Bargain Day in Leadville

Leadville, Colo. (pop. 4,774), self-advertised world's highest incorporated city, has seen some fancy goings on from its perch two miles up in the Rocky Mountains. Since the discovery of silver touched off an avalanche of fortune seekers in 1878, its mines have yielded some $600 million in silver, gold, lead, zinc, copper, manganese. Today it is still a rowdy, frontier mining town. Queen of its night life is the Pastime's Blonde Bobbie, who relaxes at the piano between rounds, amazes customers with a repertoire ranging from blues to classics (all played by ear). On West Second Street flourishes a row of oldtime cribs, whose occupants have nothing to fear except monthly medical examinations.

Last week Leadville was all keyed up. On a bright, brittle December morning, its townspeople gathered in their old two-story red courthouse to attend what was potentially one of the greatest bargain sales of all time. Climax Molybdenum Co.'s Bartlett Mountain mine, which contains about 90% of the world's known supply of molybdenum, was to be knocked down for its unpaid 1939 county taxes: $294,938.75, including interest.

The sale did not mean that Climax was broke. Since steelmen recognized molybdenum's .value in making tough, rugged alloys, Climax has become the biggest thing in Leadville as well as in the "moly" business, has paid almost $26 million in dividends in the last five years. The company had $8,678,521 in the bank at the beginning of 1940. But Climax refused to pay what it considered an exorbitant tax.

In 1938, Lake County officials set Climax's taxes at $101,259, had no trouble collecting. In 1939, they quadrupled the company's assessed valuation (from $4 million to over $16 million) and almost tripled Climax's bill, although the tax rate was lowered. When the county advertised the mine for sale to satisfy the tax claim, Climax advertised too, warned any bargain seekers that the company "wholly denied, challenged and controverted" the county's right to sell. Lest such legalistic language obscure the point, a Climax attorney explained: "We're telling anyone who might try to buy . . . that he would be buying himself a lawsuit."

The Climax ad did better than the county's. Only offer soft-voiced County Treasurer Frank Kendrick received when he opened his auction came by mail from George B. Malott, president of an Indianapolis machine works. The bid: $10. promptly rejected. Malott, who makes a hobby of bidding at tax sales ("to help out local units of government, and, naturally, to make, a little change for myself"), had not known that Colorado law demanded a bid equal at least to the amount of delinquent taxes.

Treasurer Kendrick tried again on two more days, got nothing but a few more fry-sized nibbles. An inquiry came from a Texan who said, "I love lawsuits," admitted he knew nothing about molybdenum. From Grand Junction, Colo, came a telegram bidding $15, from Manhattan one offering $100. A postcard bid from Utica, N. Y. forgot to mention any figure at all. Kendrick gave up, turned the tax-sale certificate over to the county. The county-Climax tax squabble was back where it started.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.