As the silver claims around Georgetown flourished, late-arriving prospectors naturally tried their luck in nearby areas. The most obvious place was farther up Clear Creek, whose placer deposits had begun the strikes at both Idaho Springs and Georgetown.
In the mid-1860s, another mining camp grew in a location beyond Georgetown as the result of that continued prospecting, and in 1870, major silver discoveries fueled a genuine bonanza. The most colorful account of the naming of the new town involves Commodore Stephen Decatur, editor of Georgetown’s Colorado Miner. He had been shown ore samples featuring feathery streaks of silver in a plume shape. When asked what to call the new but unnamed camp, Decatur proclaimed, “The name? You’ve already got the name! It was written on the ore you brought me!” He rhapsodized:
The knights today are miners bold,
Who toil in deep mines’ gloom!
To honor men who dig for gold,
For ladies whom their arms enfold,
We’ll name the camp Silver Plume!
The rich mines were in the steep canyon walls above the new camp. They were reached by trails, many of which are still visible today, zigzagging up from town.
One of those rich mines was the Pelican, discovered in 1868 by Owen Freeman. When he later became seriously ill and feared he was dying, Freeman confided the location to two friends. He later recovered, but when he visited his claim, he learned that his “friends” had somehow neglected to include his name on the ownership papers.
Silver Plume was incorporated in 1880 and within a couple of years could claim saloons, boardinghouses, butcher shops, mercantiles, fraternal lodges, a theater, a school, and Catholic and Methodist churches. With its modest frame buildings packed into narrow streets along the canyon floor, Silver Plume lacked the splendor of Georgetown. It was proudly proclaimed a “miners’ town,” whereas its more cosmopolitan neighbor was the home of mine owners and managers.
Many of those modest buildings disappeared on the night of November 4, 1884, when a fire started in Patrick Barrett’s saloon. The flames spread down Main Street, consuming most of downtown. Devout women and children knelt in front of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church and prayed for divine intervention. Although the fire seriously damaged the east wall, the church was spared. The next morning, Barrett’s body was found in the ashes of his saloon.
Rebuilding began the next day. Citizens floated a bond issue for a water works and increased fire protection, including purchase of the town’s first pumper, shipped from St. Louis. The business district was completely rebuilt by 1886, with saloons prevailing on the south side of Main Street while other businesses, such as the post office, barbershop, print shop, and mortuary, stood on the north side.
The prosperity of Silver Plume was short-lived. Like neighboring Georgetown, the community reeled from the blow of the Silver Crash of 1893.
Many of Main Street’s false-front buildings were erected immediately after Silver Plume’s disastrous fire of 1884.
WALKING AND DRIVING AROUND SILVER PLUME
You enter Silver Plume from Interstate 70 on Woodward Avenue, which features several homes and the lovely two-story 1880s New Windsor Hotel, now a private residence.
Turn left on Main Street, where you’ll pass the 1875 two-cell stone jail, in service until 1915. Farther west on Main is the rebuilt pump house at Brewery Springs, so named because Otto Boche’s Silver Plume Brewery and Bowling Alley once stood across the street.
At Main and Hancock is the attractive Methodist church, built in the 1880s and moved to this site in 1890. It has a very austere interior except for lovely chandeliers, each of which features six long, elegant arms supporting a light fixture. The church is still in use; when I looked in during one visit, empty champagne bottles from a recent wedding were sitting on a table.
Still farther west is the two-story, four-classroom, 1894 brick schoolhouse, where classes were last held in 1959. A sign proclaims that this school, like the one in Georgetown, is a “State of Colorado Standard School Approved Class.” Today the building is the George Rowe Museum, named for an eighty-seven-year resident of Silver Plume who donated much of the memorabilia inside.
Silver Plume’s business district has more than a dozen historic buildings, including the 1886 Hose Company No.1 and Town Hall, the 1904 bandstand, the 1874 St. Patrick’s Church (enlarged after the 1884 fire), and the Knights of Pythias Castle Hall. The hall was moved from Brownsville, a now-vanished community west of Silver Plume, in 1895.
One poignant piece of Silver Plume’s history is remembered high on a cliff west of town. There Englishman Heneage Griffin owned the Seven-Thirty Mine, so named because of the starting shift time, a generous hour later than most. The superintendent was Heneage’s brother Clifford, whose tragic story is well known in the area.
Clifford’s fiancée had been found dead in his room the night before their wedding, and people surmised he joined the Colorado gold rush to escape his grief. He was a reclusive person, living not in town but in a cabin at the mine, about fifteen hundred feet above Silver Plume. An accomplished violinist, Clifford often played from sunset until dark, much to the delight of the towns-people below, who would stay outdoors to listen and applaud appreciatively at his conclusion.
This Methodist church was originally equidistant between Brownsville and Silver Plume. When the former town declined as the latter boomed, the church was moved a half mile closer to Silver Plume in 1891.
The Silver Plume School was erected in 1894, a year after the great Silver Crash of 1893. The townspeople built the school to demonstrate their confidence in the long-term vitality of their community. It is now a museum.
On June 10, 1887, the distant audience heard his final note—followed by a gunshot. Miners ascended the steep trail to find him lying in a crude, rock-hewn tomb of his own digging. A suicide note asked that he be interred there. His brother erected a monument at the spot, reading, in part, “And in Consideration of His Own Request Buried Here.”
To hike to the memorial, take the trail that begins from Main and Silver streets. The climb is strenuous and takes about three hours round trip. If you prefer to drive and catch a glimpse of the Griffin Memorial from below, take the south side frontage road paralleling Interstate 70 west from town. Shortly after it goes underneath the highway, pull off the roadway and look to the north up Brown Gulch beyond the old mine workings. Follow the falling water up to a huge outcropping on the right side of the gulch. On top stands the memorial.
Silver Plume’s cemetery is hidden from view. To reach it, take the frontage road under the interstate and behind the parking lot for the Georgetown Loop Railroad (where the relocated 1884 Silver Plume Depot stands) and up Mountain Street. This street has an officious “Road Closed—Local Traffic Only” sign, but the cemetery is open to the public. Turn left onto Paul Street, circle a turnaround, and park by a path near an old turnstile and retaining wall.
Like many large cemeteries, this one has several sections for religious and fraternal groups. Among the interesting stones is a large monolith with the inscription “Sacred to the memory of Ten Italians, victims of an avalanche February 12th, 1899, erected by the public.” Other Italian graves are nearby, some inscribed in Italian.
I was touched by three virtually identical markers for Stella Roberts, Olwen Roberts, and Anna Laura Roberts. None reached four years of age. Anna Laura drowned at two years and three months. Each had different mothers and fathers. I wondered if the fathers were all brothers.
WHEN YOU GO
Silver Plume is 2.2 miles west of Georgetown on Interstate 70.