Figure 1. Intersection of High Drive and the Short Line railroad.
Note buggy tracks on High Drive.  Postcard from the collection of S. W. Veatch.

I thought about the rich history of the area. Workers completed the Short Line in 1901. Today, the Gold Camp Road follows the old route of the railroad as it winds its way up the mountain to the goldfields of Cripple Creek. Both the Short Line and High Drive were used to access the Bruin Inn (figure 2), which was located near Helen Hunt Falls. 

Figure 2. Bruin Inn (circa 1910) located at the base of Helen Hunt Falls in North Cheyenne Cañon Park. Built in 1881, it was originally intended to be the home of Edward Payson Tenney, then-President of Colorado College. Over time, it became a popular tourist attraction. It burned down in 1957. Postcard from the collection of S. W. Veatch.

General William Jackson Palmer, founder of Colorado Springs, commissioned the construction of the High Drive in 1903 as a scenic carriage route. Gold Camp Road follows the old Short Line Railroad between Colorado Springs and Cripple Creek. The railroad went bankrupt in 1919. W. D. Corley purchased the line in 1922, removed the rails, and converted the right-of-way to a toll road (known as the Corley Mountain Highway) for cars in 1926. 

Figure 3. The red arrow on the topographic map shows the intersection shown in figure 1.
The post card photo was taken a short distance north of Helen Hunt Falls and the Bruin Inn. 

In March 1982, I was riding my Yamaha all-terrain motorcycle with a rock-hunting friend, Jerry Odom, who was also on a motorcycle. I was working for 7-Eleven then, and had the day off. Jerry was an officer with the Colorado Springs Police Department. We rode past the intersection of High Drive and the Gold Camp Road, continued on the Gold Camp Road, and entered North Cheyenne Cañon, a 1,000-feet-deep cut into the billion-year-old granite. With its hidden geological wonders, the area has long been a treasure trove for gem and mineral hunters. We did not make it far, as the road was soon filled with snow and we had to stop. We turned our motorcycles around and then stepped off of them to stretch our legs. 

Figure 4. View of the Corley Mountain Highway, now known as the Gold Camp Road,
on the southwest side of Colorado Springs. Postcard from the S. W. Veatch collection.

We lost the sun as it sank below the canyon rim. Shadows lengthened as the afternoon moved on, and the air was cold. Some snowflakes under a pine tree swirled about on a lofting breeze. Below, a stream flowed over immensities of time and through cycles of erosion and deposition.

I looked at the ground and saw, next to the road, near the edge of the canyon, a hunk of Pikes Peak granite that had been broken loose by a road grader. I noticed that it had a long cavity running through it. I looked a little closer and found crystals that resembled two tiny Egyptian pyramids that had been glued together. I had stumbled on a pocket of zircon crystals!

The discovery of the zircon crystals’ unique shapes among the granite rocks was exciting—a moment of wonder that linked me to Earth’s ancient past. These reddish-brown crystals held a billion years of history, adding deep time to my early spring adventure. The excitement continued beyond the discovery as we rode back down the mountain and then into Colorado Springs. 

Collectors continue to find zircons at a half-dozen sites in the area. At the nearby Eureka mine— where prospecting is more intentional—collectors use a black light in the dark tunnel that causes  zircons to fluoresce a vibrant yellow, making them easy to find.

Figure 5. Zircon crystals. From the L. Canini collection

Figure 6. Zircon crystals. From the L. Canini collection

Figure 7. Zircon crystals under a black light. From the L. Canini collection.

Figure 8. Zircon specimen from the North Cheyenne Cañon, El Paso County, Colorado.
Courtesy of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. DMNS
 EGM.10328.

This is an experience that I vividly remember nearly 44 years later. It is just one of many adventures for me hunting for rocks, minerals, and fossils in the Pikes Peak region. For both expert geologists and amateur rock collectors, finding a zircon crystal sparks a passion for rockhounding and searching for local mineral treasures that are part of El Paso County’s rich geological heritage.

Acknowledgments: 

The author thanks Eric Swab for his assistance with this manuscript. Bob Carnein improved this manuscript. Many thanks to his years and years of editing my work.

A Florissant Fossil for the White City

 

by

Steven Wade Veatch

 The “Big Stump” at Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument, Colorado is one of the larger petrified stumps exposed in the Monument: it measures 3.6 meters tall and is 3.7 meters in diameter at breast height (Meyer, 2003). This solitary petrified stump is all that remains of a tree that was more than 60 meters tall when a volcanic mudflow (lahar) buried its base during the late Eocene.

Figure 1. This postcard, ca. 1894, shows a wooden framework
built around Big Stump. From the E. Simmons collection.

Big Stump is similar to the modern Sequoia (redwood) and is the type specimen described by Andrews in 1936 for Sequoioxylon pearsallii. An often-confusing aspect of paleobotany is that different organs (e.g., wood and leaves) that belong to the same living species are sometimes preserved isolated and unattached, in the fossil record. Therefore, it can be difficult to prove that they belonged to the same living species. For that reason they are sometimes given different names as fossils. At Florissant, Sequoioxylon pearsallii is the name assigned to the fossil wood and Sequoia affinis is the name for cones and foliage. They likely belonged to the same species of tree when they were living, but this cannot be proven unless these organs can be found attached in the same fossil. Philosophies differ, however, and in 1953 MacGinitie placed Sequoioxylon pearsallii into synonymy with Sequoia affinis. (Synonymy in the fossil record refers to the situation where two or more scientific names have been applied to the same fossil taxon.)

The Big Stump has been depicted in early photographs and postcards that date back to the late 1890s. Geologist Arthur Lakes, on an early expedition to the area with paleontologist Samuel Scudder, marked the location of a "petrified forest" on his original watercolor map in 1878—the general area where Big Stump is situated.

Figure 2. A broken and rusted saw blade remains wedged
in Big Stump from an attempt to cut it into sections and ship it to
Chicago for the World’s Fair. Image date 2003 by S. Veatch.

There was once a local effort to send this incredible fossilized tree stump to the World's Columbian Exposition (The Chicago World's Fair) of 1893. A plan was made in 1890 to remove the stump, transport it to Chicago by rail, and then rebuild it at the fair. Fortunately, the attempt to remove Colorado's prized fossil was unsuccessful. As it happened, the workmen’s saw blades became permanently wedged in the fossil wood. The plans to send Florissant’s famous stump to the Columbian Exposition were then quickly abandoned.

The World’s Columbian Exposition, one of the greatest cultural events of the nineteenth century, was named in honor of Christopher Columbus and celebrated the 400th anniversary of his arrival in the New World.

Figure 3. This ticket admitted the bearer into the World’s Columbian Exposition
in Chicago, a landmark event in American history and culture.
From the Michele Veatch Collection. 

Thousands were employed in the development of 633 acres of fairgrounds and the construction of 200 buildings in Chicago’s Jackson Park. Many of the fair buildings were located along constructed waterways fed by Lake Michigan. The Court of Honor buildings (14 main buildings) were covered in white stucco. Visitors, after seeing these white buildings, began to call this the White City. After three years of planning and building, and at a cost of twenty-eight million dollars, President Cleveland opened the fair on May 1, 1893. Ticket prices were 50 cents for adults and 25 cents for children.

Visitors to the Columbian Exposition enjoyed more than 65,000 exhibits and attractions. The fair contained many marvels and introduced Americans and the world to picture postcards, carbonated soda, hamburgers, and a gigantic wheel (built by George W. Ferris Jr.) that visitors could ride. The fair also introduced the nation to the Pledge of Allegiance and a new holiday—Columbus Day.

Figure 4. View of the Colorado building at the
World’s Columbian Exposition. Stacks of petrified wood
appear to be on either side of the entrance
to this building. Photo from the Michele Veatch Collection.

Most of the states and territories had exhibits at the fair, including Colorado. The Colorado building had a wide variety of displays from the Centennial State. If Big Stump had been cut and quarried into sections, the Colorado building would have been a likely destination. Colorado Day was celebrated September 12 at the fair without Big Stump—Colorado’s famous fossil remained at the Florissant Fossil Beds, intact. Although Big Stump did not make it to the Columbian Exposition, other Colorado fossils probably made it to the fair, perhaps even fossils from Florissant. (See note below.)

Figure 5. Fortunately, Big Stump did not make it to the
White City but remains for visitors to the Monument
to enjoy. Image date 2003 by S. Veatch.

By its closing date on October 30, 1893, more than 27 million people had visited the White City. If Big Stump had been removed and displayed at the fair, this oddity of nature would have been lost. This magnificent fossil is now protected by the National Park Service, and visitors to the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument can view Big Stump in its geologic setting.

 Note: Some photos of the Colorado building depict stacks of petrified wood by the entrance. Because the Big Stump didn’t reach the Columbian Exhibition, I think this petrified wood is from Florissant. I contacted the Field Museum to see if they still had some of this petrified wood. The Earth science curator said they had some unidentified petrified wood in the basement. I went to the Field Museum, met the curator, and examined this petrified wood. It was not fossil wood from Florissant. The origin of this wood in the museum’s basement is unknown. The wood in old photos of the Colorado Building might have come from Florissant and is no longer at the museum. We may never really know what became of the fossil wood in the photos or where it originally came from.

Acknowledgements

            I thank Bob Carnein for improving this manuscript. I also benefited from many discussions of the Big Stump with park ranger Jeff Wolin. I dedicate this article to him.

References and further reading:

Andrews, H.N., 1936. A new Sequoioxylon from Florissant, Colorado. Annals of the Missouri Botanical Garden 23 (3): 439-446.

MacGinitie, H.D. 1953. Fossil Plants of the Florissant Beds, Colorado. Carnegie Institution of Washington Publication 599:1-198.

Meyer, H.W., 2003. The Fossils of Florissant, Smithsonian Books, Washington, D.C., 258 p.

 

 

Wicked Cripple Creek District: A Book Review

Wicked Cripple Creek District. By Jan MacKell Collins. History Press: Charleston, SC. 2024. 176 pages with black and white photographs. Paperback.

Book Review by Steven Wade Veatch

There are dozens upon dozens of histories written about Colorado’s most famous mining district, Cripple Creek. What sets MacKell Collins' Wicked Cripple Creek District apart from the others is that it pulls back the curtain on the scandalous and shadowy history of the district. Collins masterfully describes, in richly detailed storytelling, the Cripple Creek district’s wicked ways, recounting the lives of its infamous inhabitants: saloon keepers whose establishments pulsed with raucous music, miners whose days were filled with the clang of picks and the scent of dynamite, brothel madams whose hushed whispers held secrets, gamblers whose fortunes rose and fell with the roll of the dice, conmen whose slick words could charm any victim, and lawmen whose badges couldn’t always keep the peace in the ever-expanding gold rush of Cripple Creek and the other towns of the district.

The book examines Cripple Creek’s wild side and delves the district’s dark past, including crime, exploitation, and the hardships of living in a gold camp. Yet, the author also points out the tenacity and drive of those who came to Cripple Creek to pursue riches and independence. Balancing historical accuracy and storytelling skill, her writing creates an engaging book for everyone, from history enthusiasts to casual readers.

What sets this book apart is Collins' ability to weave a tapestry of little-known stories from this period. Using firsthand accounts, historical records, newspaper clippings, and historic photos she intensely portrays the district’s darker side. The bittersweet tales of hardship and loss woven into the author’s narratives are a poignant reminder of lives lived on the edge. She directly addresses the racy tales and complex lives of the women in the mining camps’ red-light districts.

Central to the Wicked Cripple Creek District’s appeal is its focus on the human stories that make up its historical foundation. A saloon in Cripple Creek was the scene of the town’s first murder in 1892—and this was only the town’s second year—when Charles Hudspeth, following an argument in the Iron Clad Dance Hall, took a shot at the bartender but missed, hitting the piano player instead, killing him. By then shadows clung to the corners of the district’s streets, whispering danger from dance halls, saloons, and the brothels that lined them.

More mayhem and murders followed. The Victor Hotel was the scene of a robbery in 1894, just months after it opened. The fatal shooting of railroad superintendent Richard Newell stemmed from a heated construction right-of-way dispute.

In 1896, a quarrel broke out between Otto Floto and Jennie Larue, a prostitute living in the cramped confines of a second-floor apartment in Cripple Creek’s Central Dance Hall. A fire broke out in their apartment, spread, and burned part of downtown Cripple Creek. Three years later (1899), Jennie Thompson was cleaning a garment with gasoline in the Victor shack she lived in. Her careless smoking ignited the fumes, resulting in a fire that ravaged a section of Victor.

Collins describes the sad story of Mexican Jennie and how her abusive blacksmith husband, Philip Roberts Jr., filled her life with the constant sounds of his rage, while he browbeat fear into her heart until she reached her breaking point. Then, on Christmas night, 1913, inside the walls of their Poverty Gulch shack, she shot Roberts dead. The cold steel of her gun was a stark contrast to the festive season. Collins includes a photograph of the quilt Jennie painstakingly sewed in prison—a visual autobiography stitched with love, loss, and hope; a testament to her spirit: each square a memory, each stitch a story.

A more unusual story recounts how the miner John McEachern plotted to defraud insurance companies and fake his own death in a mining accident. To perpetrate his scam, he used the corpse of Bob Speed (which would eventually be buried three times) as a substitute for his body.

Jan MacKell Collins has meticulously researched and vividly written this new account of the Cripple Creek mining district, bringing its wicked inhabitants to life and preserving their stories so that the reader can almost smell the perfume of the district’s love workers, see the gamblers’ sly faces as they bet, and hear the honkytonk saloon music play. Wicked Cripple Creek District is a must-read for anyone interested in Colorado mining history and the wicked side of a mining district. Collins brings to life the bright dance halls and shadowed alleyways, capturing the spirit of a time and place where fortunes were made and lives unraveled.

Rating: 4.8/5 prospector picks
 

A Communion of Discovery

 Dedicated to Estella Leopold, conservationist. *

Melting ice washed gravels down,
burying the mammoth—hiding it through the ages.
And I found a rock at its grave, 
with secrets deep inside.
I broke it, crushed it, sifted it;
dissolved it in a beaker, 
spun it by a centrifuge, 
and peeled back layers of time.

Now only hidden fossils remain:
Pollen grains and mossy spores—
once floating on an Ice Age breeze.

Now in that communion of discovery
these small fossils yield
the deepest glimpse through time
to the world before we came, and warn
of a future we must face—
while just outside forests change, 
species die,
and life recedes.

By Steven Wade Veatch

An imagined scene of the Ice Age mammoth
found at the Florissant Fossil Beds
created by the author using AI.

* Estella Leopold assisted me in the actual paleontological research mentioned in this poem. A sediment layer associated with the burial site of a Columbian Mammoth at the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument was found to contain Ice Age pollen and spores. This research resulted in a paper presented at the Geological Society of America in Denver in 2013. Estella was one of the original “Defenders of Florissant” and was instrumental in the Florissant Fossil Beds in becoming a national monument. Estella is the daughter of Aldo Leopold, who wrote the Sand County Almanac. Estella passed away February 25, 2024. She was 97 years old. 

Note: this poem is an expanded version of an earlier poem entitled "Mammoth" by the author.

Geological Anomalies: Chalcedony Breccia in a Cinnabar Matrix and the Disappearance of Michigan’s Geology Professor

 By Steven Wade Veatch

Hidden among geological marvels at a mineral show was a cinnabar-bearing chalcedony breccia-specimen (Figure 1). The term "breccia" refers to a rock composed of angular fragments, while "chalcedony" describes a type of cryptocrystalline quartz. Adding "cinnabar" specifies the presence of mercury sulfide, which creates a distinctive red color. 

Figure 1. Chalcedony breccia in a cinnabar-matrix. While attending the Central Michigan Lapidary and Mineral Society rock show in 2023, the author noticed this specimen for sale by a vendor and purchased it for its interesting geological story and the sad tale about its original collector. From the collection of S. W. Veatch. Photo date 2024 by S. W. Veatch.

This breccia specimen reveals the Earth’s natural forces and is a reminder of the mysterious disappearing act of a professor. The specimen, a chalcedony breccia, embedded in a cinnabar matrix, unveils a story of geological upheaval. It is also a reminder of the personal upheaval of the man who collected it.

Professor M. W. Harrington collected the cinnabar specimen from a streambed in Nappa County, California (Figures 2 and 3). At some point after he collected this sample, he disappeared. His wife and son relentlessly searched for him over many years. This article takes us on a journey to uncover the mysteries and wonders of this fascinating specimen and the tragic tale of its collector.

Figure 2. Label of the cinnabar-bearing chalcedony-breccia specimen collected by Professor Mark Walrod Harrington for the University of Michigan’s Natural History Museum in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Photo date 2024 by S. W. Veatch.

The formation of the chalcedony breccia, which consists of chalcedony fragments embedded in a matrix of finer-grained, granular cinnabar, results from complex geological processes. These types of breccias usually develop in areas of intense tectonic activity or volcanic eruptions, where rocks break apart and then fuse back together. 

The distinctive feature of this specimen is cinnabar, a vibrant red mineral consisting of mercury sulfide. Cinnabar typically is found in veins associated with volcanic activity and alkaline hot springs (Chesterman, 1990). It’s the primary ore used to refine elemental mercury and has historically been used to create vibrant red pigments like vermilion. 

Geological thought suggests that the formation of this chalcedony breccia within its cinnabar matrix likely occurred during periods of volcanic activity and low temperature hydrothermal circulation. The fracturing of the pre-existing chalcedony, possibly because of volcanic eruptions or tectonic movements, provided the initial substrate for the deposition of chalcedony fragments. The introduction of a cinnabar-rich solution through subsequent hydrothermal processes led to the cementation of the breccia, resulting in the creation of the intricate mosaic we currently observe.

From a scientific standpoint, this specimen offers valuable information about past geological events and environmental conditions. Researchers can reconstruct part of the region’s geological history by studying the composition and texture of the chalcedony breccia and its association with cinnabar. These investigations enhance our knowledge of volcanic processes, hydrothermal activity, and mineral-deposit formation.

The cinnabar- and chalcedony- breccia specimen discussed in this article was collected by Mark Walrod Harrington (1848 –1926) for the University of Michigan’s mineral collection. Harrington was born in the pleasing town of Sycamore, Illinois and he attended the University of Michigan. The grandeur of the historic buildings on campus captivated his eyes while the distant sound of student chatter filled the air. Graduating in 1868 with a bachelor’s degree, he continued his studies, delving into the world of academia, as the aroma of old books and the sound of pages turning surrounded him. In 1871, he earned his master’s degree, and his heart filled with a sense of accomplishment. 

Figure 3. Photograph of Mark Walrod Harrington, during his tenure as Director of the Observatory at the University of Michigan, which he held from 1879–1891. A renowned American scientist in the late 19th century, he held the distinction of being the first civilian to head the United States Weather Bureau and had previously served as president of the University of Washington. He also held positions at the United States Weather Bureau before his disappearance in around 1899. Photographer unknown.
Public domain.

He then started his career as the assistant curator at the University’s Museum of Natural Sciences in Ann Arbor, Michigan. The hushed whispers of students exploring the museum echoed in his ears. With each step, he felt the weight of knowledge and responsibility grow. Eventually, the university made him the professor of botany, zoology, and geology, and then gave him the honor of directing the esteemed Detroit Observatory, where at night the twinkling stars above filled him with awe and wonder (Mark Walrod Harrington, 1895-97, n.d.).

In 1874, he married Rose Martha Smith, a woman hailing from his Illinois hometown. Shortly after, they welcomed a son into their family. However, tragedy struck in 1876 when their young child passed away. Initially, Harrington had intended to take a year-long sabbatical in Germany alone. However, because of the heart-wrenching loss, he and his wife embarked on the journey together. During their time in Europe, they immersed themselves in the German language, embraced a simple lifestyle, and grieved the loss of their son (Swanson, n.d.).

The president of the University of Michigan appointed Harrington to be the director of the Detroit Observatory in 1879. The Harringtons welcomed their second son, Mark Raymond, in 1882. The boy, like his father, had an insatiable curiosity. Harrington divided his time between the Observatory during the day and exploring the Ann Arbor countryside with his son in the evenings and on weekends, looking for plants, rocks, and arrowheads (Swanson, n.d.).

After leaving his university post, Harrington took on the position of the first civilian director of the United States Weather Bureau, which fell under the authority of the US Department of Agriculture (US Department of Commerce, n.d.). He only maintained this position a few years before problems with managing non-academic staff led to his dismissal. Next, he became the president of Washington Territorial University, but he faced issues again and had to resign. His leadership abilities seem to have been impacted by a newly emerging mental illness. After briefly returning to the Weather Bureau in a lower position, he resigned in 1899 (Swanson, n.d.). Later that year, on a summer evening, he told his wife and 17-year-old son that he was going out for dinner (Swanson, n.d.). He never came back (Swanson, n.d.). He vanished for almost a decade, a tragic event that overshadowed his academic accomplishments. 

During the lost years, it appears that Harrington first spent his time working menial jobs. After that, he traveled to China where he tutored students in English. Unfortunately, he became ill during his time there, but he managed to save up enough money to sail back home. Upon his return, he landed in the American South after passing through the Panama Canal (Swanson, n.d.). He worked on sugar plantations for a while before deciding to travel west and stake a mining claim. Eventually, he found work as a lumberman. After these adventures, he returned to a sleazy Chicago flophouse and later made his way to New Jersey (Swanson, n.d.). Sadly, it was in New Jersey that his memory finally and completely failed him. 

In 1907, alone and frightened in Newark, he sought shelter from the rain at a local police precinct. Upon seeing his condition, the authorities took him to a mental institution and admitted him under the name of “John Doe No. 8.”

Harrington’s whereabouts remained a mystery to his wife Rose and her son for the next 10 years. During his collection of Native American artifacts out west, Mark Raymond, Harrington’s son, stumbled upon a newspaper report in 1908 about a peculiar admission to the Morris Plains Asylum for the Insane. He wasted no time contacting his mother, who soon found out that the man identified as John Doe No. 8 was her long-lost husband.

While at the asylum, the doctors determined that Harrington was suffering from severe mental illness. According to the University of Washington in Seattle, his wife claimed that, while he was investigating clouds over the campus during his brief tenure as president there, lightning struck him. The exact cause of his madness, however, remains unknown. Although there was some improvement in Harrington's mental state, he was never able to return to a normal life and refused to acknowledge his former name or personal history. As a result, he remained institutionalized for the rest of his life and passed away in the New Jersey State Mental Hospital at Morris Plains in 1926.

Harrington was a resolute scholar who delved into various fields including botany, astronomy, meteorology, and geology. He actively contributed to these disciplines through his studies and publications. And his knowledge extended beyond his vast scientific skills, as he was proficient in six different languages. 

The chalcedony breccia, with its intricate patterns and vibrant hues, is a mesmerizing sight. As we gaze upon it, the contrasting colors of the delicate chalcedony captivate us against the vibrant red backdrop of cinnabar. The texture of the chalcedony feels smooth and cool to the touch, and the smell of earth and minerals fills the air. Professor Harrington’s cinnabar is a testament to the timeless beauty and geological complexity of our planet, reminding us of the boundless wonders that lie beneath the surface. And this specimen recalls the sad end of a brilliant scientist.

References and selected reading

Chesterman, C. W. 1990. The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Rocks and Minerals. New York: Knopf.

Mark Walrod Harrington, 1895-97 [Review of Mark Walrod Harrington, 1895-97]. University of Washington Libraries Special Collections. Retrieved April 12, 2024, from https://www.lib.washington.edu/specialcollections/collections/exhibits/presidents/images/mark-walrod-harrington-1895-97/view

Swanson, F. (n.d.). Fault of His Stars [Review of Fault of His Stars]. Bentley Historical Library. Retrieved April 2, 2024, from https://bentley.umich.edu/news-events/magazine/the-fault-in-his-stars/

The Seattle Post-intelligencer 22 August 1895 — Washington Digital Newspapers. Retrieved May 1, 2024, from https://washingtondigitalnewspapers.org. 

‌US Department of Commerce, NOAA. "History of the National Weather Service" Retrieved May 11, 2024‌ from www.weather.gov.