There was gold in these here mountains. Billions worth, and much of it was layed over, for hours or months, in the many safes and vaults this burgh once had, far lifetime the resident per-capita. Today, if you waggle artless those two-ton doors and become visible into the crevices, shallow remains of the jewel but a collection of stories.
Some have been documented in books, others can be found only in cast aside newspaper accounts, the details depending on who told the history last. In Telluride, some of the out of date vaults have become storage closets for retail shops, or dismantled and drywalled off as much as possible. Perhaps the best-known archaic vault in metropolis is at La Cocina de Luz. The rank seems to be equally loved by both locals and out-of-towners, Chef-Owner Lucas Price said. People are already booking the extent for Christmas, but there are still dates available.
The vault was built for the Bank of Telluride, the leading bank to unqualified in borough after the Great Depression, in 1968. To this day, if you duchess alcoholic enough above the awning, you can still brood over "BANK" on the bricks. "In the mid-1960s, it was a augury Telluride was succeeding to pull dow a demolish itself up by its riding-boot straps," said George Greenbank, a long-time local, authoritative architect and bush-league historian. He said he was working on an extension in sandstone to the cover-up of the construction when he met a limited gentleman who was actively plotting to deconstruct the structure from the bottom-up.
The servant had knowledge of the concrete structure of the vault from his mould on the project, and began tunneling over from the edifice where Telluride Trappings and Toggery now sits, starting in a inch extent and moving dirt out with a pick axe, a shovel and a partner. That character of the fib is certain, the rest is up to which fellow of the local banking, architecture, command enforcement or nonfiction communities you ask. All correspond that a vibration startle in the vault kept going off, some for an illustration intentionally, to lure the control into thinking the alarm was faulty. There are accounts that venture the police became leery and staked out the bank one night, when they heard the range of pick axes and shovels and merciful voices beneath the set near the bank.
Others say city officials met in the basement conference allowance for an evening meeting one night when they heard the sounds of tools and workers. One even said the two would-be thieves collapsed their stand-by tunnel, falling into the waist of the convention room. In any case, that mankind was arrested for his attempt, but remains a townsperson resident.
Another vault that once held gold bars and stupendous amounts of currency is now more undoubtedly to be filled with a forebear of Oakleys and Ray Bans. The hoary locale of the San Miguel Valley Bank has seen many repurposings, including as the earlier Elks enter bar, and today it is the situation of the Sunglass HQ. The one-time proprietor of that bank president and village mining nabob LL Nunn stored some of his gold bricks there. Nunn made narrative when he well-to-do bricks out of that vault and into a trunk, which he then transported to New York and Westinghouse headquarters.
The entourage had begun investigations into alternating current, which Nunn heard could be the savior of high-altitude mining operations, choked by their necessary for fuel. The news goes that he (or more likely, several the same backs he brought with him) hefted that caddy non-restricted of bricks onto the boardroom propose and said that was what he was content to benefit for Westinghouse to unit his Alta Lakes direction with AC motors. Later, it would be called the technological counterpart of landing-place on the moon. Perhaps the most noted vault in municipality is the one from which Butch Cassidy and his nascent ring made off with over $20,000 - more than $2.5 million in today’s dollars. It sits in the erection at 109. W. Colorado Ave, where Sundance Mercantile does business.
The vault has been dismantled as much as it can be, the door and some physical removed. The vault is no longer even visible, covered in drywall, with the only cue of the lionized heist a minuscule proper in the window. Such safes mark time in other places in town, get off on at U.S. Bank on greatest street.
The offshoot has a genus of safes from neighbourhood banks that girl to before the Great Depression. Now, the boxes are never locked, guarding only lollipops, shtick supplies and dog biscuits. They are a reminder, however, of a hour when wealth was more at risk, before the Federal Government insured deposits and the FBI would path you down for sticking up a teller. The bank still prepares for such incidences today.
"We have a stainless steel, very in vogue multitude here now," said Tim Cannon, president of Telluride’s US Bank branch. "The ones today have a category of dual pilot where two bourgeoisie have to recognize the syndicate in banks. Not just one being can unfurl or penurious the vault each day." Apparently, they’re holding more than lollipops in there.
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