Living in the past

   When David Munger moved into a palatial 1891 mansion on Wood Avenue in 2004, he and his wife didn't feel as if they truly owned the house. Much of it seemed to belong to the past.

   "We felt more like curators here. Our sense was that we'd been given a gift that we, in turn, had to take care of and pass on," he said on a recent morning as he welcomed a visitor through the broad, hardwood double doors of the front entry and into the hall where a grand staircase cascaded down to a stone fireplace.

   But who had given them the gift? Who had built this grand, three-story house with its rough stone porch and an eyebrow dormer beneath a pair of tall brick chimneys? How had they lived? Why had they left?

   For all these questions, Munger had only one clue - a sheet of owners' names left for him by the previous owner.

   Wood Avenue is full of famous names. Alice Bemis Taylor, founder of the Fine Arts Center, lived next door. Jimmy Burns, the mining magnate who built the nowdemolished Burns Opera House, lived across the street. But for Munger, who had recently moved from just outside of Washington, D.C., the sheet of names meant nothing.

   So he started digging through public records, trying to uncover the long story of the house.

   Stories such as these are increasingly common. As Colorado Springs ages, the past piles up in basements and attics, under carpets and behind old wallpaper. Many neighborhoods on the west side, in Manitou and downtown have houses dating to the days of gold booms and coal smoke. And many old rooms, with their creaking, uneven floorboards, were a front row seat to history.

   But how can anyone living in these buildings now be sure?

   "If your walls could talk, it would be easy to find answers," Jody Jones, a Pikes Peak Library District research librarian, likes to say. "But they can't so we can help you learn the story."

   Jones leads two-hour classes several times a year that teach people to ferret through the stacks of old phone books, newspapers and public records that can help piece together a history of their homes. The next one is this week.

   That's where Munger started.

   "We went to the library and poked around," he said.

   He found out that the house was built for the rich widow Mrs. William Roberts, whose prominent engineer husband had just died of yellow fever in the jungles of Brazil.

   "We actually found a drawing and write-up in an old Gazette that year," he said. "It said the house wasn't as big as some but had lovely woodwork."

   Munger slid open a pocket door to his dining room to reveal dark wood paneling on every wall, with precise, flowing carved pediments.

   "I've been told this was carved by Winfield Scott Stratton, just months before he discovered the Independence Mine in Cripple Creek," he said, brushing a hand over the old wood. "That may be folklore, but I like the story."

   The mine almost instantly made Stratton, a 42-year-old carpenter, into a millionaire and one of the prime philanthropists of the city.

   "This is such an interesting town - the way it came about, the people who founded it. To me, finding out more about this house connected me to that history. It made the past more three-dimensional, more complicated, more vibrant. I became part of the place. This is part of the process that turns a house into a home."

   Just then, Munger's friend Matt Railey knocked at the door. Railey, a retired judge, wrote a small book called "Sadie's House" about his modest American four-square, built in 1899.

   "It's not an impressive house like this. No one famous lived there," Railey said. "But it has a number of compelling stories."

   A railroad brakeman named Harry Yost and his wife, Sadie, bought the house in 1899 for $1,000.

   A few months later it was struck by lightning. Witnesses said the bolt broke the house in two and set it ablaze. The horse-drawn fire engine that responded could do nothing.

   Fortunately, the Yosts had insurance and rebuilt.

   "I dug that all out of old records and newspapers," Railey said. "It's a bit like treasure hunting."

   After Sadie left, an anti-tax gadfly named Judge Schriver, whom Railey describes as an "early day Doug Bruce," moved in. Then, for decades a woman named Rosemary Valentino lived there. Neighbors who remembered her told Railey she said she was the sister of the silent movie star Rudolph Valentino.

   "I checked her out," Railey said. "Turns out her real name was Mini Shapiro, and the only brother she had was in Cañon City."

   Old magazines and city directories give clues to what residents did for a living. If anyone did anything especially good or bad, it often ended up in The Gazette.

   Railey and Munger soon discovered they had a connection. The man who had Railey's house built worked on the Midland Railroad, owned by J.J. Hagerman, who also owned Munger's house.

   Hagerman then gave the house to his son, Percy, a famous painter and mountaineer. It went through a series of owners Munger is still researching.

   To reward the efforts of neighbors like Munger, Railey started something he called the Plaque Program. Anyone in the Old North End who compiles the building date and a complete list of residents of their house gets a small plaque for their house. Those who go further, unearthing a significant event in the house's history, get another plaque.

   "It's a good way to get people invested in the neighborhood," Railey said. "And interest seems to be growing. We have 20 houses with plaques now, and the classes are full."

   Of course, you don't have to live in the Old North End, or even have a house that is particularly old to take interest in a building's past. Many houses in Old Colorado City and Manitou are as old or older than those in the North End. And even simple houses can harbor stories of woe, triumph and struggle that make the past a living thing.

   At a recent Pikes Peak Library class on house history, every chair was full. Jones, the instructor, showed how the old city directories not only showed a person's name and address, but job, marital status and even race.

   Over the years she's helped scores of people find details, such as a house being struck by lightning while the horse-drawn fire-engine watched, that become precious in a homeowners' eyes.

   "A lot of people think their house is not worth researching," she said. "But every house has a story just as important as the grand mansions on Wood Avenue."

INFORMATION SOURCES FOR HOUSE-HISTORY SLEUTHS

   On the Web:

   El Paso County property records: www.land.elpasoco.com. Records tell you who owned a property, what they paid for it and when it was built. Online sales records go back to 1970.

   In the Penrose Library's Special Collections: 
   "Sadie's House" by Matt Railey: A great resource, this short book tells the story of one house's history, detailing sources used.

   City directory:
The "phone book" dating to 1878, before there were phones. Tells name of resident, occupation, marital status and sometimes race.
   The Gazette:
Published daily since 1872 with some names indexed. If a city dweller has done something particularly good or bad, chances are it's in the paper.

   The librarians:
They're good at what they do, eager to help and love a challenge. Don't be afraid to ask questions.

FREE CLINIC
   "If Your Walls Could Talk," house-history research clinic: Free, two-hour clinic offers an introduction to library resources, 1:30-3:30 p.m. Wednesday, Penrose Library, 20 N. Cascade Ave. For reservations, call 531-6333, ext. 2253.