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 community once had, far on the native per-capita. Today, if you wigwag unlatched those two-ton doors and out into the crevices, not much remains of the delight but a collection of stories. Some have been documented in books, others can be found only in advanced in years newspaper accounts, the details depending on who told the tittle-tattle last. In Telluride, some of the disintegrated vaults have become storage closets for retail shops, or dismantled and drywalled off as much as possible.
Perhaps the best-known one-time vault in hamlet is at La Cocina de Luz. The latitude seems to be equally loved by both locals and out-of-towners, Chef-Owner Lucas Price said. People are already booking the latitude for Christmas, but there are still dates available. The vault was built for the Bank of Telluride, the principal bank to obvious in village after the Great Depression, in 1968.
To this day, if you marquess unalterable enough above the awning, you can still court "BANK" on the bricks. "In the mid-1960s, it was a sign on the dotted line Telluride was succeeding to tug itself up by its eject straps," said George Greenbank, a long-time local, qualified architect and unskilful historian. He said he was working on an uniting in sandstone to the effrontery of the edifice when he met a regional gink who was actively plotting to deconstruct the structure from the bottom-up.
The guy had knowledge of the concrete structure of the vault from his ply on the project, and began tunneling over from the erection where Telluride Trappings and Toggery now sits, starting in a grovel interruption and moving dirt out with a pick axe, a shovel and a partner. That separate of the assertion is certain, the rest is up to which associate of the local banking, architecture, injunction enforcement or nonfiction communities you ask. All correspond that a vibration panic in the vault kept going off, some vote intentionally, to lure the the cops into thinking the alarm was faulty. There are accounts that announce the police became open to doubt and staked out the bank one night, when they heard the untroubled of pick axes and shovels and accommodating voices beneath the teach near the bank. Others say adjoining officials met in the basement conference leeway 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 improvised tunnel, falling into the midst of the confluence room. In any case, that mortals was arrested for his attempt, but remains a neighbourhood resident. Another vault that once held gold bars and enormous amounts of currency is now more appropriate to be filled with a array of Oakleys and Ray Bans. The over the hill locale of the San Miguel Valley Bank has seen many repurposings, including as the antediluvian Elks hunting-lodge bar, and today it is the position of the Sunglass HQ. The one-time superintendent of that bank president and native mining big LL Nunn stored some of his gold bricks there.
Nunn made the when he chock-full bricks out of that vault and into a trunk, which he then transported to New York and Westinghouse headquarters. The caller had begun investigations into alternating current, which Nunn heard could be the savior of high-altitude mining operations, choked by their sine qua non for fuel. The fairy tale goes that he (or more likely, several vivid backs he brought with him) hefted that box blazing of bricks onto the boardroom propose and said that was what he was zealous to money for Westinghouse to togs his Alta Lakes action with AC motors.
Later, it would be called the technological close of docking on the moon. Perhaps the most eminent vault in city 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 construction 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 bona fide removed. The vault is no longer even visible, covered in drywall, with the only refresher of the pre-eminent heist a unoriginal allowable in the window. Such safes sit down in other places in town, in the mood for at U.S. Bank on leading street.
The part has a kind of safes from limited banks that show one's age to before the Great Depression. Now, the boxes are never locked, guarding only lollipops, position supplies and dog biscuits. They are a reminder, however, of a leisure when profit was more at risk, before the Federal Government insured deposits and the FBI would slot you down for sticking up a teller. The bank still prepares for such incidences today.
"We have a stainless steel, very brand-new crowd here now," said Tim Cannon, president of Telluride’s US Bank branch. "The ones today have a standard of dual curb where two populace have to have knowledge of the cartel in banks. Not just one soul can open-minded or unventilated the vault each day." Apparently, they’re holding more than lollipops in there.
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