Foshay of Salida

One fine day in the balmy summer of 1929 Secretary of War James William Good, seven Governors, a bevy of Congressmen, some foreign delegates and Sousa's Band turned up in Minneapolis for the dedication of the Foshay Tower--a 32-story skyscraper modeled after the Washington Monument. That was the biggest day in the life of Wilbur Burton Foshay, utilitycoon. Within two months his whole inflated superstructure of utility, finance and real-estate companies collapsed with a $20,000,000 thud. W. B. Foshay went looking for a new job.

He 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"; -"Salida, the Heart of the Rockies." Local bathing beauties posed for the leg art (see cut). The campaign went over fine with the tourists. So did W. B.'s promotion of the fur-bearing trout, which even got into the newsreels.

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.

Now 58, 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.

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