Resignations, robberies, dances, and deadlines defined August 1925, as the Moffat Tunnel reached its halfway point and drew attention far beyond Colorado
Moffat Tunnel Construction Happenings from 100 Years Ago
In August 1925, the resignation of R. H. Keays as chief engineer of the Moffat Tunnel was accepted by the tunnel commission at its organization meeting. His $10,000 salary ($184,598.86 in 2025 adjusted for inflation) reflected the significance of the role, but the commission noted that “George Lewis, general manager of the company, will go on building the tunnel, so there will be no delay and few mistakes, if any.” Keays’ resignation, effective September 1, came as he prepared to leave for Athens, Greece, to supervise construction of a municipal waterworks there under a contract held by Uhlin and Company of New York. When Lewis took over and entered his new office, he was met with flowers and cards from many friends and followers, including a placard that read in part: “Loyalty to the tunnel district, loyalty to the Moffat Tunnel commission, loyalty to those who have honestly carried on the actual work has been rewarded by your selection as the chief of construction on one of the most interesting and important railway highways in the world, namely, the Moffat Tunnel… You have faithfully carried out the commands of the great builder, David Moffat, who gave his life to put the city of Denver in its proper place in the sun. You shall receive from the employees at the East Portal loyalty and harmonious co-operation until the tunnel is finished.” The commission determined that the position of chief engineer would not be refilled; with surveys completed, two experienced resident engineers—Burgis G. Coy at East Portal and James F. Cohig at West Portal—would see the work through.
Crime was not absent from tunnel life that month. Early in August, twenty-four-year-old Robert Eaton, identified in newspapers as the “East Portal Thief,” was arrested for stealing a suit of clothes and a gold watch from the Moffat Tunnel workers’ camp where he had been employed. Eaton had been sought in several Colorado cities since June 29. Later that month, the so-called “West Portal Bandit” attempted to hold up the recreation hall. (The recreation hall included the pool hall and soft drink parlor.) Grand County deputies believed he was the same man who had robbed a Fraser pool hall, five miles west of West Portal, the week before—taking $400. At West Portal, the attempt failed when Harry Criddle, the recreation hall manager, reacted quickly. Criddle had placed the day’s receipts in a satchel and, hearing someone fumbling at the rear door, was confronted at the front by an unmasked man ordering the few inside to “stick ’em up!” Instead of complying, Criddle unlatched the back door and fled into the darkness with the day’s takings. The would-be bandit, realizing the robbery had failed, ran off. Many tunnel employees joined the pursuit, but it was believed he escaped in a car that sped away from camp; a large manhunt stretched as far as Berthoud Pass.
On August 16, George Ames, twenty-seven, pleaded guilty before United States Commissioner Robert E. Foot to charges of embezzling $1,300 in postal money order funds and falsifying records while serving as assistant postmaster at East Portal. The thefts allegedly occurred between June 1924 and July 15, 1925, the day Ames left the postal service to operate a hotel in Nederland. He surrendered to Denver police while post office inspectors searched for him, telling them he had lost the money gambling. The Boulder Daily Camera ran the blunt headline: “George Ames Has Quit Keeping Nederland Hotel to go to Penitentiary.”
Elsewhere, the rhythms of community life continued. For the upcoming Labor Day holiday, the West Portal baseball club planned to travel to East Portal for a game. West Portal reported that ‘large numbers of visitors these days… all are welcome.’ Optimism about the tunnel’s future was equally present in print: officials reaffirmed that the smaller bore would be finished by May 1, 1926, and the full tunnel by January 1, 1927. At East Portal, Chief Inspector Allen shouldered more than technical responsibility, also serving as justice of the peace—a role underscored by the fact that his father sat as Chief Justice of the Colorado Supreme Court. The commission reported a healthy cash balance of $4,738,790.62, a figure often highlighted in local papers as proof of steady oversight. Boulder Rotarians welcomed representatives from East Portal to describe tunnel progress and working methods over lunch, an appearance that blended civic pride with technical education. And in lighter columns, social notes recorded C. S. Williams of East Portal purchasing a Duplex touring car—a reminder that even amid engineering feats and financial reports, the tunnel camps were still places where people lived, worked, and sought a touch of modern comfort.
The Steamboat Pilot of August 12 reported that “splendid progress is now being made on the tunnel, for both headings are in solid rock, and some new records are being made,” with the bore fifty-six percent completed and “competition very keen” between East and West Portal crews.
At the West Portal on August 28, a fire broke out in one of the creosoting sheds, causing about $1,000 in damages. The blaze began in a vat of creosote used to preserve tunnel timbers, though the cause was not determined. Employees prevented the fire from spreading to other buildings. The previous night, the Moffat Tunnel Jubilee dance, managed by Harry Criddle, drew the largest crowd yet, with music by the California Harmony Girls “unparalleled for excellence and rhythm.” The event celebrated the halfway mark in tunnel construction and was followed by another performance in Granby.
Newspapers also heavily promoted The White Desert, starring Claire Windsor, Pat O’Malley, and Robert Frazer, based on the novel by Courtney R. Cooper and filmed “in the Moffat Tunnel Country” and billed in advertisements as “A Glorious Picture, Glorifying Glorious Colorado.” Ads promised “At the Top of the World! There brute passions are unleashed—Blizzard and Avalanche try men’s souls—a woman finds romance amidst perils of the untracked wastes. You’ll love this great snow film!” The film played at the Curran and Empress theaters, at West Portal, and in Tabernash, with some calling it “the most beautiful photography that has ever been presented on the silver screen.” The timing of these promotions was not incidental: by tying Hollywood spectacle to the tunnel’s halfway milestone, the film worked as a kind of publicity for the project itself, presenting it not only as an engineering effort but as part of Colorado’s larger identity.
Not all of August’s news was cause for celebration. At West Portal, fifty-seven-year-old John H. Nicholls, a respected mining man and superintendent, fell ill with pneumonia while overseeing the work. He never recovered. Because he was actively on site when sickness overtook him, his death is counted among the Moffat Tunnel’s fatalities—a reminder that danger wasn’t always a cave-in or an explosion, but sometimes the invisible threat of disease. Today, if you wander through Denver’s Fairmount Cemetery, you’ll find his resting spot in Block 80, Lot 24, Grave 4. His headstone marks not just a life ended, but the human cost carried in the shadows of Colorado’s greatest engineering ambition.
The tunnel also drew outside attention. Justice Austin E. Griffiths of Seattle, president of the provisional committee for Washington’s proposed thirty-mile Cascade Tunnel, spent two days at West Portal studying the work. He likened Washington’s geographic challenge to Colorado’s and predicted that “Denver and Colorado do not fully realize the value of the Moffat tunnel, and will not realize it until years after completion of the work.” He praised Lewis’s leadership, saying he had “found many new ways of combating unseen obstacles” and calling the organization “most fortunate” to have him in charge.
Finally, the commission faced its first legal threat. A. S. Dennis of San Francisco claimed to have invented the “Pioneer system” of driving tunnels and to hold a patent on it, demanding damages for its use in the Moffat Tunnel without his consent. Commission attorney Norton Montgomery confirmed Dennis had approached them two years prior seeking payment, but Montgomery saw no legal basis for compensation and told Dennis’s attorney they “might as well start suit.” Montgomery emphasized that even if damages were awarded, the funds voted for tunnel construction could not be used for such payments.
August 1925 revealed the contradictions of life along the Moffat Tunnel: bold engineering milestones were shadowed by sudden resignations, postal scandals, attempted robberies, and even a creosote fire. Yet, in the very same breath, there were dances to celebrate the halfway mark, a ballgame to look forward to, and even Hollywood swooping in to turn the “Moffat Tunnel Country” into a stage for romance and danger on the silver screen. With fifty-six percent of the bore already carved through solid rock and January 1927 etched into the public imagination as the finish line, the tunnel was more than a railway project—it was an epic in real time, equal parts Colorado’s ambition and the unpredictable, very human drama of those who lived and labored on its frontiers.
B. Travis Wright, MPS | Preserve Rollins Pass | August 23, 2025
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