The Death of Eri Lacy

Eri & Millie Lacy. The little boy is probably their son, Robert.

Young Earl came bounding down the hillside pumped on adrenaline. Most eleven-year-old boys wouldn't measure up to the task, but Earl was a Lacy, and by definition, that made him tough as nails.

The rugged slope bent steeply toward Plateau Creek, which was now beginning to disappear into the obscurity of darkness. Earl climbed over boulders, pushed through scrub oak, and slid down ravines to make it to the bottom. He carried a Winchester 30-30 rifle, but soon chucked it aside to lessen the burden. As night set in, the January air turned even colder.

At last he arrived at the bottom and emerged from the growth of scrub that grew along the slopes of the hill, panting like a wild dog, blonde hair disheveled, with scrapes and cuts over his clothes and body.  At the top of his worn-out lungs he exclaimed:

“Grandpa is dead! Grandpa is dead!”

Millie Lacy with her two sons, Howard and Earl in 1941.

Eri Lacy—my great-great grandfather—died on January 12, 1941 from a heart attack. High on the bluff, he had been packing a deer over his shoulders, down to the cabin where he lived at the confluence of Plateau Creek and the Colorado River. His grandson, Earl Lacy (Junior), was with him, and carried the rifle with which Eri had just shot the deer. Although the deer was shot out of season, and would be considered “poached” by today's standards, Eri was doing what people did back then to feed their families.

When the news of Eri's death arrived at the cabin, everyone stirred into action. Junior's dad, Earl Sr., had been drinking with a friend from the Garfield Mine, Walter Scott, and the two were quickly roused from their slumber. Junior's younger brother, Claude, was fetching water from a nearby spring and hauling jugs back to the cabin.

Immediately, young Earl led his father and mother up the steep escarpment to look for Grandpa Eri. Claude was ordered to stay behind, and Walter Scott went into town to get help. They carried a coal oil lamp and pushed their way through the ever growing darkness. At the age of thirty-six, Earl Lacy Sr. was still a very strong man, having been a professional wrestler in his early days. Adrenaline helped push him up the hill, as Eri was his father. Earl's wife, Garnette, who was very fond of Eri, followed the man and boy up the slope.

The rugged hike to Grandpa's body was dangerous at any time, and even more so in the dark. The tall ridge raises above the confluence of the Colorado River and Plateau Creek in western Colorado. The footing in some places can be treacherous, and often, the drop-offs fatal. I'm sure this was a route that Earl and Junior traveled often. At the upper end of the hill is a ravine that leads to the top of the plateau, sure to be a prime spot for hunting deer. 

Carving in a rock, indicating the death location of Eri Lacy.

Nearly a mile from their little cabin along the banks of Plateau Creek, the beam of the lantern cast its light on the body of Grandpa Eri. There is no account that I could find that describes the emotion of this event. I'm sure that Earl searched for a pulse, and perhaps shed some tears. We do know, however, that Earl found a large rock and wedged it into the crotch of a tree to mark the spot. Then he lifted his father onto his shoulders, perhaps in a fireman's carry, and began his way back down.

Even for a powerful man like Earl, the hike down was no easy feat—especially while carrying a grown man. Winter temperatures set in, making for a brisk night. Not only did he have to contend with the steep slope, but also with loose dirt, cactus, rocks, branches, patches of snow, and slick mud. The lantern cast needful light upon the path in front of them, but also created distortions with shadows, and failed to illuminate very far ahead. At one point, Earl slipped down a small embankment and hurt his back, an injury that bothered him the rest of his life.

About half way down, the group met with Walter Scott, who had brought Earl's brothers, Howard and Bob with him. They brought headlamps from the mine and helped carry Eri down the hill to the cabin where they could load him into the car and take him into town. He was only sixty-three years old when he passed away.

Eri and Millie Lacy on their wedding day in 1898.

Eri Lacy was born on March 7, 1875 in Burrton, Kansas to James Addison and Catherine Hatton Lacy. His mother was said to be full-blooded American Indian. Eri was the seventh of nine children. On March 16, 1898, he was married to Myrtle Millie Ansel in Newton, Kansas. Five children were born to this union: Howard William, Arthur Earl, Mary Marie, Pearl Kathryn, and Robert Raymond.

Eri and Millie lived in many places throughout Kansas and eastern Colorado. We know that he had his own Wild West Show where he also worked as the “pick-up” man for those who rode the horses⸺he was the one who helped them off their horse. When he lived in Syracuse, Kansas, he worked for the state highway, driving a team of mules to a road grader.

Around 1937 they moved to western Colorado where they lived in a cabin north of Palisade. They were the first of the Lacy family to move there—many others soon to follow suit. While in Palisade, Eri enjoyed playing poker at the local bar.

Of her grandfather, who died three years before her birth, Alice Barker spoke highly of him: “My mother, who was his daughter-in-law, said he was probably the finest man she ever knew, which is saying a lot, coming from a daughter-in-law. She just thought he was fantastic. He was crazy about Myrt (his granddaughter) because she was named after his wife. He called her his little Myrtie Ann and had a little rocking chair built like his, to sit beside his, so they could rock together. I wish I had known more about him because it sounds like he was really a nice guy.”

Millie Lacy at the grave of her husband, Eri, at the cemetery in Palisade, Colorado.  (1941)

Seventy-four years later, several descendants of Eri Lacy gathered at the bottom of the hill, near the creek from where their ancestor died. This location has been somewhat of a pilgrimage for us, although I worry that the tradition is dying out with the newer generations. For me, this was my third time to make the ascent, the first as a child with my grandpa Lacy, and the second in 2000 with my dad's cousin, Brett, and his kids, Dustin, Tanner, and Nate, and my brother, Walt.

This latest hike, however, was a little different. It had been many years since any of us had hiked to the location, and we were hoping, although not completely confident, that we would find it. To boot, we brought with us a group of 24 people, including 15 kids, all of them great-great-great grandchildren of Eri Lacy. And it was deep July, heading in to August, and the big ball of sun was already weighing heavily upon us by the time we began.

Abandoned structure near Plateau Creek, near where Eri Lacy lived in 1941.

The junction with Plateau Creek is reached by driving seven miles northeast of Palisade on I-70, and taking the Collbran exit. Immediately on the right-side, after rounding a long corner, is a turnout spot.  This is where we parked. An old stone building sits in decay at the parking spot and I wonder if this was one of the structures owned by the Lacy's in 1941. Any other sign of their being here, such as the service station, has long been torn down and removed. 

View of Colorado River and the Grand Valley Diversion Dam.

With Camelbaks and water bottles, our little horde began the trek up the side of the hill, the steepest part of the entire hike. According to the stories, the path that we took was the exact route taken by Earl, Garnette, and little Junior as they walked with lantern in-hand to retrieve Eri. The route taken by Junior right after Eri died, and while carrying the gun, was straight down the hill and more direct, but steeper and more dangerous.

At the crest of the hill there is a fine view of the Colorado River and the Grand Valley Diversion Dam in De Beque Canyon. Plateau Creek runs into the river near the interchange of the freeway.

Once all the straggling munchkins caught up with the front, we took a small water break and my dad told the full story of Eri's death. Although he wasn't born when his grandfather passed away, the story has been passed down.

From the crest (there is no path), the hike makes a u-turn to the south, but continues upward for a little while longer to create some distance from the precipitous cliffs now on our left. Once on top, the hill either slopes to the Colorado River side, or to the Plateau Creek side, and it is necessary to stay below the ridge on the Plateau Creek side. 

Descendants of Eri Lacy take a breather while hiking to the location of his death.

 

Plateau Creek snakes alongside the highway, as seen from the hike up the hill.

There are some good view-points of the creek and the road that straddles its side, known as the Grand Mesa Scenic Byway. It was at one of these stopping places that we began to learn that we might run into problems. Water bottles now began to deplete, and complaints of the heat from the kids murmured through the ranks. As for where we were going, that was becoming less obvious all the time. The terrain turned rugged and the side-canyon where we would have to go looked to be too wild for kids.

And as for finding “the spot,” we were only hoping to find it. None of us had been there in years. Walt and I had been much younger at the time, and my dad, now sixty-five years old, was exhausted with all the kids. As for myself, I relied on my “Google intuition” that I hoped would lead me directly there.

Our July heat was very different from the January chill that Earl and Garnette felt as they climbed the hill in the dark. I'm sure they carried no water, nor stopped to enjoy the views along the way, nor to eat a granola bar. I have to admire Earl Jr. for leading them to “the spot” in relative darkness. The trees and the rocks and the slopes begin to blend together when you're not familiar with them. This leads me to believe that for the Lacys of 1941, this was their stomping ground where they played, climbed, and hunted. That would also explain how Junior managed to run straight down the hill without getting ledged up.

Amidst the pleas to turn around and return to the vehicles, Walt and I persuaded our group of kin to stay with us for just fifteen more minutes. “If we don't find anything by then,” we told them, “you can go back.”

During the next quarter-hour, my hopes began to diminish that I would be able to show my kids where Eri Lacy died. We approached the mouth of the little canyon where we knew we must enter, but the terrain continued to push back with steep embankments, thorny bushes, and bouldering rocks. I knew that the mothers carrying toddlers on their backs would never want to venture further, and all but the hardiest of kids would refuse.

At last, we gave everyone the choice to continue on, or retreat. With most water bottles now empty, every person, except Walt and I, chose to return. We sent them on their way, but promised to join them shortly. This put pressure on us to hurry and find the location, so as to not leave them waiting too long.

The hike makes a turn into this side-canyon.

The side-canyon that pours from the plateau is where Eri died, but the question remained as to how far up the canyon we needed to go. From our hillside perch, we had to descend around the bend of the hill over very tricky earth. Without the kids to slow us down, we could now move at a quicker pace.

Sometime after the death of Eri, one his sons, probably Claude, returned to the spot and carved in a rock: “ERI LACY DIED JAN. 12, 1941.” This he did next to the tree in which he had wedged the rock. I remember when I had visited the site many years ago that the rock had then moved several feet above the ground, raising with the tree as it grew. These two landmarks, the rock and the carving, marked the spot that we searched for.

Once in the side-canyon, Walt and I split up and each scoured the area along the drainage in places where we thought it might be. My first two spots proved to be wrong.  As I began to move up-canyon, I heard Walt yell out that he had found it.

I hurried toward his voice and found him standing in the middle of the canyon bed, next to a large boulder that carried a faint inscription on it. None of the letters were as pronounced as I had remembered—the day and year had almost disappeared. To the left of the carving was another inscription, this one less deep and hurried that read: “Claude, Walt, and Karson Lacy.”

Walt pointed out to me that the tree that held the rock had blown over and was now lying next to the boulder. The rock that Earl Lacy placed inside the crotch was still there. 

The large boulder on the left is the rock that Earl Lacy carved to indicate that Eri Lacy died here.  The fallen tree is the one with the stone placed in the branches. 

 

Looking up-canyon.

I couldn't help but to wonder how long this little memorial would last. The inscription had faded since I had last seen it, and the tree had blown over. In another seventy-four years, would every sign of Eri's death be obliterated?

We spent another twenty minutes loitering around the site, searching for other relics. I would have liked to hike further up the canyon and onto the plateau to see if I could find where Eri might have killed his deer.

At length, Walt and I strapped our light loads onto our backs and began working our way back down. We knew we had it easy because our steps had the advantage of full sunlight and we were not carrying dead-weight over our shoulders. When we arrived at the bottom, we found that one vehicle had been left for the two of us to take back to the hotel. We unstrapped our gear and then I walked across the road and dipped my entire head into Plateau Creek, swishing it around for a few seconds, then dabbing it off with an old shirt. We stepped in the vehicle, cranked up the air, and drove to Palisade. 

Claude Lacy and family at site of Eri Lacy's death in 1992.

Postscript. The rifle that Earl Jr. tossed as he ran down the hill was a Winchester 30-30. It was found a year and a half later by Eri's son, Howard Lacy. They were hoping that if they found the gun that it would still be usable, as times back then were difficult. Their hopes were in vain, however, and the rifle proved to be rusty and of no use.

Eri's wife, Millie, continued to live in Palisade after her husband's death. Her grand-kids knew her as “Little Grandma Lacy.” Sixteen years later on February 12, 1957, she was killed in an automobile accident in Deschutes County, Oregon while traveling with her grandson. She is buried alongside her husband—just across the fence from a corn field—at the cemetery in Palisade. ♠

The pink line represents the approximate hiking route to site where Eri Lacy died.

Sources

Barker, Alice Lacy. Interview by John Lacy, March 30, 2009.

Lacy, Claude. Conversation with John Lacy, June 27, 2000.

Lacy, Claude. Interview by John Lacy, August 16, 2005.