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Massaro: Residents, past and present, still hooked on faded Aguilar

By Gary Massaro, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)

Published July 24, 2006 at midnight

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AGUILAR - Streaks of dun-colored sandstone peek through the green canvas of piñons covering the hills to the west of this Southern Colorado town.

"The sandstone is shot through with coal," said Linn Baker, president of the Aguilar Public Library board.

Coal helped give Aguilar an economic boost in the 1890s - and when the seams played out in the '50s, a terrible kick. Interstate 25 bypassed the town in the early '60s, which sent another shock to the economy.

Economic depression aside, people still know how to laugh here. And they did plenty of it over Aguilar Days, July 14-16. They had a barbecue cooked by a politician who kept a campaign promise, a street dance, a parade that went from east to west on Main Street, then turned around and came back.

And the Apishapa Valley Historical Society gave a tour along Main Street to highlight its hope of saving the First State Bank of Aguilar building, built by Luigi Gianelli in 1912.

The roofless, floorless two-story building is the same color as the sandstone hills. It is also not a bad symbol for Aguilar - battered, but still standing.

A couple of hundred natives who have moved away returned for Aguilar Days. They were welcomed home by some of the 600 who still live here. It was part reunion, part celebration of the town. They talked of times past, and got a glimpse into the future - a new combined K-12 school that also includes a pre-school.

The sandstone hills have played a bigger role than coal in Aguilar history. The Gianelli building stones were cut from those hills. Chisel marks are still visible where stonemasons shaped the rock.

"It's a beautiful building," said Pat Romero, historical society president. "It's part of the history of Aguilar. And we've lost so much."

The building made Colorado's Most Endangered Places List, compiled by the nonprofit Colorado Preservation Inc.

Carl Young, 62, moved here in 1988 from his native Colorado Springs after he and friends went camping nearby.

"That's all it took," he said.

He has tried ranching. The drought forced him to sell his herd. But he stays because he likes the area, likes the people. He is as proud of Aguilar's history as if he were born into it. He wants the existing buildings preserved, just like a lot of others.

"People care," he said. "But the money's not there."

There's a lot of "used to be" in this town at 6,444 feet above sea level.

Amadeo Lopez, Aguilar High class of '58, came from Thornton for Aguilar Days last week.

He pointed to a building on Main Street and said, "That used to be a hardware store. It still is. But it used to be bigger."

There are places that used to be cafes or saloons or salons, but are now padlocked.

Like many, Lopez left for Denver after school because "there was nothing here."

He went into the coal mines - once, as punishment. He had skipped school so his father said if he didn't want to study, then he should go to work.

"I lasted one day," Lopez said. "My dad said, 'Then get your butt to school.' "

Even when coal was king, residents proudly point out that Aguilar never was a company town like a lot of others that surrounded it. It started as a trading post. Ranchers moved in, including Jose Ramon Aguilar, for whom the town is named.

A town since 1894

It incorporated in 1894. The town sits north of the Apishapa River - Indian for "stinking water." To the north is an axhead-shaped arroyo - the Gonzales Canyon River or Creek or Ditch, presumably depending on whether there's water in it and how much. On the swell of high desert north, south and east of town, lavender yucca was blooming at the ends of sturdy stocks shooting straight above the bayonet leaves. Butter yellow flowers sprouted on the cholla cactus - aka antler cactus.

People inherited the name Apishapa. But they came up with Tank Hill all on their own. It is called Tank Hill because a large, green water tank stands on it.

On Main Street, Ringo's Market is another symbol for Aguilar. At first glance, it looks like not much, just a narrow storefront. Once inside, it seems to keep going. You can buy everything from saddle soap to schnapps. But most people who come back to visit buy goat cheese and sausage.

A few other businesses are doing OK, or at least hanging on.

There's Elaine Scuzzaro's A&E Consignment store on the first floor of the old Arcade Building. There's a balcony above her front door entrance, a reminder of Aguilar's racy past.

"This used to be a bar - with a little activity upstairs, if you know what I mean," she said.

The story goes that working girls would stand on the balcony and invite miners looking up from the street to come upstairs.

Prohibition gave the town's economy a boost in the '20s. But with it, wise guys moved in.

The Arcade was built by Antonio Lo Presto in 1909. Lore has it that he used hot lead to spurn a shakedown, killing a gangster. Further legend has it that, in retaliation, the gangster's buddies gave Lo Presto a one-way train ticket out of town and out of life - in a locomotive's boiler.

Some of the mobsters ran a program for wayward "boys" from Chicago, who came to Aguilar to stay and relax - out of sight - until it was safe to go back home.

Promising hamburger chef

But July 14-16, people who had moved away came back for Aguilar Days, all out in the open.

At the Sunset Tavern, state Rep. Wes McKinley fulfilled a campaign promise to cook hamburgers.

Tavern owner Daniel Scuzzaro was running himself bowlegged serving lots of beer, like 500 extra cases ordered for the weekend.

There was a ritual to the return. People looked intently as they walked around, making stops at other groups of people sitting in the shade. They greeted each other with big hellos and the obligatory but genuine how are you, your mom, dad, brothers, sisters.

Later, they told remember-the-time stories, like the time Frank Giuliano, a Denver mortgage banker, removed the hinges from the library doors, which crashed to the floor when someone opened them. And how business teacher Charlie Feisti called him all sorts of names in very un-teacher-like language, and then unleashed his fury on a bent-over Giuliano.

"You ever been paddled?" Giuliano asked.

Giuliano left town right out of high school. So did Bob Cruz, who returned for good in 2004. He pours beer part time at the Sunset. He came back after a tour in Vietnam and 30 years in a California steel mill.

"My sister came down with cancer," he said. "And I promised her that if anything happened to her, I'd come home and take care of our mother. They both died that year."

He was busy, but not too busy to meet and greet people he hadn't seen in a long, long time.

"This is a reunion," he said. "A person sees people he hasn't seen in 30, 40 years. You have to introduce yourselves to each other again."

In the Verderaime Bakery, which started in 1928, owner Albert Verderaime visited with friends.

"I bake bread on Monday and Friday," said Verderaime, 87.

Gabriel Vigil visits regularly. An orange and white dog that belongs to someone else follows Vigil wherever he goes.

"When I was a kid, my mom would send me to the bakery for a loaf of fresh bread. It cost 19 cents," he said.

He retired from the service and came back home 40 years later.

"I looked in the phone book and only recognized about 20 percent of the names," he said.

Some, like Joe Arnone, stayed. He taught automotives at Trinidad State Junior College.

"I lived in Los Angeles and didn't like it. I lived in Salt Lake, and didn't like it," he said. "My family was here."

So he worked hard to support his wife and seven kids.

"In my house, there was one wallet and nine eaters," he said. "But I put six of them through college and one through butcher school."

Jill Smith Tamburelli had her homecoming 37 years ago after a year away at college.

She doesn't mind the trade-off that, in a small town, not only does everyone know you, they also know your business - all of it.

"A small town is one, big extended family," she said. "And families know your business. Besides, where else could I live where everybody says, 'Hi, Jill,' when they see me? "

Aguilar knows how to laugh

Hard times aside. People know how to laugh here. They show their feelings in a big way, from big hellos to big laughs at something funny, like the sign in the Sunset: "T-Bone, $1.90. With Meat, $19.90."

There was a street dance Friday night and a parade on Sunday, music in the park on Saturday, food vendors and kiddie rides.

Catarina Giuliano, 86, was in her first parade ever. She and longtime friend, Julia Scarafiotti, rode in a horse and carriage like the ones you see nights in downtown Denver.

"I love Westerns," she said. "I told Pudge (her son) I wish I could ride in a horse and wagon. God heard me."

So did Pudge - given name Al, a Trinidad State teacher - who lined up the ride.

Frank Coppa is a third-generation rancher. He came back home after a year in college. "Things got hard at the ranch," he said.

So he stayed to get the ranch back in shape. He has raised a family and Limousin cattle. He is also the Aguilar Wildcats' head coach in football, basketball and track.

"The buildings - they're Aguilar," he said. "We have to save something from the people who were here, for the future generations."

Lopez, the one-day coal miner, also wants to preserve the buildings of his hometown.

"Once these buildings are gone, there's no history," he said.

Jan Giuliano, Frank's wife, hopes people will pitch in to save the bank and others in danger of ruin.

"The buildings are a reflection of the people coming back," she said. "We're all getting older. And we've got to have something to come back to."

When Gary Massaro listens, people talk. or 303-892-5271