Word: salida
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...politely and said they were full up. The old mari turned away. "I been saving a year for this trip," he said, "and I did kinda want to stay where 'H. A. W.'* put up." Washington soon found out why Frank Edward Gimlett, 75, oldtime prospector from Salida, Colo., was in town. Said he: "I came here to find out what we are going to use for money." If necessary, he vowed, he would visit every member of Congress to discover why he was getting greenbacks instead of gold coin for the metal he mined. Opening a leather...
...found one in Salida, Colo. (pop. 5,065): managing a granite works (tombstones) for his chain-druggist friend, Charles Rudolph Walgreen. Four years and two trials later W. B. went to Leavenworth to serve a 15-year rap for mail fraud. But his Salida friends didn't forget him. They signed petitions, fought for his release. In 1937 Franklin Roosevelt commuted his sentence. This time W. B. didn't have to hunt a job. Salidans had one waiting...
Last week Utilitarian Foshay was starting on his fourth year as paid secretary of the Salida Chamber of Commerce. The annual membership drive was under way and he was working like a beaver. Back of him were three years of success. Salida was on its way to becoming a ghost town in the early '30s. The Denver & Rio Grande Western took away its shops and offices, two mines closed down, 3,000 citizens moved away. First thing W. B. did was advertise. On the highways he set up strings of hearts bearing the admonition "Follow the Hearts to Salida...
...Today Salida has recovered. Its 3,000 lost citizens have been replaced. Gasoline sales (good tourist index) are up $5,000 a month over last year. Salidans are very fond of W. B., whom they call "Cap." They have tried for three years to tack a $50 raise to his $150-a-month salary, but he says the C. of C. budget can't stand it. On his salary the Foshays live as well as anyone in town...
...white-haired, round, short, blue-eyed, the Cap is having the time of his life putting Salida on the map. Grateful to Salida, he has spurned offers to go elsewhere. On the walls of his office (a little red-brick cottage) hang two pictures of the $3,000,000 Foshay Tower. He still keeps the motto which used to hang over his desk when he was a Northwestern reigning utilitycoon: Why worry? It won't last. Nothing does...