History is filled with quirky characters, larger-than-life people, and the Old West has more than its fair share of them.
In the UK the Broadmoor
Criminal Lunatic Asylum was established in 1863. Nowadays, Broadmoor Hospital
is a high-security psychiatric hospital with about 200 patients. What has this
to do with the Old West? Only the name: the Broadmoor Casino was built by Count
James Pourtales in 1891 near Pikes Peak in central Colorado. Many people
thought he was mad to undertake the project!
The count, a German nobleman,
was seeking good investments and bought into a huge dairy farm near Colorado
Springs. Then the mad idea took hold. He decided to found a resort town on part
of the property.
He built a pleasure palace to
lure buyers of lots. This ‘palace’, the Broadmoor Casino was on the shores of a
15-acre artificial lake that was stocked with trout. There were 32 Corinthian
columns gracing its exterior, and its rooftop terrace offered a splendid view
of the mountains. Inside there was a grand foyer, a double staircase leading to
a grand ballroom and a concert hall, three dining rooms and a salon for the
ladies.
Pourtales sited gaming rooms
on the first floor. He intended to make profits from the sale of the liquor he
supplied to the gamblers; he didn’t risk house funds on the games themselves.
Method in his madness: Colorado Springs was a dry town.
A resident orchestra
comprising European musicians played regularly; food was provided by a French
chef.
Incredibly, he hired a lady
parachutist to promote the resort: she landed in the lake but survived.
The grand opening of the
casino was on 1 July, 1891.
However, Pourtales’ mad dream
of a new township, Broadmoor City, wasn’t realised, since few wealthy punters
bought lots. The Panic of ’93 depressed Colorado’s silver mining industry, which
didn’t help, and within a short time Pourtales, burdened by the immense
expenses that the Casino incurred, was declared bankrupt. Four years later, the
Broadmoor Casino was destroyed by fire.
***
Inspired by this fascinating
snippet of history, I decided to incorporate certain elements in my noir novel Coffin for Cash.
My nobleman is Baron Hans von
Kempelen, aged 55. He is the owner of the Lenore Casino, near Green River.
Here is an excerpt:
Long
before they reached the entrance to the casino complex, Cash and Corman rode
past dozens of white-painted wooden posts, all lined up neatly: “Setting out
the lots for the baron’s town plan,” Corman explained.
Finally, an entrance arch of Doric
columns declared “The Lenore Casino”. From here curved a wide drive bordered
with sagebrush flowering yellow, red, pink and orange; mixed with these were
sego lily and larkspur. The drive led to a long two-storey building, its
veranda graced with a series of Corinthian columns. A rooftop terrace commanded
a view of the surrounding countryside, and above the entrance doors, rising
from the centre, was a latticework tower with a huge clock-face showing Roman
numerals; a big metal pendulum swung below, partly visible through a long
narrow window above the entrance.
They tethered the horses at a hitching
rail at the front steps.
A good distance away on their right
was a marble edifice, with a life-size winged angel on top.
“That’s the baron’s little mausoleum,”
Corman explained, his voice thick and laced with gravel. “It’s where his wife’s
buried – minus her heart.”
Then without saying more he led Cash
up the steps and through the double doors. To one side was a Chinese sentry
dressed in black and gold livery, brass buttons to his throat. He carried a
sword at his belt but made no move to challenge Cash, recognising Corman.
They entered an atrium clad in dark
oak panels, the floor tiled with patterned marble. A double staircase swept to
a landing with a series of double doors. “Up there,” Corman pointed, “is a
ballroom, a concert hall and a couple of dining-rooms, a salon for the ladies
and the baron’s private rooms.” The landing was almost on a level with the
clock’s metronomic pendulum.
Smartly dressed men and women
strolled through the atrium, arm in arm, none of them taking any notice of Cash
and Corman’s trail-dusted attire. Several Chinese in black and gold costumes
moved to and fro, carrying newspapers, documents, and silver trays of drinks
and cakes.
Cash peered up and could distinctly
hear the pendulum as it scythed through air.
He lowered his gaze and spotted a
man striding purposefully towards them.
“Meet the baron,” Corman said,
removing his hat.
Baron von Kempelen was virtually the
same height as Cash. He wore a monocle in his left eye, possessed a scar down
his left cheek, and sported a Van Dyke moustache, which was as blond as his
short-cropped hair. He wore a grey suit of cavalry twill, with waistcoat, and
shining black shoes. Cash noted a slight bulge in the vest pocket; doubtless a
derringer snug in there.
“Corman, who is this with you?” the
baron asked curtly.
“Baron, sir, this here is US Marshal
Laramie.”
Appraising his clothes, the baron
said, “You are not here for leisure, Marshal.”
Cash took off his hat. “No, Baron.
I’m here in an official capacity.” He glanced around. “Can we talk in private?”
Von Kempelen’s unencumbered
grey-green eye danced erratically then settled again on Cash. “You have me
intrigued.” With one hand he made a shooing gesture to Corman. “Thank you, you can
go now.”
Wiping a hand over his bristly chin,
Corman nodded. “Sure, Baron. I need to clean up.” He put on his hat, swung on
his heel and went out the entrance doorway.
“I noticed your interest in my clock,”
the baron said, gazing at the swinging pendulum.
“Yeah, it’s unusual. I reckon I can
feel the breeze it makes as it swings.”
“I had it specially made for me by a
family acquaintance, Sigmund Riefler. The firm of Clemens Riefler is situated
in Munich, my home city and it is known for its precision pendulum clocks.”
“I’m impressed, Baron.”
“German engineering is the best in
the world, Marshal. Now, my office is not far. We will talk there.”
“Fine by me, Baron. Lead on.”
He was led to the right, through a
double door that was guarded by a huge Chinese man in a smart black and gold suit
and a sword with belt. They trod on thick carpets that went through three
gaming rooms where patrons played on a variety of roulette wheels or card
tables. Chinese male and female staff darted between people, serving trays of
liquor. A smoke mist hovered above their heads; the ceiling, where visible,
appeared stained.
“Quite an enterprise you have here,
Baron.”
Von Kempelen chuckled. “It is my
honey to attract the flies.” He didn’t elaborate and pushed open a door into a
large office. (pp70-73)
Coffin for Cash
Available as a paperback or
an e-book at these Amazon sites here
