May 30, 1914

I awoke to this warm Saturday morning with a foggy brain, which felt like it navigated through mashed potatoes. My breakfast waiter suggested a prairie oyster, the “hair of the dog that bit you” cure.  The fifty-fifty beer and tomato juice combination with horseradish, diced jalapenos, Worcestershire sauce and a raw egg yolk, which slipped down easily, tasted splendid with my peppers and cheese omelet.

Another blue-sky day greeted me on Larimer Street. After a lifetime of the gray skies of England, I stared skyward as I walked across 17th Street to catch the trolley and was nearly struck by a team of horses pulling a wagon loaded with beer kegs.  I was too close to being killed by alcohol twice in less than 24 hours. Last night was quite the session with Lord Ogilvy and Harry Tammen.

Since they continued to discuss the new Civic Center Park construction during the evening, it seemed like a good idea to be a tourist today and visit it. I think the “Lord” will find, once the garden and trees grow, it will be a peaceful respite in the city. I could live in Denver. It was a city. What does a backwater place like Steamboat Springs have to offer?

Next to the park, the State Capitol Building was a stone building and more impressive. A gold leaf dome, which commemorated the Gold Rush of 1859, topped the white granite exterior. Copious amounts of Rose Onyx lined the interior walls and white Yule marble floors invited me to look around. A printed statement confirmed, “These products were mined in Colorado.”

Continuing along, I walked along North Broadway back to 17^th Street and could not resist walking into the triangular shaped Brown Palace Hotel. It appeared to be the tallest building in Denver. A framed 1892 Scientific American magazine cover story claimed it as one of America’s first fireproof structures. The steel frame covered with concrete and sandstone was built by Henry C. Brown who homesteaded the Capital Hill area. Everything was so recent here compared to England.

I enjoyed a cup of tea, considered asking about employment at a palace and decided family first; I needed to see Uncle Thomas. I strolled through the lobby and walked out to gaze at the blue sky. A woman in her mid-forties, with a button on her lapel exclaiming “Elect Margaret Brown to the Senate,” struggled with several hat boxes outside. I offered to help with her burden before the doorman started to push me away. She benevolently said, “James, let the gentleman help.”

I assisted carrying the boxes into the lobby and asked her, “Does the nominee own this hotel?”

She turned to me saying, “No, I’m the candidate. Brown’s a common name. You’re British, where are you staying?”

“At the Windsor Hotel, Madame.”

“Ah, the hotel of Baby Doe Tabor. Poor dear, she is a little older than me, but our stories are much alike.”

“How are your stories similar? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She looked at me curiously, “We met in Leadville, and we both were just making a living. She married a recently divorced, older, rich man and was branded a home-wrecker. She lived a lavish, then later a destitute life in the Windsor, but always with the man she loved. Her husband Horace Tabor was ruined by the silver crash in 1893.”

“Did you marry? You don’t appear impoverished.”

“Well, yes, and no I’m not poor. In that same year, my husband became rich with his mining engineering efforts. I married a poor man for love, he became wealthy and I left him. Perhaps, I’m a home-wrecker too. My penitence is volunteering, giving to charity, and now running for the Senate. What is your name?”

“Julius Brandon and my parents encouraged me to serve the community. I commend you.”

“You are an inquisitive and kind young man. I presume you heard every Maundy Thursday to ‘Love one another.’” Whether you are religious or not, it’s a universal social necessity. Be humble enough to wash anyone’s feet, Mr. Brandon. Loving mankind starts with simple actions. Yours was helping me and listening. I’m not one for telling my life story to a stranger, but you asked. This campaigning is changing me as much as the surviving the sinking of the Titanic.”

“You were on that ship?”

“I was. And again, I appreciate your help,” she replied and with a friendly dismissal, “I’m charmed with your acquaintance, please excuse me, I must get ready for the Decoration Parade,” and then turned to discuss her campaign with several gentlemen in the lobby. The doorman gestured at the door and opened it for me saying, “Good Day Sir, enjoy the parade.”

It is said, everyone loves a parade, especially me. This one commemorated the people who died during the American Civil War. Military men on horses were lining up with dignitaries and brass bands interspersed. U.S. flags flew on nearly every building. I walked along the parade route, behind the crowd and managed to find a second story perch across from the Tabor Opera House. I stayed to the end. City sanitation employees in white shirts and pants proudly followed with hand carts, shovels, and brooms. I picked a perfect day to be a tourist in Denver.

I did not take the trolley back to my hotel. I walked and thought about the short boom and bust history of Colorado. The Capital, Brown Palace and Civic Center were now the lively areas of Denver growth. The ribald Windsor Hotel was too close to the railroad tracks and apparently, after thirty years, lost elite, cultured appeal. Men made fortunes and lost it all, seemly overnight. Some jumped to their deaths. What level of desperation would cause that? I wanted to avoid dying young from stupidity.  Other men slowly wasted away, and a few looked for new opportunities to serve. I dare say, human beings were social creatures. Being rich was not having wealth. Richness grew from connections with family, partners, friends, and community that in turn spread the long vines of happiness. Wealth was merely quicksilver running through our species’ fingers, swifter than dust.

I travel west tomorrow to find my new community. Will I make my fortune and serve my fellow man? Time will tell. In any case, I will not give up and want to live a lengthy life. Certain of that, and I will wash my own feet tonight.