Celebration, controversy, and engineering milestones converged at the Moffat Tunnel in July 1925—when the public showed up above and below ground.
Moffat Tunnel Construction Happenings from 100 Years Ago
In July 1925, the Moffat Tunnel stood at the intersection of spectacle and progress, celebration and scrutiny. As workers carved ever deeper into the granite beneath James Peak, Colorado’s largest public works project to date became a gathering point for thousands—and a political flashpoint in the battle over who would control its future.
On July 4, East Portal transformed into a massive amphitheater of civic pride, athletic competition, and open-air revelry. The West Portal baseball team trounced their East Portal rivals 10 to 3 before a crowd of thousands. The holiday celebration was as expansive as the tunnel itself: two ball games, auto, horse, burro, and foot races, and a full rodeo unfolded throughout the day. Earl Bryant of Nederland, competing in the bronco-busting contest, was thrown twice; the second time, the horse fell on him, leaving him bruised and sprained.
Feasting was just as grand. Three barbecued beeves, seven pigs, roast lamb, and two barrels of pressed ham were distributed freely. With celebrations stretching from morning to night, East Portal saw more than 20,000 visitors. “In addition to the hundreds of automobiles which were driven to the east opening of the bore, four special trains of ten cars each carried full loads of passengers over the Moffat Road.” One train of 18 coaches alone carried 2,200 people. The Denver-bound “special” left the Moffat Depot at 8 a.m., offering “a scenic trip en route” for a round-trip fare of $1.90. Roads between Nederland and Tolland were overwhelmed with traffic, blocked for nearly two hours by the crush of cars—an early sign of the area’s popularity outpacing its infrastructure.
Meanwhile, at the more remote West Portal, over 600 visitors gathered for their own celebration, including a “Hard Time Barn Dance” the night before to benefit the West Portal baseball team.
For tunnel workers, July 4 was their sole holiday of the year. It was also the only time the public was allowed underground. More than 4,000 visitors entered the pioneer bore and exited through the wider railroad tunnel, granted rare access to the dark interior of the mountain. Some were struck by the contrast: “There was a silence like that in some lonely cathedral,” one visitor noted. “It was so dark that they could not see their hands before their faces.”
The evening concluded with an elaborate fireworks display.
Work resumed on July 5 with renewed intensity. According to Moffat Tunnel Commission president William P. Robinson, the tunnel was 56 percent complete as of July 1. Just days later, the water tunnel had reached 19,153 feet (60%), the main heading 18,331 feet (57%), and the full-sized bore 9,312 feet (29%). The tunnel was advancing beneath James Peak at nearly fifty feet a day. “Three crews were engaged in work at the East Portal during the ten days from July 10 to 20 and averaged progress of twenty-five and one-half feet a day… while at West Portal in this period the rates were twenty-two feet in each heading.”
On July 12, The Rocky Mountain News reported: “Previous world’s records set in the driving of the Moffat tunnel were shattered during the twenty-four hours preceding yesterday noon when a total advance of 104 feet in the four tunnel headings was reported.” Rock removal costs remained well below projections—$11.05 per cubic yard, compared to the contractor’s original estimate of $17. With speed came efficiency, and with both came public pride.
That pride was tested by politics. In mid-July, voters were asked to decide whether to recall the very commissioners driving the tunnel toward completion. The so-called Moffat Tunnel Anti-Recall Association ran newspaper ads urging voters to resist interference: “An attempt is being made to take the Moffat Tunnel out of the hands of competent men and place it in the hands of an organization held by the Supreme Court to be using ‘unlawful and illegal’ methods.”
That organization was the Ku Klux Klan, whose propaganda questioned both the engineering and the governance of the project. One pamphlet scoffed: “The Tunnel Act provides for but one tunnel — The Commission is digging three.” It insisted, incorrectly, that the water tunnel was both unnecessary and flawed: “The present tunnel commission have conceived the idea that three tunnels can be dug more cheaply than one. They claim that they must dig an unauthorized water tunnel in order to make cross cuts into the other small tunnel and keep the men at work. By means of an enlargement tunnel number two is to become the main tunnel. This plan entails three times the expense of the plan provided by law of digging one tunnel. The water is carried through the so-called water tunnel from the western slope to Denver. Water will not run uphill. Yet the eastern portal of the tunnel is one hundred feet higher than the western tunnel. The water must be forced through a 32,000 foot tube one hundred feet higher than the western portal of the tunnel. It is impossible to get a concrete tube 32,000 feet in length without some crevices and cracks in it. Under pressure these cracks will enlarge and tear away into large openings. The strain of the water pressure will wreck this long tube rending [sic] many engineers believe, the water tunnel useless. If the water tunnel is useless there will be no income from this source.”
The public disagreed.
On July 14, voters returned the entire Moffat Tunnel Commission to office. In the eastern division, the margin was nearly 400 to 1; in the west, roughly 4 to 1. The Eagle Valley Enterprise noted that “the klan was gloriously snowed under.” One editorial remarked on the sheer scope of engagement: “Ranchmen abandoned their work in the fields to go to the polls to register their protest against the attempt of the klan to capture the tunnel. The vote was surprisingly large.”
Following the election, commissioners Charles Leckenby and Charles N. Wheeler issued a joint statement:
“We are deeply appreciative of the splendid vote of confidence given us on Tuesday by the electors of this division of the Moffat Tunnel district. We are grateful that misstatements and falsehoods circulated on the eve of the election, which if true should condemn any official to everlasting oblivion, were taken for what they were worth and did not influence the result. To the scores of volunteer workers in every precinct, to the committees voluntarily formed, and to the individual voters, we are grateful. The vote of confidence will be a new inspiration to us to conduct this great work, so far as our part of it is concerned, with a mind single to the interests of the taxpayers, to speed coupled with economy, that transportation barriers may be broken down and our entire country prosper. And always bear in mind that there are no secrets in the operation of this great project. It belongs to the people; we never lose sight of the fact that we are servants of the people, intrusted with a great task and expending money that belongs to the people. As we have done in the past three years, so we will continue to do, give the very best ability and effort that is in us to the work you have intrusted to our care.”
Elsewhere, reminders of risk remained. In early July, The Colorado Transcript reported that John Beegle, father of Gage Beegle—the Mines student killed at the tunnel in June—traveled from Ohio to investigate his son’s death. Gage is buried in Galion, Ohio.
Prohibition violations continued at both portals. Joe Kisinger, age 22, a cook at East Portal, was found asleep in a stolen 1917 Ford near the Narrows. He had a half-pint of liquor on him. At West Portal, federal agents arrested James “Red” Evans, Elmer Petschauer, and Bud Shields for operating an illegal liquor business at the Eagle’s Nest Resort—also known as the Honky Tonk—located halfway between Fraser and the tunnel. Officers seized two gallons of whisky and hundreds of empty bottles.
In just one month, the Moffat Tunnel project achieved record-setting excavation, affirmed public oversight through the ballot box, and hosted the largest gathering in its short but storied history. More than 20,000 visitors came to celebrate, and over 4,000 descended into the bore—briefly trading summer sun for the dark hush of a cathedral-like void beneath the Continental Divide. When they emerged blinking into the light, they carried more than a souvenir: they carried a shared sense of direction. Beneath the granite, crews pressed forward. Above ground, Coloradans pushed back against fear and misinformation. And in July 1925, both the mountain and the movement proved unstoppable.
B. Travis Wright, MPS | Preserve Rollins Pass | July 26, 2025
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