On December 20, 1927, a rental lease and purchase agreement was made between the company and Mr. Jacob F. Smith of New York and a little later he sold to the Vermont Marble Co. who (to this date, 1959) still own the quarry. While the City of Marble never reached its former status, it was a thriving place, employing several hundred men and marble was once again being shipped to all parts of the United States. The contract for the block of marble suitable for the tomb of the Unknown Soldier was obtained in 1930, and the largest block of marble (100 tons) ever quarried in the world was cut out early in 1931. It was moved out onto the floor of the quarry and sawed down to specifications, 56 tons plus one ton to be taken off in the finishing. It was lowered down the tramway guided by huge cranes, to the trolley track at the foot of the mountain. Then with one trolley in front (Elmer Bair, motorman) and another behind (Johnny Fenton, motorman) weighted and tied together, it was skidded on the rails down to the mill; taking three days to go the 3.9 miles, arriving at the mill February 3, 1931. Special night and day guards to prevent souvenir hunters from chipping it for momentoes, were stationed near the block the four days it was in the yard. Then it was placed on a flat car, crated, braced and started on its way to Proctor, Vermont. There it was trued to perfection with surveyor’s instruments and sent to Arlington Cemetery, Washington, D. C., where the company sculptors carved the designs on it. The Vermont Marble Co.’s branch, Colorado Yule Marble Co., continued to operate both the quarry and the mill until the rumblings of World War II, 1941 were being heard. Some of the employees were going back to Europe, some were volunteering to go into the service here in the United States, all steel was going into defense, and contracts could not be obtained, so there was nothing to do but close down again. August 9, 1941 was a hot sultry day, dark ominous clouds covered the heavens, and a few big drops of rain began to fall. There were several deafening claps of thunder and zigzagging streaks of lightning crossed the sky. Then it all seemed to pass away. I was going about my work as usual when one of my neighbors, Mrs. George T. Harris (nee Anna Reheuser) hurried through the back door. “Oh, Mrs. Herman,” she screamed, “the town is being washed away.” “Oh, go on with you,” I answered, “it isn’t even raining.” “I’m not joking, there’s been a cloudburst up Carbonate Creek and the whole town is being washed away.” The cloud had burst about three miles up the canyon and the water had backed up behind some beaver dams and log jams which had been unable to withstand the pressure and it had all come down at one time, cutting a swath a block wide through the entire town, north to south, to the Crystal River. The property damage was heavy, but no lives were lost.