All Entries Tagged With: "Western"
Tommyknocker Tales
The following could be the first in a series of four or may be the last in a series of one.
It was 1975. I was camped up Marshall Basin near the Bullion Tunnel in the heart and bones of what was once one of the richest, silver producing mines in North America, the Smuggler-Union. Even upon my arrival, which occurred at pale light on an angelic summer evening, I felt that I had company. When darkness fell I attempted to start a campfire but the damn thing kept going out due to a persistent breeze that only seemed to come up when I lit the scant pieces of quakey that I had hauled up the hill in my pack.
It was getting colder as I reached for my ax which I had leaned against a volunteer ponderosa which, at this snarled elevation, looked like it missed the last ore cart off the mountain a long time ago. The ax was gone, moved rather, across a tiny gulch, propped up against a pile of rocks that led to the dilapidated tunnel. I went to retrieve the tool and get on with dinner.
Grabbing the implement I shot a glance in the direction of the old boarding house. It was then that I heard voices, laughter, but it wasn’t coming from the skeleton of lumber and rock. It was coming from behind me. I turned quickly and was amazed to see a small man with a mule standing next to my once insolent fire which was now blazing away like hell’s own combustion furnace. The small figure beckoned me to join them at the hearth and I’d swear to this day on a stack of mining claims that the mule winked at me.
As I pendulously meandered in the direction of what had been the core of my evening’s festivities I heard the little man talking to the mule. This was not their virgin conversation and she jadedly hung on every word.
“Looks like we got a dinner invite,” said the man clanking along, searching through a conglomeration of rusty gear piled high atop the back of his four-legged companion. “Oh, put your ears down, Becky, I’m just looking for that caste iron fry pan. What did you do with it, you stringy beast?”
The mule responded, much like her fellows do, with as grunt. She stomped her feet and eyeballed the familiar intruder, her blinkers set way back in her fickle noggin.
“There it is,” whispered to the sky. Then he shot a glance in my direction.
“You’re on my land, boy. I filed on this piece in 1889 a few years before the Smuggler-Union started producing. What are you doing up here anyway, and at night to boot.”
His voice seemed distant. Both he and his mule patiently waited for my reply.
“Just camping, sir,” I spouted, quickly aware that I may have been too formal. It was my parochial education coming back to bite me on the posterior once again.
“Camping? What kind of nonsense is camping? Hell, son, when you live in these mountains the only camping worth a toot is in the bath tub at the Brown Palace over across the hill. You nuts kid?”
He then surgically extracted my entire life in a matter of moments and, after listening intently, told me point blank that none of my kind had any respect for what our forerunners had done to tame these mountains.
“Bunch of damn tinhorns in funny shoes,” he said peering down at my Italian hiking boots that cost even more than a light lunch in Picadilly Circus.
“Now just a minute, sir,” I started. “First you tell me I’m trespassing, then you ask me a lot of personal questions, now you tell me I don’t have any respect. If I was one of those people you’re gabbing about I’d still be back in Denver married to some perfume clerk, selling BMWs. Sure, I’m a bit green but I’ll bet you were too when you first crossed the Divide.”
The man stared at me and said, “What’s for dinner, sonny?”
I said “Stew. I made it last night, then froze it in these zip-lock bags…”
“Kind of like an old bear burying his dinner for a few days before eating.”
Despite his initial hesitancy with the packaging methods he scarfed down the stew. It was like he hadn’t eaten in years. Even the mule had a go at the stuff, eagerly licking the pan at the end of the meal.
“So, what do you intend to do for work in these parts?” he shot out of nowhere. “The mines are all but closed and there’s never been any money in ranching, unless you got cows full of gold.
“Of course, come to think of it most of the miners were working for $2.50 a day back at the turn-of-the-century, and that was 10 hours, boy, with no coffee breaks in a dark, dangerous hole in the ground. We always said it was like digging your way to hell, an hour at a time. But from some of the things I’ve seen hell could be no worse. If not for the union it would have been impossible. Did I mention that I was a union man?”
It was then that he embarked on the epic, though unsolicited history lesson of the day. He talked of snow slides that wiped out mining camps in minutes and rousing dance hall interludes. He told me about William Jennings Bryan and his Cross of Gold “conspiracy” as he called it. I heard about Jack Dempsey and Lillian Gish then more about Buckley Wells and Sarah Bernhardt. His attention to detail was quite impressive considering his years. He acted as if he had known them all.
“On a Saturday night you could drink with miners from all over the world. Finns, Cornish, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Serbs and even a few Chinese thrown in for spice,” he smiled. “Then there were the Irish, like me. Most were in the union.”
“Were you born in Ireland?”
“Of course, boy. Where else? Came over on a clipper.
I asked him his name.
“Patrick McGinty…and yours?”
We talked all night. Becky seemed to be taking shorthand in the lichen. I invited him to share my fire till dawn and was soundly scolded since, after all I was trespassing in the first place.
“No, we’ve got to be going. Tomorrow I’ve got to go down to Ames and visit the doctor. Mercury poisoning you know. But if you’ll come back here next Friday night we’ll meet up with you,” he said. “There’s a mound of history that we need to drill into your head.”
I promised to return, feeling rather flattered that he sought the company of newcomer like me.
Patrick McGinty. Now there’s a name with character. When I landed back in Telluride on Monday I stopped by the courthouse to check on his stimulating credentials. After about a half hour of searching farther and farther back into the dusty records I found a McGinty, a bachelor named Patrick who had come to Telluride in 1884 from County Clare. It read: Patrick McGinty: Born March 20,1865, died July 3, 1901, during the labor trouble at the Smuggler-Union. A union man.
Next time: “A Visit With a Dead Man at 12,000 Feet”
Baptized in the Blues Red Hot Experience
Former Gunnison resident, Paul O’Sullivan, who now lives in Minneapolis, has hit a home run with Baptized in the Blues, featuring wife Annie Mack on lead vocals. The blues, often more traditional than innovative, gets a free limo ride downtown on this incredible CD.
The majority of songs, written by Annie and Paul, feature everything from Little Bitty Girl Blues, a fast moving song about growing up hard, to Walking Dead, a song about personal courage and the ability to stand up to it all. Call on Jesus grabs you right in the Bible belt with a bit of well-placed gospel moaning and wailing. Fool to Believe introduces rhythm and blues into the mix.
Perhaps my favorite song Saving Grace, talks about a mother’s love for her child. This powerful piece, written by Annie Mack and Tom Koochie, flows freely with lyrics such as “She speaks colors and laughs melodies. Wisdom draws her close, peace sits at her feet”.
Produced by O’Sullivan, who plays guitar and pedal steel, the work features Tom Koochie (who penned several songs) on guitar; Charley Lacy on guitar; Tim Scriber on bass and Miles Johnson on drums.
Anyone who enjoys the blues should give this CD a listen or two. It’s a lot of heat coming from a cold city up north. www.anniemackblues.com
WHAT I’VE FOUND OUT
There is virtually no mention of motorized travel in the Book of Genesis.
Stuffing a turkey and stuffing a ballot box are relatively simple once one gets the hang of it.
Having instant access to all that data on the Internet will not make you any smarter, especially with a lingering screen saver mentality.
In the recent Presidential campaign nobody catered to the Norwegian vote.
As far as predicting the severity of winter one might be far better measuring the amount of fur on the belly of a snowshoe rabbit as relying on the weather forecast on television.
There is a Burger King (cultural export) adjacent to several 16th Century buildings in central Guadalajara.
Cowboy Sundays last just a little bit longer than other ones.
Very few restaurants feature Canadian-American cuisine.
Ronald Reagan, Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge and Richard Nixon have been rather quiet for quite a while now, although their stunning legacies have been kept on extensive life support.
Uninformed voters who show up at the polls with pencil in hand invalidate the election. Why then do all of our peter pan patriots keep urging them to vote when they are dolts?
The money spent to combat whirling disease at the Roaring Judy Fish Hatchery comes out to just a little under ten dollars per fish.
The purpose of the indentation at the bottom of a wine bottle is to trap the sediments in the wine.
If one’s monthly liquor bill is higher than the GNP of a small Latin American country maybe he/she should find a new interests.
Robert Todd Lincoln, son of Abraham Lincoln, was present at the assassinations of three presidents: his father’s, President Garfield’s and President McKinley’s. After the last shooting he refused ever to attend a state function again.
One ostrich egg can make up to twelve omelets.
In ancient Greece it was illegal to project the winner of an election until all the votes were counted. An actual democracy existed there for about ten years. In the United States, where projection is the rule, we have never had a true democracy.
Pirates have a lot more fun than accountants.
If one watches carefully he can detect a slight smile on the pouch of a pelican after dinner, despite his repetitious diet of fish.
Tex Offenders Must Register
Ridgway) Convicted Tex Offenders must register in their specific neighborhoods so as to comply with new anti-discrimination precepts passed here by the local town council. The ruling includes anyone who has knowingly offended visitors from Texas.
“This is no summer romance,” said one councilperson. “We are baring the sharp teeth of the law to all seasons.”
This get tough attitude is an exemplary segment of a progressive approach to marketing tourism in Western Colorado.
“Why anyone would want to offend these nice people is beyond my comprehension,” said the council member who is originally from Dripping Springs. “We certainly don’t want these kinds of rude and ignorant people roaming around our neighborhoods at will.”
The law clearly states that persons of this shady demeanor should not be allowed access to the general population without first displaying their dirty laundry, or rap sheet, for all to see. The council voted unanimously on the issue stating that it specifically forbade contact with impressionable persons and banned disparaging opinions originating from those in a position of trust with younger citizens.
Terms such as flatlander, turkey and geek will not be tolerated in accordance with the ordinance. Most Coloradoans make no distinction between people from New York or Texas, since, quite frankly, it is what it is. Newcomers are often the most guilty of these affronts, scorning Texans and other visitors to make themselves look better.
“Employing stereotypes aimed at one group or another is downright ignorant and destructive,” said the source. “We welcome these visitors to our mountains even if they do talk funny.”
Whether or not Californians would be covered by the decision was not known at press time. – Kashmir Horseshoe
FREEDOM TAPPED AS ASSEMBLYMAN
(Ridgway) Ed Freedom is a perfect fit for local politics. The prospect of such a surname on the ballot has had king makers drooling since back when the earth was only 6000 years old and a game of pool cost a quarter.
The Manana car wash jockey, who manages to reside in a prestigious baited community on his puny salary, has been wined and dined by both major political parties in hopes that he will fill candidate gaps in the next election.
Unreliable pollsters outside the former Little Schlepp Saloon here say Freedom is a sure thing since he appeals to an electorate that responds not to the issues but to name recognition and lots of noise.
“We are not saying Ed will make an impact,” said Shirley Chizzle, executive director of the GOP. “He is electable. Who would vote against someone named Freedom? It’s unpatriotic!”
Meanwhile the local Democrats have been busy convincing Ed to run with them.
“What a perfect populist name,” said a party line Democrat. “He may be an imbecile but he can be created from scratch to appeal to the fears of the electorate, and that’s all that really matters these days.
Both party spokespersons expect to throw around even more campaign money than in the last election.
“Donations will flow with any candidate named Freedom,” said the Dem, “and we do not intend on being left with the short straw. After he is firmly entrenched in his seat we don’t care about his morals or his taste in neckties.”
“The whole process is about money,” laughed a GOP source. “We can insert here and edit there until we create a candidate that will have American appeal.”
The spokesperson did not elaborate when asked to define that particular term.
Both factions expressed concern that Freedom needs polish and some rudimentary education as to the issues prior to announcing his candidacy. Positions such as assemblyman, or even dogcatcher, can catapult the uninitiated into positions of relevance. However, the early days in the public eye demand eye contact, quick response and sacred adherence to the party platform.
“We damn sure don’t want the buttermilk coming through the cream,” said Freedom’s advisor and confidant Mickey “Peg Leg” O’Sullivan who, along with Freedom, were the last two citizens busted for marijuana use in Colorado, back in December. (Colorado legalized the drug in January).
“Expect Ed to do well with the Gimme Democrats and the Trailer Park Republicans,” said O’Sullivan. “Throw in a few well placed scandals, millions in TV advertising, regular church attendance and maybe a cute puppy in his arms and Ed will be on his way to the State House in 2016.”
– Syd Fardt
