From the iconic to the invisible, Jim Bradburn leaves a legacy at state and local levels

The details of my memory from 1995 are fuzzy. For example, I do not know who was driving the vehicle or why exactly we were going to the airport in the first place. But what I do recall is looking out the window excitedly for the white tent tops of the newly opened Denver Interna­tional Airport. In the blessed days before the terror attacks of 9/11, the airport’s main hall and terminals were essen­tially open to the public, and it was common for sightseers simply to drive and tour the world’s most technologically sophisticated airport and ride the subterranean train that connected the three terminals to the iconic main hall cov­ered by a huge permanent tent.

I managed to get in the nose of one of the trains and was thrilled to see the little art features and shiny fans the builders had placed on the side of the tunnels, which spun furiously as the train flew by. The automatic doors and the overhead voice were pretty neat as well when the train slowed into a station. For a young boy, the tour of the airport was supremely cool, even though I was just there to see the place and not passing through as a traveler. The airport was a wonder to Coloradans at the time of its opening, and I could never have predicted I would meet the visionary man who designed the DIA’s iconic tent roof. Of course, we did not meet in a towering testament to architecture, but instead when he visited the dilapidated but rustically charming con­fines of the old Wet Mountain Tribune office.

Jim Bradburn was tall, even taller than my own six feet and two inches, and he had to stoop even lower through the short doorway of the old miner’s cabin to step into the “reporters” wing of the Tribune office in 2016. I was new to the Trib, and he passed by my hallway desk on his way to W.A. Ewing’s writing cubby to talk and interview about a new Dark Skies program he was heading up in the commu­nity. While the rest of the state, and a good portion of the world, might recognize his unique design as the architect of DIA, he had given up that life to live a vastly simpler one in 2004 in the Wet Mountain Valley.

That impactful but straightforward life in the Valley came to an end last week, and I received word on October 17 that he had passed after a long health battle.

An accomplished mountaineer and astronomy enthusiast, the Wet Mountain Valley was the perfect place for him and his wife, Gayle, to retire. Because the Valley has tall peaks on the west and east sides that block most city light pollution, Bradburn wanted to help locals keep the Milky Way visible to the naked eye at night. He was in the Trib office to discuss a program that replaced old street lamps with shielded and more efficient LED lights. Bradburn’s passion was not worn on his sleeve; he was quiet in the office at first, but Ewing slowly revealed Bradburn’s knowledge and care for the local commu­nity and its surrounding environment.

I watched Bradburn at several meetings over the next several years as he asked the local community to expand the International Dark Skies Certification that the two towns had received in 2015 to the rest of Custer County. It struck me during those community discussions that Brad­burn was trying to protect something invisible, even though he had spent most of his career building things designed to be eye-catching. He understood nuance, and it was his ability to listen to the community that helped make West­cliffe and Silver Cliff the first Dark Skies certified towns in Colorado, and the 9th certified in the world at the time.

He had a profound grasp of the world and how it worked, yet it went almost completely unseen by most people both then and now. For example, when he was pitching the local Planning and Zoning Board on expanding the Dark Skies Certification to Custer County, making it a Dark Skies Preserve, he faced a mostly deaf and sometimes antagonistic crowd of contrarian opponents. In a follow-up open letter to the editor published on February 8, 2018, after the Custer Zoning and Planning Commission voted down the rules that would have made the area a Dark Skies Preserve, Bradburn stated, “Your commission chair said your review on the P&Z Regulations does not involve eco­nomics. I respectfully disagree. Everything revolves around economics. So I believe you should be thinking about how any new additions to or removals from the present regula­tions will affect the economic viability of our county.”

He continued, articulating what Dark Skies really was. “Our dark skies are both a legacy and an asset. A legacy because all of us who have had the privilege to live in this Valley know what a wonder it is to still be able to see the Milky Way arching over our homes. It’s an asset, because it is a fact that people are paying money to come here to see and photograph our dark skies. So preserving this asset for its economic benefits is something we should understand more thoroughly.”

Most people, when they start a project, actually begin with an answer and proceed from there. They rarely actually start with a question. Bradburn seemed to have that ability to really sit within himself and ask the question that they are too afraid even to ponder: “Why are we doing this?” For example, because of Denver’s central location in North America, it has become a profitable place for airlines, the Air Force, and defense manufacturers to center their operations. Denver had become the central hub for many airlines, and the coasts acted as spokes on a wheel. An airport expan­sion was needed because the city surrounded the existing Stapleton airport and could not expand. However, Colorado was suffering from the oil and mineral bust in the late 1980s, and it was limited in funds to build a new airport to boost commerce in the metro area and the state. Other architects had suggested huge projects, with steel beams and modernist glass buildings. But the cost was unworkable.

Bradburn asked himself, “How do we build a great hall terminal that will entice weary travelers, workers, and capture the light and feeling that makes Colorado special?” A cluster of Native American tents had surely occupied the prairie in the past, where DIA would be built. And a tent using woven fiberglass covered in Teflon would not only be sturdy, but also reduce the cost and complexity of the mas­sive terminal. The tent solved budget problems for a poor state and also addressed lighting issues. It was attractive, unique, and attracted global attention, which drove business to the airport. In 2025, it is estimated that the airport will contribute $47 billion per year to the economy. The project cost $5 billion in 1995. In short, Bradburn knew how to meld beauty, budgeting , and commerce together.

In the Wet Mountain Valley, his work as President of Dark Skies Inc. in 2015 not only achieved the protection of a beautiful place but also encouraged a type of com­merce that was conservationist at heart. Ten years after the International Dark Skies Certification, the economic value he helped create is immense, though at an almost invisible cost in dollars. There are over a dozen businesses with names or products inspired by our dark skies, from new entries like the Steller Inn and the Constellation to older ones like Dark Skies Vacations and the Dark Skies Suites. Tens of millions of dollars have come to the Valley in the last 10 years thanks to Dark Skies Inc., and tens of millions more in the future. Bradburn had an eye for asking why we would do something and methodically proceeded to develop plans to achieve that vision in a manner so detailed that only a practiced architect would conceive.

There is much I have left out about Bradburn. Still, for this tribute to his memory, I can record that this community and the state of Colorado have been forever impacted by his wisdom, kindness, and vision for a community that lies far in the future.

– Jordan Hedberg

For a more detailed story on Bradburn, click here for Bradburn, the man behind the tents.