TOAD Talk: Seth Boyd

For the past few years, Mr. Hooper has talked a lot about how everyone here at Thacher – the students, the teachers, the staff – have chosen to do something hard. And we’ve chosen to do something hard despite easier paths available to us. Each of us could have chosen a school that didn’t require us to spend the first six days of the school year in the backcountry, or ask you to muck a stall every morning for an entire year, or ask you to do so much homework every night and every weekend. Easier paths exist, but we chose this one.

The question WHY fascinates me. And I know there are many answers – each one of us likely has our own distinct answer. But I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the story I’m about to share in the context of Thacher and in pursuit of answering this question. This is the most extreme instance of someone choosing the hard path that I know. It is a story that has captured my imagination like nothing else William “Burro” Schmidt was born in Providence, Rhode Island in 1871. He had six brothers and sisters, all of whom died from tuberculosis. Showing signs of illness himself as a young man, he moved to the California desert and eventually staked a mining claim about 35 miles north of Mojave in the Mojave Desert’s El Paso range. For reference, if you’re heading up to Golden Trout, these are the mountains to the right as you pass Red Rock Canyon State Park.

As the legend goes, in 1906 Schmidt loaded his two mules with ore from his mine and set out to deliver it to the smelter in Mojave for the first time. He only made this trip once. The trail was so bad, and it scared him and his two mules so much, that he vowed he would never use it again. This posed a problem: that trail was the only way to get his ore from his mine to a smelter. 

As a solution, Schmidt decided he would dig a tunnel through Copper Mountain so he could bypass the trail. The mountain was half a mile wide and consisted of solid granite. The only tools he had were a pick axe, a shovel, and a four pound hammer. 

Take a moment to imagine digging a tunnel – six feet tall and eight feet wide – from Thacher’s front gate all the way up to the observatory. That’s about a half mile. This is essentially what Schmidt set out to do.

Schmidt started by hauling out the chiseled granite in canvas bags before eventually getting a wheelbarrow. It is estimated that he carried out 5,800 tons of rock from the tunnel. All by hand. All by himself. He would spend the summer months working as a handy man in nearby towns and then return to his cabin on Copper Mountain each fall to dig his tunnel for the rest of the year.

Now this is where the story really becomes fascinating. In 1920, 14 years after Schmidt started digging his tunnel, the state built a road that passed near his mine and went straight to Mojave. Schmidt could finally get to the smelter without using that trail that he disdained. An easier path was literally in front of him. What do you think he did? He kept at it. He kept tunneling for another 18 years. In total, he spent 32 years digging.

Burro Schmidt finished his tunnel in 1938. He was 67 years old. The tunnel’s exit opened onto a steep slope halfway up the mountain. Schmidt never used his tunnel to move ore. Soon after he finished it, he sold the land to another miner and moved to a nearby town.

This past summer, Ms. Berner, our son Arlo, and I made the three hour drive from campus to Burro Schmidt’s Tunnel. Ms. Berner and Arlo were not as excited about this trip as I was. The road leading up the mountain was treacherous and the temperature was above 100 the entire day. When we got to Burro Schmidt’s cabin, the scale of his solitude was clear. We could see for miles without any sign of human presence.

Remarkably, Schmidt’s tunnel is still open. You can walk right in. As I stood inside and touched the cool granite that he chiseled, I was filled with questions. 

What could possibly compel him to get up every morning and return to his tunnel, day after day, for 32 years? 

How much did his body ache at the end of each day?

What did he think about as he made his way, back and forth, through the dark path he created?

What was the moment like when his pick axe pierced the last bit of granite and flooded his tunnel with the blinding light of the Mojave Desert. Did he shout with joy? Did he drop to his knees and weep? Was he disappointed to finish his job?

Mostly, though, I wondered this: What did Schmidt understand about work, finding meaning, and becoming whole through struggle and perseverance?

My two favorite moments of the school year happen in the spring. The first is during Senior Ex weekend. When each senior answers the final question and the audience erupts in applause and the student’s friends rush to offer hugs and high fives. The look of satisfaction and relief on every senior’s face during this quick moment is something I cherish. The second is graduation, when each senior stands on the stage and faces the crows as the accolade detailing each student’s presence on our campus is read aloud. Both moments represent a culmination that is a little bit like Schmidt piercing through that last piece of granite. Both are moments where we witness our students feel the distinct satisfaction and foster some of the wisdom that comes from choosing the hard path and seeing it through. 

Dr. Seth Boys is the chair of Thacher's English Department