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The Governor’s Mansion

I am at Colorado governor Bill Ritter’s official residence. The controversial governor, who was “skewered” for recognising state workers’ unions and transgenders’ rights, did not invite me. Not personally. This is the 10 0th anniversary of his ‘Colorado’s Home’ and he has thrown open its massive double doors to anyone who wants to gawk at its interiors and catch a whiff of its history.

Lydia, with a canopy of shiny white hair in a Cleopatra cut greets us with a gush of enthusiasm. Lydia and her friends are volunteers, their status as long-time residents and gossip column readers giving them impeccable credentials as guides.

They introduce the artefacts and weave an alluring story of the men and women who lived, added to and renovated the complex as Denver grew to be the capital of this Rocky Mountain state.

In 1861, a gaunt 23-year-old Walter S. Cheeseman arrived in Denver on an ox-cart from New York to replace his brother in the drugstore business. He prospered in spite of a devastating fire, cultivated upper-end citizenry, invested in Denver rail, established the city’s water distribution systems, built the Cheeseman dam, and at 46, married the lovely widow Alice Foster and had a daughter.

Gladys was daddy’s girl. Cheeseman bought the best address in the city to build a house for her but died before his grand blueprint could rise in brick and mortar. In 1907, six months after his death, Mrs. Cheeseman and Gladys began work on the 27-room mansion.

This red brick house on Logan Hill, with its white trim, Roman Ionic columns, mahogany woodwork, dark oak floors, terraced lawns and the six-foot wrought iron fence was an instant hit. In 1908, invitees gathered in the drawing room to watch Gladys marry John Evans from the governor’s family. Gladys moved out with husband, Mrs. Cheeseman died in 1923 and the house was sold, rather cheap.

Claude and Edna Boettcher made significant alterations to 400, EE Avenue. Boettcher broke walls, enlarged rooms, replaced furnishings, added artefacts, and transferred vanloads of antiques from his Florida estate.

Elegance gave way to opulence. Silver, marble jade, amber, china and crystal sparkled everywhere. The finest linen covered the tables and beds. A parking lot came up, so did an elevator. Music, dance and food flowed in the palatial drawing room along with the choicest liquor.

When Boettcher died, the Foundation he started to promote education and research decided to gift the mansion to the State. The exquisite Boettcher treasures would be on permanent display.

The government enlarged the garden space for outdoor activities. Governor Owens’ wife Frances raised enough private funds for a thorough restoration of the mansion and its surroundings.

Lydia watches our popping eyes as we move from piece to exquisite piece. “The Gobelin tapestries are original,” she says, allowing a quick touch.

She clears the authenticity of the furniture (Louis XIV or imitation?), chandeliers (Venice or local?), lamps (jade or fluorite?) and figurines (Chinese or Japanese?), points to the swags on the ceilings, grill patterns showing Boettcher’s businesses, lamps whose colours could be changed to match the hostess’s gown, chairs designed for men and women so the wine bearers knew what to serve.

“The pattern on the carpet matches that on the corner of the massive dining table,” she concludes.

A wheelchair-accessible walkway takes us to the renovated carriage house. No horses whinny there now; the large halls and the garden are leased out — the king’s ransom you pay for the privilege will allow you, along with bragging rights (“I saw the gov in the room upstairs!”) the use of official china.

“It’s a woman-centric house,” nods Lydia happily. “The Cheeseman women built it, Boettcher bought and transferred it to his wife.” Jeannie walks us into the much made-over room on the left. “This started life as John Evans’ office, became Mrs. Cheeseman’s music room, Boettcher’s billiards room and settled down as the bar. Now it is a photo gallery.”

Standing near a collection she says, “These are the wives of the governors. You’ll rarely see officers’ wives enjoy this honour.” We enjoy the photographs — they trace women’s clothing trends in the last half century.

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