The Front Row Perspective: Remembering John Harrington

Some people enter your life with a quiet gravity, pulling you into their orbit through shared curiosity and a steady presence. For me, that person was Colorado Springs Mineralogical Society (CSMS) member John Harrington.

I first noticed John at CSMS meetings in the 1980s. In a room full of hobbyists and experts, John was a fixture in the front row. A retired Air Force veteran and a skilled draftsman by trade, he brought precision to his passion for the Earth. He didn’t just listen; he leaned in, his eyes locked on the speaker, absorbing every detail of the lecture before inevitably raising his hand to ask the pointed, insightful questions that only come from someone truly paying attention.

Our friendship took root quickly, anchored by a monthly ritual at Maggie’s Restaurant on Pikes Peak Avenue. John was a man of consistency—he’d order a Coors and a bowl of chili every single time. As the steam rose from our bowls, the geologic map of Colorado expanded through his stories.

Between sips of beer, he’d tell me about the family farms in Michigan where he grew up and his "eye" for the Earth was first developed. He described how the plows would turn up more than just soil, unearthing Indian artifacts and coral fossils hidden in the glacial till. It was there, as a teenager standing in a sand blowout with his first arrowhead in hand, that his "front row" journey truly began.

When the local library couldn’t tell him enough about the craftsmanship of those points, he taught himself the art of flintknapping. John told me that in 1957 he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force, starting a career that spanned over twenty years and took him across the globe. Despite his travels, his passion for ancient crafts never waned. He once told me about a 1959 issue of Natural History magazine he’d found while serving in the Air Force; it contained the most sophisticated diagrams of stone tools he’d ever seen. He kept that same tattered issue as a reference for the rest of his life, carrying the lessons he learned at twenty into his seventies. As a Navy veteran myself, I found a kinship in his Air Force background; we shared a language of military service and endless stories.

John’s journey is a testament to the power of curiosity, transforming a childhood hobby into a sophisticated, lifelong pursuit of a dedicated study of geology, paleontology, archaeology, flintknapping, and photography.

A Masterclass in the Field

John’s lessons were not confined to the booth at Maggie's; he wanted to show me the stories of rocks and fossils in the field. He became my guide to the hidden corners of Colorado Springs. He led me to the ancient petroglyphs etched into the sandstone at Garden of the Gods. A few miles beyond the old Sears store on Highway 115, he showed me ripple marks from ancient shores preserved in stone, along with dinosaur tracks, and unusual sedimentary structures resembling "inverted streams," or casts of ancient stream channels that are captured in positive relief in the sandstone.

Figure 1. A view of the site off highway 115 reveals the full scale of this geological marvel, showing the dinosaur tracks and ripple marks as they scale the vertical sandstone wall. From this distance, the rhythmic pattern of the ripples and the steady path of the prints highlight the incredible transformation of this ancient shoreline into a towering, nearly vertical rock face. Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

Figure 2. These inverted structures defy traditional logic, leaving experts locked in a heated debate over their origin. There’s nothing quite like hearing world-class geologists clash over a mystery this big. To find the truth, we’re heading back into the field for more answers. Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

Figure 3. This close-up reveals the structures shown in the image are offset by “mini faults” that formed during Laramide deformation of the beds. Who would know all of this was just down the road from the old Sears Southgate store? Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

Figure 4. This displaced block of sandstone reveals something that has segmented joints (none are equidistant), perhaps an ancient fossil plant. Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

I remember a trip of the CSMS Fossil Study Group that John led with the same quiet authority he used to describe a map. We assembled one special morning on Rampart Range Road. John began to tell us what we would find and how to collect the specimens. It was as quiet as a comma as John spoke. At this spot, the Lower Pennsylvanian Glenn Eyrie Formation stands exposed like the end of a tattered history book. Most of us arrived with heavy rock hammers, ready to bash our way into the 320-million-year-old stone. But John stopped us. He knew this layer—a fragile remnant of a prehistoric sea—required a different approach to collecting specimens.

Under his guidance, we traded steel for straw. I watched as the group followed his lead, kneeling in the dirt with whisk brooms. It was a masterclass in patience; by meticulously brushing the weathered surfaces, we revealed the intricate skeletons of ancient sea urchins (echinoids) nestled in the shale. Because of John’s insistence on appropriate care and stratigraphic detail, we recovered the fossils with their fine spines and plates intact—delicate treasures that a hammer would have turned to dust. 

Figure 5. This spine fragment (15 mm in length) once attached to the tubercle of a sea urchin was unearthed from the Glen Eyrie Formation by John Harrington. These specimens were everywhere you dusted with a whisk broom. Fossils popped up all over the place! Photo by John Harrington. Date unknown.

If the Rampart Range was a lesson in micro-patience, our next adventure required a macro-lens from the sky. Our most ambitious expedition yet involved chartering a small plane to study the Tepee Buttes—rugged, conical hills formed by ancient methane seeps—from the air.

Figure 6. The propeller is about to spin, and the energy is electric at this small plane being readied at the Colorado Springs airport! John Harrington, seen waving enthusiastically on the left, is gearing up for a high-stakes aerial reconnaissance flight organized by Steven Veatch. This mission is all about capturing the rugged beauty of the Tepee Buttes in El Paso County from a breathtaking bird's-eye view. Standing alongside John are the expert pilot and a fellow photographer, both ready to brave the skies. Veatch is already in the plane. The single-engine aircraft is on the tarmac, moments away from roaring down the runway and into the wild blue yonder. For Veatch and Harrington, the adventure is just beginning. Photo date 2005 by S. W. Veatch.

Scheduling flights with John required a keen eye on the Colorado sky. We blocked out several early morning windows, hoping to catch Pikes Peak when the "Purple Mountain Majesties" were bathed in a crisp, golden hue (plus when the low sun brought out the shapes of the Tepee Buttes), and in quiet air before the afternoon thermal turbulence rolled off the peaks. But the most memorable part of the trip happened before we even left the tarmac.

Figure 7. Rising abruptly from the plains east of Interstate 25, between Colorado Springs and Pueblo, Colorado, are cone-shaped hills of limestone and shale known as the Tepee Buttes.  These distinctive features formed by carbonate precipitation around spring vents on the sea floor during the Late Cretaceous Epoch — between 75 and 76 million years ago. Photo date 2000 by S. Veatch.

Figure 8. Low oblique view of Tepee Buttes aligned along a fault.  Fault zones control the placement of the buttes, with butte fields commonly aligned in clusters along block faults or fracture zones formed during the Laramide uplift. These buttes near Boone, Colorado (32 kilometers east of Pueblo) mark sites where methane-rich fluids seeped out of the seafloor.   The airplane used for the project was a Cessna 172 P, flown over the site high enough to capture the target in a single frame.  Photo date 2000 by S. Veatch.

The plane was a tiny, cramped thing, and the cockpit door seemed to be designed for someone half our size. As I watched the pilot turn and help maneuver our gear, I wondered how John was going to manage the climb. He didn't complain, and he certainly didn't ask for a larger plane. He simply looked at the narrow opening, looked at me, and with a deadpan expression, unstrapped his prosthetic leg.

He handed the limb to me as if he were handing over a spare camera lens. While the pilot sat speechless, John hoisted himself into a back seat and buckled up, ready for the mission. To him, it wasn't a "disability" or a dramatic moment; it was just a practical solution to a spatial problem.

Once we cleared the runway, we banked west, leaving the Springs behind and headed for the sprawling open-pit mines of Cripple Creek and the legendary "Bone Wars" territory of Garden Park. From the air, the Morrison Formation—famous for Stegosaurus and Allosaurus fossils—revealed itself in long, colorful ribbons of earth that you simply can't appreciate from the ground.

Legacy of Curiosity

John’s influence on my life eventually spilled over the edges of our geologic maps. He pulled me into the Colorado Archaeology Society, sparking a fascination with the human story that rivals my love for the fossils themselves. In exchange, I took him to the water’s edge—a shoreline, substituting the dig site's dust for the tranquil setting of a trout-filled lake for a fishing trip.

John was there for one of my milestones, too. When I received my MS in Earth Science from Emporia State University, I looked out at my graduation party at the Garden of the Gods and saw John. He had a front-row seat and was a proud witness to a journey he had helped cultivate—a navigator who had seen me through the turbulence of hard study and helped me find my own "Purple Mountain Majesties."

John passed away a few years ago, but his presence is woven into the landscape. I feel it whenever I pass a familiar outcrop or feel the serrated edge of a Jurassic dinosaur tooth or look at fossils. He taught me that being a student of the world doesn't end with a career or retirement; it is a lifelong commitment to learning.

I still remember him best this way: a cold Coors, a steaming bowl of chili, endless conversation, and a mind that never stopped searching for the "why" behind the horizon. He showed me that no matter how much you think you know, there is always a reason to keep your eyes locked on the program speaker and make sure you get a seat in the front row.

Acknowledgments: I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Bob Carnein for his meticulous review and insightful comments on this paper. His expertise and thorough feedback were instrumental in refining the technical accuracy of the manuscript. Any improvements in the clarity and depth of this work are due in large part to his generous assistance.