Anaconda, Montana, 1914--
Some Observations by the Wanderer
What would the immortal George Washington say if he came to Butte for a day?
The dapper young swell would greet him, of course, with a few remarks, and into his speech inject enough of the present day lingo to make the father of his country wonder what the world is coming to.
"Lo, old top; you look like the ready-cash gazabo come to pipe the gang. Now, for a starter, suppose you shoot your lamps at that across the pike -- isn't she a pippin?"
"Old top, lamps, pippin? I do not understand your language, sir."
"Now, what do you know about that? Wouldn't it crimp you? Forget it, bo, get wise, take my hunch and polish your peepers. I'll put you next to yourself. You sailed in to see dear old Butte, didn't you? Then take my wing and we'll trek over to the swellest cabaret you ever bumped into. Some doings over there, believe me."
"Believe you? Why, my good man, I cannot believe my ears, or" -- his gaze riveted on a wisp of modern femininity, garbed up to the minute -- "my eyes, either."
"Ah, what's the gag; hereto pipe the procesh, ain't you? You're handing me something but don't you do it, see? You need a gin ricky; or how would a flapdoodle kerplunk dingbat at the Dutchman's strike you? Your pipes hot? Come on over to the glassy mahogany and we'll look at Reuben. No? How'd a trolley down to the place where they give a correct imitation of the hesitation and the bunny hug hit you? Can you fall for the dance? Looking for a joy ride? Name your choice and I'll dig; let's paint the old burg a lurid carinine, eh? Get me?"
"How strange it all seems. Would that my sleep had not been disturbed by the Mexican silence at Washington."
"Come out of it, old scout; you haven't sized up this dump yet. There's peaches and cream all over town. Take my steer and don't let any good thing get by."
"Farewell, my country; again, farewell my countrymen. This is not my counter -- these are not my countrymen. By heck, where am I at?"
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The old-fashioned man who established a checken ranch that his heir might enjoy the fruits thereof has a son who is doing his best to keep tab on the chickens.
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The average man who comes to see the sights of the town usually obtains his first impressions in the big mirror behind the mahogany.
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A new suit of clothes, a shine, a shave, a hat with the bow behind and a $10 bill have made millionaires out of many hard-working men.
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The apple of mother's eye sometimes develops into a pippin; often is regarded as a winesap; sometimes as a wealthy, but more than ever, as the summer approaches, she swings into the early transparent species.
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Father used to black his boots with soot from the stove lid and mother, on Sundays put a little corn starch on her ruddy chin. Both used charcoal on their teeth and read the Bible and preferred each other's company on all occasions. This day brings forth sons and daughters who never open the family Bible, never both about father only when money is needed and never mention mother's name in society and prefer any other company to that of their parents.
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Sometimes it is a fact that the man who picks his teeth with his fork and wipes off his whiskers with his knife and uses his fingers to lift the flapjacks to his mouth and passes up the finger bowl can write a check for thousands and live in his own house.
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It has been written that he who hesitates loses. That's all at variance with fact today -- the one who can hesitation best wins the prettiest girl.
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The good fellow invites half a dozen up to the bar and throws up two of the biggest silver dollars he can find. He accompanies his wife to church and fishes around in his pocket for the smallest nickel to throw into the plate.
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The majority of residents of Anaconda are not aware of the fact that a railroad used to run from a point near Washoe park diagonally across lots to Sheep gulch, up to a great quarry from which many hundreds of carloads of building rock had been taken. Lime rock also was mined in that part of the gulch and there were lime kilns there, too. Only traces remain of that once important industry.
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A man who says he is a pioneer of Anaconda, having come here about 17 years ago, accompanied a real old-timer up Park avenue the other day. Passing the brick building across the alley west of the Montana hotel the old-timer said to his young old-time friend:
"That building was the first brick church in Anaconda, one of the very first churches built here, if not the first."
The 17-year old-timer looked up and down the sides of the brick house and then at the old-timer. "That right? That a church once?"
"Sure it was, built by the Rev. Mr. Stanley, a pioneer South Methodist minister."
"Well, I'll be -- I didn't know that."
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And John L. Sullivan visited Anaconda in the early '80s, in the heyday of his importance as a fistic expert. He drew an enormous crowd to the old skating rink down in First street, since named Commercial avenue.
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One sees a very large number of things in one day in Butte if one be inclined to observe things in passing. One can almost say that one sees some things that are not in sight, so much is there before one's eyes. So much may be seen now that could not be seen a month ago. Butte is a remarkable town in many remarkable respects. It grows, it keeps apace, as they say in suffragist meetings, it is in some respects ahead of itself, and it never looks back to see if the rest of the procession is coming.
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The observer notes a wonderful change in everything, including fashions, since last fall. Now they wear high hats and flat hats, whereas last fall they wore flat hats and high hats, only they were built on different lines last fall.
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The observing visitor also notes a radical change in man's apparel. Looking back 25 years ago the observer beholds a kindly old gentleman in the act of shooting a man wearing a thing called a coat that looks more like something that someone had thrown out of a window and which fell on something alive. Nowadays that thing is called a top coat and the man wears it without molestation -- for it is vogue.
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The whiskey is the same, the people are the same, the atmosphere is the same, the cigars are the same, the hotels are the same -- only some visitors imagine that because they are away form home they can stand more abuse than they can at home.
--The Anaconda Standard, Anaconda, Montana, March 22, 1914, page 4.
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