Rubbing Elbows With Ghosts

           

"The ghosts of the past speak to all who will listen." - Unknown

            The aspen leaves, burnished with touches of gold, are a sign of autumn making its stealthy approach. The mine is the centerpiece of the town, framed by deep green pines, sitting atop a hill of slate gray streaked with rusty orange. The tailing pile cascades down the mountainside like a ghostly waterfall, coming to a rest in the depths of the valley. From the road, the quick departure that was made in 1984 becomes painstakingly clear. As perplexing and gruesome as it may seem, this place is my obsession.

            My tour of the town starts in the narrow canyon where the lowest mines rest. Just walking onto the property gives me a feeling of unease. The mining buildings look as if they are out of a 1970's horror film. Due to disuse and abandonment, the buildings are dilapidated and falling to pieces. Log retaining walls retain no more, piles of broken boards are abundant and air shafts stick crudely out from the broken ground. The wind, gnashing as a storm approaches, bends the sheet metal walls in and out, sending a haunting bellow echoing through the valley. The mining equipment, lying restfully after decades of laborious work, is frozen in time by rust that will never allow it to do its job again. The crunch of the rocks under my feet seem to echo, a loud reminder that life no longer exists in this place. The ghost tracks for the mining carts come from many directions and I feel like at any moment, the remnants could come crashing down upon me. The cliff face is intimidating and all of a sudden seems to trap me in. With some exploration, I find an area that will lead me up to the town and I scurry up the steep mountainside.

            I reach my destination and spend a few moments catching my breath, soaking it all in. I look around me at the large garages, doors broken, sheet metal covered in what someone thought might be art. It's creepy and saddening; down below the vandalism wasn't so apparent, but here it screams at me with a harsh voice. I walk into one of the garages and a ghost from the past stares me in the face. The old GMC dump truck with all of the windows broken, sits like a defeated old man. The door of the green truck reads “The New Jersey Zinc Company, Gilman, CO” in white letters. I immediately wonder why this truck still sits here, ready for a day of work for a tomorrow that will never come. A movement startles me and my eyes dart to an abandoned swing set, the seats blowing in the wind. A chill tickles its way up my spine.

            I take special note of the personal items that are littered throughout the streets. I see boots, chairs, an old fire extinguisher and a child's single shoe. A few hundred feet up the street a doll lies off to the side partially hidden by bushes, the most disheartening detail of my visit. Her skin is aged and cracked, her painted-on clothes peeling off due to years of weather and sunlight. The mental pictures I have created regarding the evacuation of this town are bone-chilling at best and the memoirs left behind by the citizens help to make my pictures clearer.

            I walk into a gymnasium. A tattered basketball hoop hangs on the wall, accompanied by the basketball markings on the ancient hardwood floor. A desk lays on its side in the dust beside a pile of cords, one which is attached to an old projector. Up on the stage, a portion of white fence, perhaps used as a prop in a play, sits haphazardly. The paint, a nauseating sea foam green, is peeling with age and exposure. There is undesirable street art on the walls of this room and I struggle to imagine it as it once was. I walk through a doorway into an adjoining room. At one point, this was a small bowling alley. The lanes are full of dust and the end of the lane where the pins would have rested has been completely broken in. I hear the ghost echoes of the children who played here after school. Again, I feel uneasy.

            The next building I enter is probably the most fascinating. Judging by the material I find there, I guess it to be an infirmary. Medical records and x-rays litter the floor along with periodicals and newspapers. Placing the x-rays up to the window, I see torso after torso of the citizens. There are multiple desks and filing cabinets in these rooms, all of which have been tossed and the contents scattered throughout the room. I walk into some sort of closet where I find hundreds of envelopes full of soil samples, the soil that hastily drove these people out of their homes. The soil contained in these envelopes is gray, like gunpowder. Careful not to touch anything, I walk out of the closet and up the stairs. I turn the corner into what appears to be a chemistry lab. Overhead hoods still shine through the rust, despite their years of abandonment. Long counter tops line the outsides of this room. Strange piping runs up through the counter tops.  The drawers in the tables lie open and overflowing with loose papers. There is dust and debris coating every surface. An old broken telephone sits on a table under a shattered window boasting a beautiful view of Battle Mountain. Looking out the window, a row of offices catches my eye and I exit down the stairs carefully to investigate the intriguing building across the street.

            When I step into the connected offices, a strange smell instantly bombards my senses. I can't put a name to the odor, but to describe it as a mix of decomposing paper, sulfur and rotting wood. The smell is almost too much to take, but I decide to take a walk through. I walk past what I recognize as a time sheet and looking closer, I see that it is signed by the workers of the mine, documenting their hours worked. This and the calendar on the wall, dated 1984, makes the hair on my arms come to attention. I decide to make a hasty exit, passing open filing cabinets, floors covered in records and tables cluttered with hearing protection.

            I walk past the neglected grocery store to head northwest of the mining offices towards the mine itself. I stroll into a garage that appears to have been used to repair equipment. Pallets of cement are untouched beside a piece of mining equipment that is in decent shape, as it has been out of the elements. The walls are painted white on the lower half and the same disgusting sea foam green as the gymnasium and bowling alley. Here the paint is also peeling to expose the concrete underneath. Beside the garage is the entrance to the vertical main shaft. The elevator sits empty, awaiting its next load. The large steel basket looks sturdy and is more spacious than I would have guessed, as it could easily hold 4 hefty men and equipment. I continue walking through the building and find a locker room. Most of the lockers stand ajar and benches line the aisles. Past the lockers, large hooks hang from the ceiling, giving the room a slaughterhouse feel.

            I exit the mine and head toward the rows of houses. I assume I will find each of them in equal disrepair and because the rain is starting to fall, I decide to explore only one. I walk in and am taken back in time by the sizable entertainment center with the television built in. Vandals have certainly made their mark, flipping over furniture, knocking holes into the walls and stealing anything of value. However, unwashed dishes rest stacked by the sink, never to be washed. The bed remains unmade, a toothbrush waits on the bathroom sink and the skeleton of a toilet paper roll hangs lifelessly on the holder. I want to go upstairs, but the stairs are splintered and sagging and besides, I'm not even supposed to be here.

            I begin my climb back up to the road. I perch on the cliff and turn to take it all in. The cool breeze whispers through the aspen leaves, running its fingers through my hair and bringing the faintest scent of sulfur and Fall leaves to my nose. The sky is dark, still threatening a storm and adding an eerie feel to my visit in this desolate place. I stare deep into the valley, absorbing all that I have seen. I take my shoes off and feel the dirt beneath my bare feet, earth that was once combed through with great care in hopes of finding the riches that lie beneath. The skeletons of the homes that sit perched on the mountainside in tiers are surrounded by beautiful groves of aspens, the solitary soldiers of life in the town. I turn away, satisfied with my adventure. It's not every day you get to rub elbows with ghosts.