Folk Heroes- Richard Arnold Beattie-Walking the Same Ground and Midnight Special Harry Tuft

This is the place where you can find a time machine of recordings, audio chapters, new songs and old songs. From Westcliffe, Colorado, you're listening to Folk Heroes from Sound Century in cooperation with the University of Colorado and the Harry Tuft Collection, curated and hosted by Richard Arnold Beattie. 

In cooperation with Sound Century Academy, the University of Colorado and The Harry Tuft Collection. 

Transcript

SPEAKER_08 0:06

Spirit and city What I bought choose in the butt always familiar Queen City Ba ball Queens Wheels Wheels. It's Folk Heroes with Richard Arnold Beattie from our studios in Westcliff, Colorado. This week, more stories and songs from Dick Jones and Walking the Same Ground, and after that, Harry Tuft and an excerpt from his live radio show in Denver, sometime between 1971 and 1973, The Midnight Special, which aired in Denver on KFML. I'm your host, Richard Arnold Beattie. Welcome to Folk Heroes 2026.

SPEAKER_01 2:50

As a pastor, I sometimes encountered people who needed a hot meal, and Susie welcomed them all. And I don't ever remember receiving a bill. I think that many of you who knew Susie as I did will vouch for the truth spoken on that plaque. I don't know the exact year of this menu, but I think the prices may offer a clue. In that day 50 years ago, there was a specialty sandwich served with French fries and your choice of lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles with fries for $4.99. Apart from visitors riding the train to Chama, New Mexico, tourism doesn't seem to be particularly thriving in Antonito. And other than a family dollar and a couple of retail cannabis outlets, out the town has changed very much in the past half century when it was probably three churches in the Dutch Mill. On the other hand, Westcliff, which is about the same size as Antonito then, has changed considerably. Currently we have about 25 churches in the county, six restaurants, five coffee shops, two bakeries, four more restaurants in Silvercliff. No cannabis yet, but we do have a family dollar, Dollar General and Subway, along with a lot more tourists and a lot more traffic. I guess this morning as I'm sitting in a Dutch mill cafe in Anfinito, I'm feeling a little nostalgic. I find myself missing the days in Westliffe when there were just five churches and Susie's. Blizzards and bus trips. Some years ago, blizzards with blowing snow, zero visibility, huge drifts and roads closed seem to be more common. Maybe this is because the county's limited snow equipment back then. Maybe it's my editing of my own memory. However, I'm including a few pictures in my defense. One looking down Kettle Lane north of Schoolfield, where there's about four or five feet of snow stacked on either side. Another is of Harvey and Jean Rush driveway, which has snow about six feet high on either side, and me shoveling out from a five-foot snow in 2003. Lila Hobby, who lived at the upper end of Junkins Park, told me of the winter in 1959-60 when they received five feet of snow in a few days. Fort Carson had to airdrop feed for some cattle. Following that winter, Ken Armstrong decided to drill a couple of new wells to ensure water for his cattle. However, snow records show that this was not the winter with the most snowfall, which was 123 inches. The official snow report reveals that eleven winters since 1960 have had more. The four's highest were 1969 when there was 151 inches, 1983-84 with 140 inches, and 1986-87 with 145 inches. The greatest accumulation of snow often comes with spring storms. One year we got almost three feet in May. In 2003, when we were living out Brush Hollow, we got over five feet of snow the first of April. Of course, snow depth depends on where you live. There can be six inches of snow in Westcliffe and a foot and a half in Rosita. Ernest Sparling told me of one huge wet snow he remembered. He didn't say what year it was, but the Westcliff feed store was still in operation. They took a stick and scraped around the truck scale to weigh the snow, and it came in and whopping eleven tons. Twenty-two thousand pounds of snow. Ernest also told me of a blizzard that hit the boneyard park area where he lived. Someone had tethered a horse in a barn stall, and when they left the barn they didn't get the door completely closed. That night the wind howled as we know it can, and the next day they found the horse dead. It couldn't keep its head above the snow and had been completely buried by drifted snow that had funneled through the partially open door. The southern youths called them chinooks, the snow eating wind. Not only do these winds eat snow, they can swirl it a hundred feet into the air, pile it up several feet in one place, snap power poles and trees like twigs, and create a whiteout, making it impossible to see anything. A mile or two isn't too far, but in a whiteout, all sense of direction is lost. When snow blows, it can sweep a road clean in some places and pile snow three feet deep in others. One December evening, Barb and I had gotten stuck in a big drift on Kettle Lane about a mile north of Stan and Jean Coleman's. After digging for an hour, we were able to get out and pull into Ridley Lane, which is County Road 136. About that time we saw headlights heading south on Kettle, and I knew it had to be Stan and Jean headed home. I flagged down that old yellow international travel all and warned Stan of what was ahead. Stan decided that his international was a match for anything, so he backed up forty yards, floor didn't hit the drift. Snow flew and the travel all disappeared. When the white cloud settled, the score was snow won Coleman Zero. We had to dig down a foot into the snow to even get Jeannie's door open. Fortunately, the next headlights we saw belonged to the county plough. He pulled Stans International out, broke through the drift, and we all went on our way. In 1975, Macy Lane had drifted shut, and the temperature dropped to thirty below. The drifts were so hard I drove my jeep over the top of them without sinking in. The county plough just bounced off the drifts, and Floyd Catney, our county road boss, had to bring in a D eight bulldozer to open the road. Since the strongest winds often come out of the southwest, they then went out on the west side of Macy into the meadows and pastures of Lee Adams and Carl Rorick and the Candace, and ploughed windrows in the fields to catch the blowing snow before it got to Macy. This was common practice and it worked well until the snow filled in the wind rose and found its way back to the road. School did not close for snow very often, but sometimes the wind made it impossible for some teachers and students to get to town. While it could be completely calm in Rosita, the wind could be horrendous in other parts of the valley. I can remember a few times the football field had to be ploughed before the Friday night game could be played. Snow would be piled six to eight feet high surrounding the field, and those piles would become the seats for the student cheering section. One fall in the late 1990s, we were staying in a motel in Denver when a storm hit with such intensity that it caved the roof in above the swimming pool. The airport and I-25, as well as many secondary roads, were completely shut down. CDOT estimated that 700 cars were stranded on I-25 between the Wyoming and New Mexico borders, and a few people died that night. When we finally left Denver four days later, we counted 70 vehicles on the shoulder of the interstate. The only thing visible on many of them were the roof and the radio antenna. Castro County's football team was scheduled to play a playoff game in Westcliff. The game was postponed a couple days, and I believe that was one of the times that the piles of snow doubled as bleachers. When the high school basketball team played in the Vita, we usually cut through on the Yellowstone Road rather than take the longer route through Walstenberg. It was a dirt road, but then so was the long stretch of Highway 69, the Coda Paxi cutoff and the High Park Road to Gripple Creek. Most travel to ball games required some dirt road. There was one little bridge on the Yellowstone that had a weight limit, which the school bus exceeded. However, there was a pull around through a dry creek bed, which we almost always took. But if Norm Jordan, better known as Storm and Norman, was driving, we sometimes bypassed the creek bed and hit the bridge running. It never failed us. I believe it was 1982 or 83. I was coaching the girls' basketball team. It was late December, and we had made the trip through the Yellowstone to play La Vida. Although the road was clear, there was a lot of snow stacked along the sides, and during the game the wind became ferocious. Larry Villers, our principal, and the fans, had all chosen the Walsemberg route for the trip home. However, that night Norman was driving, and he wasn't about to let a little snow and wind stand between him and a shortcut. Only a few miles in we encountered a drift. The surface had that familiar, fuzzy white blur which made it impossible to determine its length or depth. Norm got out of the bus to confront the white beast. The howling wind taunted him and seemed to be saying, I dare you. Well Norm took the dare. He returned to the bus, backed up fifty yards, and hit the gas. We collided with the drift with such force that the snow flew over the windshield and the top of the bus. Right after that we heard that sickening which signals us that we were stuck. We were too far into the drift to back up, so we got everyone off and decided to attempt to push the bus ahead through the drift. With much grunting and groaning, we rocked the bus until it began to inch forward. As it gained momentum, we kept pushing until the bus had cleared the drift and we felt dirt under our feet. Norm expertly guided us through several smaller drifts until we arrived safely in Westcliff. The only casualty was a broken window on the rear of the bus. On the high park road to Cripple Creek there was a steep hill which always caused the bus trouble when it snowed. However, experience had taught us how to deal with it. As soon as we felt the bus tires begin to slip, everyone rushed to the back of the bus to add weight over the tires and give them more traction. If this didn't work, we began to bounce up and down until the bus lurched its way to the top of the hill. In the winter of 1977-78, we made our usual trip to Fairplay to play South Park. The road was partly snowpacked and the ditches were filled with snow, level with the road. On the way home after the game, Francie Byrne hit an icy patch, slid off the road, and buried her car. A few minutes later, we came by in the team bus. We all exited the bus, surrounded the car, and lifted it back onto the road. The next year we were playing Platte Canyon in Bailey. During the boys' game, the state patrol came to the gym and informed us that they might be closing Kenosha Pass and we should find someplace to stay for the night. Dick Wilson, the boys' coach, and I called our wives and they were making calls in Westcliff to let people know that we might not be home until noon the next day. We were on our way to camp just outside Bailey to spend the night when Bob Miller, our bus driver, saw a semi had just come over the pass. He got on the CB and asked the truck driver if we could still make it over. He said that if we left right now, he thought we could. Bob headed the bus for home and we took off. When we made it over the pass, there were some bare spots on the road, and George Rice had put chains on before he left Bailey. He was in front of the bus, and whenever he hit the bear pavement, we could see the sparks flying from the chains. Before Bull Domingo ranch subdivision, Matt Clevinger owned everything out Copper Gulch Road to Reed Road, or Reed Gulch, as Earl Cress would remind me. When you left Highway 69, there were no houses for nine miles. So in winter the road crew quit fighting the snow and just closed Copper Gulf. In 1979, Jeff McGregor was the music teacher at the school, and he and his wife Peggy were renting one of the few houses past Reed Gulf. They were in town when it started snowing and blowing. By 8 p.m. only one lane of Highway 69 was even open. Jeff called me to see if I thought they should try to get home. I advised against it. They said that they would call when they got there. In two hours they still had not called, so Mark Hanley and I chained up my pickup and headed out to look for it. Just as we were ready to turn on copper gults, we noticed some barely visible footprints crossing the highway. We turned left and went past Elton Campers following the trail. When we got to Nelly Camper's house, we found Jeff and Peggy inside, enjoying Nelly's hospitality. With visibility being zero, they had run off the road at the curb by the old inn's homestead. The only way they made it out was to keep walking between the fences on the sides of the road. Had they gone past the inn's place, there would have been no fences at all, and the night could have ended a lot worse. Well, they don't call it blizzardine for nothing. In the early eighties, when a family built their house above Doc Boyer's ranch and above Katie's cabin, many had warned them that winter would pose a problem. The wife of the couple was a substitute teacher, and the next few winters were very mild, and she didn't stop reminding us of our warnings and told us that they had had no problem because of snow. Well the next winter that would all change. Snow and wind came early that year and it did not let up. Many days she had to ride a snowmobile eight miles just to get to her vehicle. When spring came they moved. Some years later, the man who bought their house went into Blizzardine in late October with a two-wheel drive pickup truck. Of course, snow and wind had blocked the road and he was thoroughly stuck. It was Fred Job's first year as sheriff, and the lot fell to him to get the man out. Fred had asked me to go with him, and in order to get even close we had to drive the ridgetops on the Boyer Ranch where the snow had blown off. The man came out with us. His pickup truck did not. It would have to wait until spring. More stories could be told and more storms will come. The county now has a whole fleet of ploughs and trucks with which to do battle. However, winter at 8,000 feet is always unpredictable. I've heard some new people to the valley brag that they have a four-wheel drive. Mother Nature simply smiles and says yes, and sometimes all that means is that you will be twice as stuck.

SPEAKER_08 16:07

Making up for lost time. That's what winter does. Engineers my stops and starts, leaves behind the walls. Winter wakes me up to this. Like the coldness of the night. Green dreams and scatteries. Through the valley, whisker flames. Through the salary, whisker flames. Come on, home. Leave a candle in the window. I'll just follow the line. Whisper of winds. Will follow the mean. Coffee cups. Mom is on the line. Radio plays a song again. Takes me back another time. Looking for a sun. Where's the fans? Whisk of winds. Whisk of winds. How we coming home. Whisk of winds. How are we coming home tonight? Now the snow is finally melting. So good to be alive. We come up to another winter. My camera we're on the sun. Down the mainstream season. In assembly with my lovely brother. I'm happy to be back again. With your enjoyment rum.

SPEAKER_00 24:37

It's what you don't see that can change your life. Every day you open your eyes and the mental checklist of all that you have for the day blocks your vision. You get past the bedroom, the bathroom, the breakfast, and the drive-thru. You arrive at your desk and there are voicemails and emails and snail mails, and you process through until lunchtime. That's what you see every morning. Then, when we rewind the AM and go back, you find the morning that you didn't see. You ran past your husband who was trying to find meaning in his work. You snarfed down the burnt toast and left the coffee maker on and oh, and you cut off your neighbor who was bringing his wife home with their new baby. You were in your own zone as you raced through the school zone. That changed your life.

SPEAKER_10 25:19

I don't remember the chords. Alright, well, I'll do it by myself. Okay. If Harry comes in in time and he remembers the chords.

SPEAKER_04 25:28

I play just a melody, but just run through that one chord for you.

SPEAKER_10 26:05

Well, watch my fingers and uh listen to the song. Just one second. George, would you tie my dog up to get the build card? Thank you. The newer station mark. Well none, well none, well. She would have married me. I have forsaken crowns and all for the love. I'm sure you quite I've been married to scalpers. I think he's a nice young man. If you take your discounters, don't wish I'll take you to wings. Love the bunny blue sea.

SPEAKER_07 28:31

What did I say? I have six ships upon Ship sailing from drive.

SPEAKER_10 28:52

Well, anyway, I forgot a couple of verses on you. And in somewhere in here, I guess I never bother to learn exactly what happens next because there seems to be a big gap in this next verse. Well, she takes up the little babe. Kisses given one, two, and three. I am not weeping for mass. I am weeping for Chelsea and Sandy.

SPEAKER_09 30:59

Short three.

SPEAKER_10 31:04

Ship scrimmage. Underneath her deck. Sank to the bottom of the sea. Once around spun a gallon ship. Three times around spongy. Three times around spun a gallon ship. Sank to the bottom of the sea. Okay, you came in pretty good with that, right? I faked it. I faked it in a couple of spots too. We got a request for you to sink casey jump. For me to sink casey jump. I have to rinse them out every time I play them. I do it for a couple of reasons. One to get all the old junk out.

SPEAKER_05 32:38

Yes, uh while he was getting all his junk out, I'm gonna say that it's uh two minutes before five o'clock in the morning. And you tune to KFML FM ninety eight point five on the FM dial. It's almost light out.

SPEAKER_06 33:22

Story about a brave engineer, case he was around a name, big widow, his thing. Looked at his water, water was low, looked at his iron, I'm in the slow. Put on your water and put on your coat, put your head out the window, see the driver's rope. One more road that I like to ride. Everybody wondering what that could be. Matcheson Topeka Sen's wife, she heard the news, was sitting on the bedside, lacing up her shoes. Children, children, hold your breath, gonna draw a pension on your daddy's death. Tuesday morning it was drizzling rain. Round the corner, round the passenger drain, on it the body of K C. Johnson, good old engineer, but he's dead and gone.

SPEAKER_04 36:52

Oh, well, I can get the cordon. You know the corset.

SPEAKER_10 36:58

Oh something like that. That's what you did in the COVID.

SPEAKER_06 38:21

It's a street known for miles around, for creo music, for real jazz bands. It's the best in all the land, and most every cabaret. They turn night into day. Got the blues from my head down to my speech. For good old Rampire Street, wanna go down, Tom Anderson's Cafe. Oh I want his last jazz band plays Tiger Eye and the rendezvous, Cadillac and the red onion, too. You can enjoy yourself down ramp by street. It's the best in all the land, in most every cabaret. They turn night into day, got the boobs from my head down to my feet. For good old ramp-ide street, I wanna go down. I'm Anderson's castle. I wanna hear that jazz band play. Tiger eye and the rendezvous, Cadillac, the red onion too. You can enjoy yourself. Down a rampart, down a ramp-up, down a ramp-ide street.

SPEAKER_05 41:36

Memphis.

SPEAKER_04 41:38

I know one verse. You know the verse?

SPEAKER_06 42:07

Get Memphis, Tennessee. Someone called my number, tried to get in touch with me. She did not leave a number. I don't know who made the call. Cause my uncle took the message and wrote it on the wall.

unknown 42:33

Oops.

SPEAKER_04 42:34

But that's the only verse I know.

SPEAKER_10 42:39

Learn the words.

SPEAKER_04 42:41

Well, I don't know what.

SPEAKER_10 44:45

If somebody sing a song recouperate.

SPEAKER_05 44:47

Alright. Calls are roaring in. By the way, in case you happen to have just gotten up to have an early morning and you don't understand what's going on here, this is uh the midnight special. Carried over into the early morning special. It's uh been an all-night, no, I can't call it a marathon because we've had such a good time doing it. Um but this is the last show of the midnight special, so we've been going till well, we're gonna go till six o'clock in the morning, which comes up in about 43 minutes. And uh so if you've just gotten up and you're a lover of classical music, bear with us for about 43 minutes. And if you do like folk music, while you'll have that much more time to enjoy it before it ends.

SPEAKER_10 45:49

For those of you who might have just gotten up and know the midnight special, uh Harry said that this is the last show. But uh something can be done about that, maybe. With uh everybody's help and lots of letters and the KFML.

SPEAKER_04 46:04

All right, pickets.

SPEAKER_10 46:07

Uh in fact, we've decided we aren't leaving the studio this morning.

SPEAKER_05 46:16

Five fingers has the hand. Five fingers, five fingers, five fingers, quantum amount has the hand. Or they didn't do the rain. Wonderful songs. I don't think anyone knows any one of them. Searchers not the last one. Five fingers has a hand. Great song. Can I smoke your cigarette while you're gonna be able to do it? You know, don't think twice, you know what? Anybody knows it, play it. Sing it. How about uh E flat E um E flat, right? Doesn't the electric bass cape up?

SPEAKER_10 46:52

We didn't want electric base. I didn't bring my electric base. Oh Kim?

SPEAKER_05 47:00

Lead out. You said it was speaking.

SPEAKER_03 47:57

Ain't no use to sit and wonder why babes. It'll never do somehow. When the rooster grows that the break down Look out your windows when I'll be gone. Honey, oh threat, I'm traveling. Don't think twice all right. Ain't no use in turning on your light face. Light that I know Ain't no use in turning on your light face. I'm on the dark side of the road. Still I wish there was something you would do or say Just to try and make me change my mind and sustain. We never did too much talking and shoes. Don't think was all Ain't no use in calling out my name gown. Like you've never done before. Ain't no use in calling out my name gown. I can't hear you anymore. I've taken one way down. I once loved a child, I'm told. Well, I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul. Don't take my own. I can't tell. Goodbye to good work face. So I'll just say fairly well. I saint you treated me unkind. Could have done better, but I don't mind. You just kinda wasted my precious time. Don't think twice, it's alright.

SPEAKER_10 51:09

Nice song to see. Nice song. Very sad song. Yeah. Mm-hmm. Yeah. You know, I always think of it just as mostly a finger picking kind of tone. Just about made me cry. Maybe it's because I'm so tired.

SPEAKER_05 51:24

Well, actually, it's because your hands hurt when you're at twelve three. But uh yeah, let me rest for a minute, Harry thing.

SPEAKER_10 51:31

Let somebody else sing something, or you sing something.

SPEAKER_04 51:34

Oh, I hear something. Hey, I don't think. Okay. Might be nice. A few days. Oh, that's nice. So beautiful. Well, that's how you know, let's see. What minor is it really? C minor. C minor.

SPEAKER_05 52:16

This is a song that started out as a uh um Southern hymn called a few days and was picked up by the or carried out west by the miners, uh, the men going out to uh seek their fortunes in the gold rush in California. And uh they changed the words around to fit their own uh way of uh their own circumstance. So it was one of those folk process things happening and uh came out this way. I learned it from uh Dick Weissman. It's called Hurrah for Home, I believe, on uh Gold Rush album with Dick Weissman and Pat Foster.

SPEAKER_04 53:07

I'm not the right key.

SPEAKER_03 54:00

And I give our safety and another round, and I am going home, I can't stay in these diggings. Few days, few days, Lord. I can't stay in these diggings, I am going home. Well, I'm going home to stay awhile, few days, few days before I go. I'll plant a smile. I am going home, I can't stay in these diggings. Few days, few days, Lord, I can't stay in these diggings, and I am going home. For years I labored in cold ground, few days, few days, and now at last I'm homeward bound, and I am going home, I can't stay in these diggings. Few days, few days, Lord, I can't stay in these diggings, and I am going home These banking thieves I will not trust. Few days, few days, but with me take my little dust, and I am going home, I can't stay in these diggings. Few days, few days, Lord, I can't stay in these diggings, and I am going home. Well my mother, she has gone before. Few days, few days I'll meet her there at Glory's door, and I am going home, I can't stay in these diggings. Few days, few days, Lord. I can't stay in these diggings. I am going home So I pitch my tent on this campground, few days, few days, and I give old Satan another round, and I am going home, I can't stay in these diggings. Few days, few days, Lord. I can't stay in these diggings. I am going home, and I am going home.

SPEAKER_08 56:48

Well, evidently that was the last midnight special in 1973 with Harry Tuft and others from the Denver Folk War Center, one of hundreds of hours that I have uh that I've remixed and digitized. Most of this collection is being housed at the University of Colorado, the Harry Tuft Collection, right next to the Glenn Miller Collection at the CU Library. If you missed any folk hero shows, be sure to catch the podcast. And if you'd like to get on our mailing list, drop me an email, RichardBearnine at gmail.com. That's B-E-A-P-T-I-E. RichardBearnine at gmail.com. Thank you, everybody, and uh please go.