As drills pushed through the Divide in June 1925, Colorado faced a quieter but deeper fracture: a power struggle over who would control the tunnel, its payroll, and the path forward for the state’s future.
Moffat Tunnel Construction Happenings from 100 Years Ago
June 1925 was no ordinary month for the Moffat Tunnel. Beneath the Continental Divide, steel drills pushed deeper into the mountain, even as tragedy, political turmoil, and engineering breakthroughs collided to define one of the most consequential chapters in the tunnel’s history.
In terms of progress, West Portal crews struck hard rock at the 7,735-foot mark—initially signaling hope that the end of soft, seamy ground was near. By later in the month, they confirmed they had finally passed through all 8,200 feet of weak formation, which had required timbering every step of the way. At the East Portal, crews shattered previous records, advancing 1,551 feet that month and earning bonuses of $107.10 each. By the end of June, the water tunnel had passed the two-mile mark from the East Portal. Additional progress included 10,091 feet of railroad heading from the east and 7,354 feet from the west (17,445 total), and 6,540 feet and 2,175 feet of full-size tunnel, respectively.
But even as these engineering milestones were celebrated, the month began in tragedy. On June 5, a devastating accident occurred 7,775 feet from the West Portal. A crew struck an unexploded dynamite charge while drilling, igniting a fatal blast that killed Gage M. Beegle, age 22, a promising student from the Colorado School of Mines. Though he had only completed one year, Beegle was on track to enter his junior year that fall due to accelerated progress. He had been working as a chuck tender on a machine drill for just a few days to gain practical mining experience and earn money for his studies. Reports described the lower part of his body as “frightfully mangled” after taking the full force of the explosion. He was the first man to die from an explosion during the tunnel’s construction. Four others were injured: C. Olaf Nelson, who lost an eye and risked losing the other; B. Daugherty, shift boss; Sam O’Neil; and Harold Neff. Investigators reported the men had disregarded standing orders to retire all unexploded dynamite. Instead, they dug around the charge and resumed drilling, believing the whole charge had been removed.
The loss cast a shadow over the month, but life at the camps continued: tinged with grief, yet leaning toward hope. The East Portal camp buzzed with anticipation for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. Touted as the only day the public could visit the underground workings, the event would feature a barbecue on the Tolland Flats, baseball games between East and West Portal teams and against Denver rock drillers, and a boxing carnival pitting fighters from both ends. The festivities would culminate in a formal dance at the East Portal recreation hall, which also hosted weekly Thursday night dances. Meanwhile, the recreation hall at West Portal had recently hosted its first wedding on June 15: John Alexander Mitchell of West Portal married Margaret King of Fort Morgan. Perhaps the slogan rang truer than intended: “When in West Portal, don’t fail to visit [the] recreation hall bar and pool room”—where laughter, leisure, and even love found a home beneath the timbered rafters.
Meanwhile, the West Portal saw major improvements. Crushed Oregon fir wall plates were being replaced with larger 12×18 timbers and, in many cases, with steel plates. This retimbering—estimated at $120 per foot across several hundred feet—was projected to take 60 days and, when complete, would allow a large force of men to be released. Fire prevention experiments also began, testing various salt- and concrete-based preservatives. Firewater lines had already been laid, and insurance was in place, but officials emphasized proactive safety to ensure timbering was not lost to fire.
Camp life brought other highs and lows. On June 24, the [West Portal] Tunnel Diggers routed the Fraser Lumber Jacks 25–4. On June 28, Granby defeated West Portal 5–0 in a weather-shortened game. Sunderlin’s pitching was lauded as masterful, and reliever Lefty Selak was described as invincible. Mrs. Florence Kane of Tabernash was honored for her dedicated support of the Granby Giants with a five-pound box of candy. However, the darker side of camp life surfaced as well. C.L. Rotken was arrested in Denver after attempting to cash a fraudulently altered check raised from $9 to $150. The cashier spotted the erasure and called detectives, who made the arrest that afternoon.
The political atmosphere was increasingly charged. A biennial election for the five-member Moffat Tunnel Commission was set for July 14. The current commissioners—W.P. Robinson, W. N.W. Blayney, Charles MacA. Willcox, Charles J. Wheeler, and Charles H. Leckenby—had overseen impressive progress since their 1922 appointment by Governor Oliver Shoup. Under their direction, construction had far outpaced original estimates.
Yet their continued leadership was under threat. The Ku Klux Klan, at the height of its political power in Colorado, declared its intention to seize control of the commission, citing the tunnel’s 600+ jobs as prime political patronage. For the Klan, control of the Tunnel Commission wasn’t just symbolic, it was strategic. The commission oversaw millions in public spending, and its control over construction contracts, hiring, and future railroad leasing made it a gateway to influence in both state infrastructure and politics. In 1920s Colorado, the Klan was not operating from the shadows; it had already infiltrated city councils, school boards, and law enforcement. Gaining this commission would have expanded their reach into the state’s most ambitious engineering project, providing legitimacy, jobs for members, and a platform to steer future transportation and economic policy.
The Klan’s candidates—F.C. Murchison, Frederick A. VanStone, George O. Marrs, Wolcott O. Hooker, and Dr. J.H. Cole—campaigned under banners urging citizens to “capture the Moffat Tunnel Commission.”
A full-length editorial in the Routt County Sentinel condemned the Klan’s maneuvers and praised the integrity of the current commissioners, who had managed the project with financial transparency and efficiency. Even a Klan-composed Denver grand jury found no fault in the commission’s handling of public funds. The editorial warned that replacing experienced commissioners with unqualified appointees midstream would jeopardize lease negotiations with the railroad—critical for repaying bonded tunnel debt. These lease negotiations were not optional; they were critical to repaying the bonds issued to fund the tunnel’s construction. Without secured railroad usage agreements, taxpayers would remain on the hook for the debt, and the tunnel could become a financial albatross instead of a catalyst for regional growth. Commissioners already deep in these negotiations had hard-won relationships with railroad executives—ties that a new slate of commissioners, especially those chosen for political loyalty rather than technical competence, could not replicate quickly.
Former Governor Shoup echoed these concerns. In a public statement, he urged voters to reelect the sitting commissioners, lauding their unmatched progress, their honor-bound service, and the imminent necessity of finalizing railroad usage contracts. “A change of horses in the middle of a race spells defeat,” he cautioned.
Voting eligibility was narrow: only real estate–owning residents who had paid property taxes in the previous year could vote. This disenfranchised many tunnel workers, prompting fears that Klan-aligned voters would dominate by default. Many of the tunnel workers—transient laborers, renters, or young men without taxable property—were excluded despite their central role in the tunnel’s progress. The voting structure disproportionately empowered settled property owners, many of whom were more susceptible to the Klan’s influence campaigns. This imbalance made the upcoming election less a referendum on competence and more a test of political mobilization.
Chief Engineer R.H. Keays, meanwhile, gave illustrated lectures throughout June on the complex surveying and alignment issues encountered during the tunnel’s planning and construction. At the same time, Lewis’ cantilever girder—offered freely for tunnel use—was gaining outside attention. Although still under consideration for a patent, it had already drawn licensing interest from California-Edison, signaling the broader influence of innovations emerging from the project.
Despite the dangers and distractions, momentum surged toward a symbolic goal: to “hole through” by August 1, 1926—the 50th anniversary of Colorado statehood. As the tunnel inched forward beneath the mountain, the ground above was shifting too. With a pivotal election looming, and political extremism threatening to overtake practical stewardship, June 1925 tested not only the tunnel’s structural foundations but also its civic ones. Yet every foot gained in rock was more than progress, it was a collective refusal to let short-term political agendas sabotage long-term public good. It was a tribute to perseverance, to cooperation, and to those—like Gage Beegle—who gave everything to the dream of a better-connected Colorado.
B. Travis Wright, MPS | Preserve Rollins Pass | June 22, 2025
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