Creede: Part 1

Never underestimate the childhood experiences you offer your young ones.

Having been born in a mining (iron ore) camp, and having a father who’d take me “to the mine” and a mother who’d participate on “giras” [tours] of historical or natural wonders relatively nearby, I was not only born in what surrounded me, I was purposefully immersed in it. 

I don’t think my parents did this “intentionally” — I’ll have to ask them on Resurrection Day — but I do know they believed in the importance of gratitude. Therefore, they wanted their children to appreciate their birthplace and their heritage — in my case that would be both Venezuela and Spain as well as Massachussets and England. So as we grew up, we learned to respect, if not love, “where we came from”. 

We also learned, albeit intuitively at first, the tremendous capital — human and material — necessary to carve out a mine and camp and to provide sustainable living in the Venezuelan jungle.

So, although we never had much of an interest in engineering or prospecting or related fields, we certainly respected the immense effort and costs and sacrifices entailed in any mining operation.

Early in my career, I was in an economics conference in California where a gentleman spoke of miles of pipeline being laid from Alaska down to the 48 states. 

I do not recall exactly what his involvement in that multi-billion-dollar project was, but I do recall that he told of how he insisted his daughter accompany him on one of his trips to the project. She was in college and into all the trendy activism of the time. 

He wanted her to see the colossal efforts and investments required to enable her to turn on her blow dryer and to successfully turn on her car ignition. And the men working the required 10 to 12-hour days to make her creature comforts happen.

As I listened to him, I felt gratitude in my heart for my parents, who did similarly to that man, only my folks did not wait till I was in college to do so.

Another aspect of mining towns was the colorful nature of some of the men who worked there. This was an aspect that a child did not automatically pick up. Rather, it was something that grew inchoately over the years, in many cases long after the child had moved away from the camp and reflected on certain characters and, if lucky, was able to ask others, still living, about them. 

How many novels yet remain to be written and movies to be filmed!

So mines, any kind of mines, have always drawn my attention. I even once seriously considered accepting a position in mining operations in Senegal! Colleagues and friends advised me to wait on something like that. So decades later I was much better prepared to accept a position in Saudi Arabia.

In 1991 or thereabouts, during a family trip to Southwest Colorado, we were intrigued by a dot on the map, on the Continental Divide, that was labeled as having been a booming silver mining town in the late 19th Century. 

We decided to visit and we’ve been heading back there whenever we have an opportunity to do so, most recently after my son’s wedding last month.

To summarize, Creede is named after a man who was born around Fort Wayne, Indiana circa 1843. In infancy his family moved to Iowa territory and began farming. In his late teens he volunteered with the army and worked as a scout in cavalry campaigns against the Sioux. It was during this time that he traveled through Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado, and other western areas. He also witnessed the discovery of gold in the Black Hills and that piqued what became his lifelong interest in prospecting.

The man’s birth name was William Harvey. After his service in the army his intention was to return to Iowa to woo a gal he knew “back home”. But he had been gone nearly a decade and upon returning he found that the girl had married his brother and was mother to a young child.

This discovery greatly rattled William Harvey, provoked him to change his name to Nicholas C. Creede, and spurred him in his resolve to become a successful prospector, which is (most of) the rest of the story.

His first strike was near Monarch Pass, on the Continental Divide in Central Colorado. He sold his strike and promptly struck another, which he also sold for a larger sum which he used to tour the areas he considered most promising and, as he went, to study and learn about prospecting and minerals. He clearly had the desire, energy, and intelligence to become a successful entrepreneur.

After several other strikes, Creede discovered what became known as the Holy Moses strike and this drew the attention of David H. Moffat, a well known financier and industrialist, one of the pioneers of Denver, Colorado. He and his partners not only leased the Holy Moses from Creede, but also partnered with him in his further prospecting. This arrangement became very lucrative for all parties and we can only imagine how encouraging this was for Nicholas C. Creede.

And this led to his greatest find: the Amethyst vein, from which several mines were developed, including the Bachelor, which we will see in later posts. The years of study, hard work, and wise dealings and associations finally rewarded Creede, as he was now a millionaire and even lived to see a town named in his honor: Creede, Colorado, sitting on the Amethyst vein. He was described as reserved, modest, and courageous.

The town of Creede was the last silver boom town in Colorado, growing from 600 inhabitants to over 10,000 by end of 1891. The boom was over by 1893; however, Creede was never a ghost town and continued to operate well into the 1960s, relying on other minerals in addition to silver.

While mining in the area was very successful, the town attracted men and women whose primary interest was to relieve the miners of their money while in turn making “easy money”. This unfortunate state of affairs — common throughout history — was, ironically, exacerbated by “reform” activities in Denver which pushed underworld characters and their businesses out of the capital onto Creede where their trades were welcome. 

So Creede (and Bachelor) were known as “having no night” and yet also had churches and, in Bachelor, even an opera house. 

If you visit the Creede Mining Museum, you will learn about Jefferson “Soapy” Smith, known as the king of the Creede underworld, whose brother-in-law happened to be the deputy sheriff. You’ll also be reminded of the notorious Robert “Bob” Ford, the murderer of outlaw Jesse James. Ford moved to Creede where he himself was murdered by Ed O’Kelley whose motive for doing so was never ascertained with certainty. O’Kelley served less than a decade in prison and, after release, moved to Oklahoma where he was killed in a shootout with a policeman.

Another resident of Creede was the famous buffalo hunter, scout, and lawman, Bartholemew William Barclay Masterson, better known as Bat Masterson. In Creede, however, Masterson ran a gambling operation while also betting on prizefighting. He eventually succeeded in journalism in New York City where he died in 1921, a few months after attending his last prize fight, where Jack Dempsey defended his heavyweight title. 

By the way, Jack Dempsey lived in Bachelor as a child. He likely learned how to fight there.

Creede’s population today is just under 300.

As for Nicholas C. Creede, he, sadly, did not marry well. He eventually moved to Los Angeles and died of an accidental morphine overdose in 1897. He suffered from chronic and severe stomach pain and took morphine frequently. The coroner ruled his death accidental, which most at the time considered a reasonable conclusion.

Creede and Bachelor are types of mining towns all over this earth as well as microcosms of society everywhere. Good, pious folks, living among genuinely bad or shady people. 

The names above are well known to us because of so many works of fiction and non-fiction, not to mention movies and television shows. Nevertheless, we must also remember that such were not the majority of these towns. They also had folks, like Mr. Creede, who were modest, reserved, courageous, and decent. 

To be continued.

Downtown Creede, Colorado

Creede, Colorado in 1892

Bachelor, Colorado, late 19th Century

Bachelor, Colorado, today

Nicholas C. Creede, c. 1843-1897

Bat Masterson, 1879-1921

Jack Dempsey, 1895-1983

When The World Was So New And All

There are days which are achingly crisp and clear. 

They are not restricted to a specific part of the earth. We’ve seen them “everywhere”. They are, however, restricted to certain days wherein precise weather conditions and time of day and season of the year on occasion cooperate in such a wonderful way as to gift us so marvelously. I am told that, in addition to outside factors, one’s own state of mind also contributes to how such days are beheld.

Invariably such moments remind me how new the world seems when we look back. And one is tempted to think that all was crisp and clear when one was a child. We know better, of course — or at least we ought to know better. However, if your childhood was blessed with a decent home — whether rich or poor or in between — you certainly should be grateful.

I recall visiting the El Morro fort in San Juan, Puerto Rico one late afternoon in 1978. It was one of those aforementioned, astonishingly clear days, about two hours or so before sunset. The beauty of the day was not due only to my personal inward peace; a television crew, which I later learned was from an advertising agency, was filming a lady on a horse. It must have been a shampoo commercial as her almost-waist-long hair reflected the sun’s rays as she rode her horse, with trees and fort and sparkling ocean in the background. Clearly the advertising agency knew this was a “perfect day” to shoot such a commercial in that spot.

(Lamentably, the trees are gone; my understanding is that they were removed in the early 90s to make the fort look “exactly” as it did in the 16th Century when it was built.)

But one need not be in an exotic location to enjoy such days. I’ve seen them as I worked on the property outside my home in Texas or as I drove grandchildren to a Puerto Rico mountain top or sitting on the low wall outside the camp club in El Pao. And you have seen such days also, I’m sure. We all have.

Invariably, such days tug me back to a vinyl record my father bought when I was not yet two years old. No, I don’t recall the day he bought it; as far as I am concerned, it had always been a part of my life; however, in writing this post I looked at the issue date: 1955.

It is Gary Moore’s The Elephant Child: Musical Adaptations based on Just So Stories For Little Children by Rudyard Kipling.

The second story in the album is “How The Camel Got Its Hump”. Like all such tales in Just So, “Camel” is an origin story. Moore delightfully channels Kipling as he unfolds the yarn about a world that is just beginning and has much work to be done. The horse, the ox, and the dog are doing their best to help the man; however, the camel just sits there in the desert doing nothing but saying “Humph!”

A recurring motif throughout the story is that “The world is so new and all” and this creature refuses to carry her weight. If you don’t know it, I’ll let you read the rest of the 2 or 3 pages; or look it up in Internet Archives and listen to Moore’s adaptation.

It’s the recurring refrain that comes to my mind on days of crispness and clarity: when the world was so new and all.

Robert Redford is quoted as saying, “Life is essentially sad.” I understand his meaning to be that happiness is a rare thing and when one encounters it one must grasp it for a moment, for it is too seldom seen. 

Mr. Redford’s is a sad philosophy of life, I am truly sorry to say. Yes, we may see much tribulation in life, as the apostle tells us. However, life can be joyful and its end, glorious and eternal, as per the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

I see the aforementioned days as reminders of God’s goodness. They are one of life’s gifts which cannot be explained with mere words; but are part of the joy unspeakable that is ours in Christ and in His Kingdom.

As for our childhood, yes, colors were bright then … but they are bright still, no? Sure they are.

We may have storms today … but we had them back then as well.

As we begin the new ecclesiastical year, celebrating this Advent Season, we could do worse than remember to be grateful for the days we have been given and to determine to make our remaining days worth the while.

So, in a sense, the world is as new and all today as it was in 1955.

Photo of El Morro Fort taken in 1977. Notice the trees along the driveway and to the right. These were cut down and removed in the early 90s.

Robert Redford (1936-2025). Photo taken in 2003

Birthday

“…No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence — that which makes its truth, its meaning — its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream — alone …. Of course, in this you fellows see more than I could then. You see me, whom you know ….” – Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

A great challenge, which I have not conquered, is to accurately convey the life sensations of the epochs lived in El Pao. To describe the people who played life-long roles in shaping my character — the person who I was and who I became. In this, I agree with Conrad: it is impossible.

I do not pretend to be a literary genius — guffaw, guffaw! — nor anywhere near a master of a vocabulary which can precisely portray the people I so longingly miss and love. All I can do is write snippets and recall persons and events which had an influence on me. 

But I do ask my readers to know that I love the people I grew up with in my childhood. I respect and honor them. Beginning with my father and mother and relatives such as aunts and uncles on both sides of my family. And friends — not only friends, but also their parents and grandparents. It is a great honor to be able to have called your father’s and mother’s friends your own.

Family bonds are critical, not only to the family, but to friends and acquaintances thereof.

These introductory thoughts are elicited by memories of one of my childhood birthdays. It may have been my fifth, but I can’t be sure….

Birthdays were pretty big deals in El Pao. 

I sat inside, on the living room window sill, watching my mother standing under the shade of the giant Araguaney, placing beans in a glass jar. I looked away, not because I didn’t want to win that contest, but because I was afraid someone might see me and call me a cheater.

I would not be able to explain my fear. I only sensed a profound need to not disappoint my father or mother and, in my mind, being publicly accused of cheating would have been a very great embarrassment to them and, so, to me also. I felt I represented my father and mother as much as they represented themselves and, therefore, I would second guess myself on occasions such as this, when I might be able to see my mother’s lips as she counted the beans or as she gave the total to Mrs. C. for recording.

I recalled, with sudden stomach turmoil, the Easter party earlier in the year when I had indeed seen Mrs. Y’s lips as she told Mrs. S, who then wrote the number down. I had closely observed the movement of the pencil in her fist as she wrote the number, confirming what I had read in the lips. I had repeated that number, 146, silently to myself throughout the following hour or so and when the guessing game began I astounded all when I loudly exclaimed, “One hundred and forty-six!”

No one had seemed to suspect me. On the contrary, they laughed and congratulated me on a perfect guess.

Sure. A perfect guess. But it hadn’t been a guess at all.

I soon apperceived guilt and wondered whether there were someone who had seen me looking and had guessed my dirty little trick. Anyways, I knew God had seen me. Except when my mind was on games and scrambling around, I was miserable the rest of that afternoon.

That was a feeling I did not want to entertain on this day.

So I looked at the balloons tied to tree limbs and overhangs and clothes lines, seeming to bounce against the breeze. I recalled watching my mother and Elena, their mouths forming embouchures, as they filled each balloon. I liked the colors: blue, yellow, orange, purple, red, and white.

Many were tied to the branches of the fustic just outside my bedroom and I remembered the yellow dye that seeped from any wounds on that particular tree. All these colors — blue, yellow, orange, red, and many whites — colors were the only differentiation between the numberless globes of cheer, which would be one of the memories of that day that would ever remain with me.

And these colors were perfectly limbate against the green. I loved the green of the massive Araguaney in our front yard and the dark green of the jungle around the mining camp where I was born five years before.

That green I could see from practically any point in the camp. Right now, I looked up a bit, a little beyond the balloons, and there it was. The green. The foliage painted the distant hills and mid-sized mountain green. To me, green was the color of freedom, of excitement and adventure, of danger, of a magnificent future, of poignant music and children’s laughter. It was a color which would forever remind me of not only this day but of all that comprised my entire childhood in El Pao.

Soon, children were scurrying and crawling over the birthday grounds as their mothers coordinated the various games which culminated with the striking of the Piñata.

Above photos are not of the party I recalled in today’s post. Am not sure where those photos are today.

Above was carnival and most of us wanted to be elsewhere.

La Sayona and La Llorona

Guest Post by Professor Cristóbal Lárez Velásquez

Mérida, Venezuela

Professor Lárez Velásquez was born in El Pao and currently works at the Polymer Group, Department of Chemistry, University of the Andes, in Venezuela. He has published numerous articles on chemistry and is also a full professor at the university.

Like myself, Dr. Lárez Velásquez is grateful for the nurture given him during his infancy and childhood in El Pao.

His post on his recollections about La Sayona and La Llorona is of a different kind. I do not recall ever hearing about La Sayona; however, I did hear about La Llorona from the maids and mining camp charwomen but was never interested in inquiring about her. 

Professor Lárez Velásquez does have a knowledge about the origins of the legends which I found entertaining as well as revealing about the superstitions which often grip folks of any land on this earth. 

Not to mention The Scarlet Letter nature of the origins of La Sayona.

Thank you, Dr. Lárez Velásquez!

Guest Post

In just about every town in Venezuela legends related to figures like La Sayona abound.

Briefly, La Sayona is supposedly a ghost or specter that arose when a very jealous woman named Casilda murdered her mother and husband suspecting they were having an affair. Her mother, in the agony of death, cursed her and henceforth, her tormented soul wanders without rest or peace, pursuing unfaithful men to conquer them and then murder them. 

Another legend is La Llorona (The Crying Woman). She is another mythical creature who haunts rivers, lakes, and lonely roads; she comes out at night, searching for her children who drowned. 

Such legends existed in El Pao and surrounding areas of my childhood, and persist to this day. 

Interestingly, many tales about some of these fabled beings were often narrated at wakes as late as the 1960s and into the 1970s. I learned several of them when we accompanied our parents to some of these events. It should be remembered that there was no electricity in the surroundings of El Pao at the time, so the lighting was quite eerie and, as the reader can imagine, the stories told at some wakes had a powerful, long lasting impact on many of those who attended — especially on the children.

One of these narratives told of a woman on fire who would emerge on black nights on the curve just above Vuelta de Correa, up the road leading to El Pao, near the entrance where the Navarro family lived. This woman would chase anyone who ventured alone there. Many people were afraid to walk there; even drivers in their vehicles hesitated to drive through alone on dark nights. 

My grandparents, Juan Velásquez and Gumersinda Rivas de Veláquez, had their grocery store near this site, in front of Mr. Mario Picarone’s old gas pump and a little further down from the bus stop. 

Whenever an incident related to this dreaded ghostly apparition occurred, the episode was recounted again and again in their grocery store. Obviously, the versions expanded with added color to some aspects as they were recounted by different narrators, some of whom felt so strongly about their yarns that it seemed as if they had experienced them personally.

For many years, it was also said in the area that on the San-Félix-El Pao highway, at the entrance to the Macagua dam, a very beautiful woman would appear inside the vehicles passing by. Nothing would happen if the driver, who was likely very frightened, treated her courteously. However, she would become terrifying to those who tried to seduce her. 

The fear was so great, according to the stories, that many fainted or went crazy for a few days. It was believed that these apparitions were meant to punish and discipline unfaithful men, because nothing would happen to those who behaved courteously and gentlemanly. In those cases, the woman would disappear as mysteriously as she had boarded the automobile. 

Many jokers (called “jodedores” in the “guayanés lexicon”), who fortunately have always been abundant in the area, even in the worst of times, said that these stories were told by the drivers to persuade their wives to forgive them for traveling in that area, which was known to be in the vicinity of several places of ill repute.

Unsurprisingly, in the wake of these stories, it was also common for some “brave” men to loudly express their desire for this woman to appear to them, to show them who was in charge, so they said. So, soon enough other places in the region were regaled by women appearing to lone drivers. For example, the place called Guayabal, on the El Pao-Upata highway.

As for El Pao itself, there is a story about its early years that seems difficult to imagine and paints a different picture as to the origins of the La Sayona legend. I knew this story first hand because one of the protagonists related it to me all the while assuring me it was true.

It is about a very tall being, dressed in a hat and a long white suit, who, midst the darkness and fog, which was quite thick in El Pao at that time, supposedly came down from Rankin High, around the back of the church, crossed the school road, and skirted the place known as “el bajo”, behind the houses where the telegraph and post offices later operated. 

If it sensed someone approaching, it [like Marley’s ghost] would drag chains that produced a terrific and chilling sound and continue walking quickly toward Las Casillas. There, it would wait to make sure it could ascend without incident to the front of Pasaje Bolívar, from whence it would pass to the back of the houses on Apure Street, and then walk quickly, dragging the chains again. 

It would reach the hospital steps, climb halfway up, and then descend through the center of what was, or later was, a playground with swings, reaching to the hospital road, crossing it and the road to the now disappeared Labor Office. Then it continued behind the houses on the Guardia Street until, finally, it reached the bachelors buildings and the police headquarters that were in those parts at that time.

There, it disappeared for a long time. Afterwards, the ghostly creature would reappear and return along the same path, always in darkness and under heavy fog, sometimes in a persistent drizzle.

The legend had been circulating in the camp for some time, supposedly told by some drunks whom no one believed, although later told by people who were going to work the night shift and had to pass near some of the aforementioned places along the way. And, it seems, a competition arose among some young people to follow the mysterious entity, which they began to call “La Sayona”, and if possible, to catch it.

One of these groups of young men, who were around 17 or 20 years old and drank liquor “encapillados (drank in secret)” in some of the many places in El Pao where they did so (without causing much of a fuss because otherwise people would complain and the Guardia would come), set out to catch La Sayona. 

According to my source, they were on the verge of success several times, but something always happened that saved her. The most common cause of her escapes seems to have been the fear that paralyzed all the young men with terror when La Sayona stopped, and began to rattle her chains. 

However, one day, when they were under the heavy effects of alcohol, two of them managed to catch and subdue her. And, finally, the secret of La Sayona of El Pao was revealed. 

The two “brave” ones negotiated with her and promised to keep the secret, for which they received a small, monthly gift from her. However, because these two “brave” men, true to blackmail in general, increasingly increased their demands, La Sayona decided to move out of the camp.

According to the story told to me by the man who supposedly caught La Sayona, she was a beautiful, married woman, unfaithful to her husband, who under cover of the El Pao darkness and fog would betray her husband in adultery.

Unfortunately for this story — or perhaps not — my source never revealed the identity of La Sayona of El Pao.

El Pao plaza in the memorable, dark fog. Photo provided by Profesor Lárez Velásquez, courtesy Alfredo Sánchez FB

Postscript To If It Belongs To All….

If It Belongs To All….

In my research for the second to last post, I saw some comments online which, unfortunately, I failed to source. Nevertheless, I believe the reader will appreciate them and if anyone knows the source, please advise and I’ll give due credit. 

They are not my words, but they encapsule my memories as well as my gratitude. I’ve linked to prior posts which expand on the subject or comment, as necessary. I’ve made no changes or edits to the comments, other than grammatical corrections for ease of reading.

Comments Online

El Pao has a very cool tropical jungle climate with rainy periods from April to November each year. Minimum temperatures reach 19º C [66° F] and maximum temperatures reach 31º C [88° F], with an average of 24º C [75° F].

The Betlehem Steel corporation carried out explorations on the El Florero hills, discovering large iron deposits in this area. Eduardo Boccardo transferred the mining rights to Bethlehem Steel, which began to develop the project for exploitation, creating the subsidiary company Iron Mines Of Venezuela. In 1940, the project to build a road and a railway to the port of Palúa on the right bank of the Orinoco River began, but these were delayed by the events of the Second World War, and exploitation actually began in 1950.

The El Pao camp, as it was known, was divided into three urban groups: “Rankin High” where most of the teachers and nurses lived [my Madrina lived there with her mother], and the Catholic Church was also located there; “San José Obrero” where the workers lived [known to us as “el Otro Campo“], there was a primary school, a commissary, a hospital, an evangelical church, police, a national guard, a hotel, and a workers’ social club; and “El Florero” where the administrative staff, doctors and engineers lived, mostly North Americans in the 50s, 60s and 70s. They had an American primary school and a social club (with a swimming pool, tennis court and bowling alley).

El Pao, a magical place in permanent contact with nature, where every day at 3 in the afternoon we were shaken by the explosives that exploded in search of iron, and the train with its slow and heavy step was the sound of progress, work, and hope. 

Thus, a modest but comfortable [mining and] urban center was built, where the first inhabitants, apart from the peasants from the region, were the immigrant employees who were in charge of carrying out the work of the mine, one of the most significant in all of Venezuela, from which, until 1996, at least 111 million tons of mineral were extracted.

In 1974, the management of the mine passed into the hands of the Venezuelan state, and in 1975 the company, Ferro-minera Orinoco, belonging to the Venezuelan Corporation of Guayana, joined the exploitation works.

Reply from a reader of the above comments:

Greetings from Caracas. Reading this whole story takes me back many years because I was born and raised in El Pao, exactly on Bolivar Street. 

My mother worked at the hospital when the [Americans] left. She had 30 years of service. 

Those were unforgettable times. If God asked me what I would like to repeat in my life, I would tell him to return to El Pao as I lived it, its streets, its green grass, the streets full of mangoes, me going to the commissary, the school — by the way, the best in the state of Bolivar — the best hospital, ufff, everything first class, the pool…. 

Well, friend, I congratulate you for all that I have read, without being able to contain my eyes from clouding with tears when I read or see something from my dear and beloved El Pao, remembered forever. 

I am a Paoense in soul and heart. Greetings.


Paoense. I don’t remember having heard or read that word before. But I fully relate.

View from the administrative camp towards the warehouse and mine, circa 1965