The silence that hangs over this old mining town gives the mind plenty of time to wander and imagine, not unlike turn-of-the-century Cornish miners who listened for the Tommy Knockers deep within the earth.
Legend has it that miners from England believed they could hear cries of those killed working in the dank shafts. The knock, knock, knock of a Tommy Knocker's tiny pick echoed a warning of danger in the mine.Fortunately, the modern-day stillness in Eureka isn't as eerie. Remnants of the past, like the four massive headframes perched over old mines on the outskirts of town, recall a time of booming prosperity.
Although not as famous as the Comstock Lode in Nevada or the Mother Lode District in Calaveras County, Calif., the Tintic Mining District was a significant player in U.S. mining industry. Metals - gold, silver, copper, lead, zinc - mined in Tintic amount to $4.2 billion in today's dollars, ranking the district as the third-highest producer in the nation. Some ofUtah's wealthiest residents made their fortunes in Tintic.
And if one stops and listens, the sounds of a slight revival in the previously dormant mines and communities that make up the district can be heard.
Eureka's future might be unearthed from its past.
Two mining companies are gearing up for a shot at another mother lode or rich vein of gold or silver or lead. At least three once-boarded-up Main Street buildings - most businesses on the street haven't seen the light of day for years - are undergoing renovations. Several new homes are under construction.
The town is tucked in cedar-covered hills on the Juab-Utah county line along a desolate stretch of U.S. 6, about 70 miles southwest of Salt Lake City. Streets such as Leadville and Last Chance are hap-hazardly laid out along old wagon trails, rail lines and mining claims. Signs at both ends of town tell motorists that it's "Utah's friendliest town on America's loneliest highway." Indeed, there's not much between Delta and Santaquin, the largest cities that bookend Eureka.
"Actually, we're not as isolated as people seem to think," said former police chief Joseph Bernini, who now serves as a Juab County commissioner.
Most of the town's 800 residents are retired. Those who work full time commute to Utah Valley or Tooele or Delta.
"There are no jobs here to speak of. This mining is on again, off again," Bernini said.
A hole in the ground
Eureka was counting on tourism to perk up the town. But now, likely fewer people will get the chance to find out historic Eureka is "more than just a hole in ground," as a sign on the road out of town says.
Though Eureka is only 20 miles off I-15, the Utah Department of Transportation apparently thinks that's too far from Utah's main thoroughfare. UDOT recently removed the brown freeway signs pointing to the Historic Tintic Mining District. In addition, a UDOT official also told resident Colleen McNulty that there was nothing for visitors to see once they got to Eureka.
McNulty begs to differ. "It was important enough to be on the National Historic Register," she said.
The signs' removal is especially disheartening for McNulty and her husband, June, as Gov. Mike Leavitt promotes history and knowing your city as part of Utah's centennial. The McNultys, who helped organize and are longtime members of the Tintic Historical Society, initiated a petition to have the markers returned.
The McNultys are almost always available to unlock the door to the mining district's past. Their name and telephone number top a list of key keepers taped to the door of the old Union Pacific Railroad depot that now serves as a museum. Visitors simply must cross the street to the Texaco station and call them from the pay phone.
The depot and adjacent former City Hall are stocked with mining artifacts and photos and leftovers from a largely forgotten, hard-scrabble way of life. There's an old poker table, a whiskey bottle, a miner's hard hat.
The hills surrounding Eureka also are alive with remnants of the past.
Most obvious are the imposing wooden headframes or gallows frames from the town's big four mines - Gemini, Eureka Hill, Centennial-Eureka or Blue Rock and Bullion Beck. The headframe holds two large wheels on which ran hoisting ropes to transport men, mules, supplies and ore in and out of the mine.
The massive structures symbolize the importance of Western mining. "The area has more pristine headframes than anywhere in the West," Colleen McNulty said.
Turning cattle into gold
Prospectors ventured into the Eureka area in 1869. Its name is Greek for, naturally, "I have found it." And when a prospector found gold glistening on the land's surface in 1870, the rush was on. Hundreds of mining claims were staked in the valleys and hills. Holes and piles of clinkers still dot the landscape.
The boom brought gold hunters from all corners of the world. Eureka's population swelled to 4,500, and mining villages popped up everywhere. People of some 21 different nationalities found their way to the Tintic area, making it one of Utah's true ethnic melting pots. Townspeople today still celebrate the diversity with the annual Folk Food Potluck dinner. Residents gather for a sampling of each other's favorite dish from the old country.
Some of those early settlers struck it rich; some didn't.
Brothers Sam and William McIntyre were driving a herd of cattle from Texas to Salt Lake City when they met Charles Crismon, a mine owner looking to unload his share in the Mammoth mine three miles south of Eureka. Crismon, extolling the wealth awaiting the man who bought his share, swapped his mining share for the McIntyres' cattle.
The cattlemen-turned-miners sunk some money into the property, dug a deeper mine shaft and hit a fabulous vein of gold.
Now, more than 120 years later, a 20th-century prospector is looking to make it rich. Like its predecessors, the McIntyres, Centurion Mining Co. has put a large chunk of money into revitalizing several mines, including the Mammoth, which apparently got its name when someone in 1870 cried, "Boys, we've got a mammoth mine here."
Spenst Hansen, Centurion's chief executive officer, is looking for mammoth return on the company's $10 million investment sooner than later.
"We're finding these guys didn't get it all," Hansen said. "Our calculations tell us that only one-quarter of the ore has been removed."
Much of the mining in Tintic, named for a Ute or Goshute Indian chief, came to a halt at the onset of the Great Depression. Plummeting metals prices, not lack of ore, closed the shafts. Ongoing court battles over hundreds of individual mining claims helped keep them down.
Hail to the Chief
At the base of Eureka Hill lies what townsfolk simply call the Chief, short for the Chief Consolidated Mining Co. Although the company is in its 88th year, the heavy machinery that hoisted miners and ore hasn't budged since 1957. A faded calendar from that year still hangs in the hoistman's office.
The gigantic hoist and compressor are in mint condition. But the deteriorating headframe had to be knocked down. The Chief's main shaft runs 1,800 feet into the earth. A maze of tunnels that run under the city branch off from the shaft. At the end of one link across town lies a 3,300-foot-long shaft, deep enough to sink two Sears Towers with room to spare.
"There are so few things like this anymore," said Doug Wright, a part-time Eureka resident and KSL radio host. "This is about as pristine as anywhere." Wright, who has a passion for mining history, says Eureka is just like Park City without the skiing and trappings of a tourist town.
Chief Consolidated doesn't intend to turn that old aspect of its operation into a tourist attraction, but, like its competitor Centurion, has big plans to dig for precious metals. It owns about 30 square miles of mining property, mostly just outside Eureka in Utah County. The company recently began a $2.5 million drilling program in the Tintic Mountains near the Tintic Standard mine, which was once one of the world's largest silver producers.
"If we hit ore, we'll dig a lot more. We don't know for sure, but it looks good," said Adren Underwood, general manager and a Chief Consolidated worker for 25 years. The company recently formed partnerships with Korea Zinc Ltd. and Canada's Akiko Gold Resources Ltd.
Between them Chief Consolidated and Centurion employ about 50 workers. Both intend to hire more when they go into full production.
Booming again?
That relatively paltry number of miners is still good news for Joe and Jeri Goodman. The 60-something couple turned an old beer joint at the north end of Main Street into Joe's Diner. Business has steadily picked up since it opened in July.
"We've been doing good," said Jeri Goodman. Miners are numbered among the diner's regular customers.
Although Bernini believes the old mines have potential, he said mining speculators always tell a "baloney story" to promote their stocks. "I know there's quite a bit of ore. Whether they can mine it or not, I don't know."
Most residents, including the McNultys, aren't sure they'd like to see Eureka boom again. A small explosion would be more to their liking. They'd at least like get the downtown buildings occupied.
"I'd like to see it. It would put people to work and it would keep people here," June McNulty said.
Most of Eureka's Main Street businesses are covered with plywood. The IGA food store sits untouched since heavy snowfall caved in its roof a few years ago. Few people traverse the street during the day.
Billy Baum is one of the regulars on Main Street. He remodeled the century-old White Owl Bar, which also was a gambling hall and house of ill repute, for an art gallery. He's now working on the adjacent building to make an arts and crafts center and art studio. Baum, a Provo contractor and artist, wants to hold annual art shows in Eureka.
The obvious question is why.
"Went crazy, I guess," he shrugs. Actually, "I just decided the atmosphere here was right for art."
Apparently, others are finding Eureka to their liking. The town is right for good, clean living. It's peaceful and uncongested. There's no smog. Bernini describes it as "free and easy."
The city has issued 25 building permits this year, including four for new homes and one for a new post office. It's the most construction the town has seen in years. In the previous three years, the city granted a total of 27 permits, only three for new houses.
Whether Eureka takes off again remains to be seen. But by anyone's estimation, the town isn't as dead as it seems.
"People predicted that we'd dry up and blow away and become a ghost town," Bernini said. "Well, we have pretty quiet ghosts if that's the case."