A town named after Kit Carson should have a story.

 

A couple Steve Dancy Tales take place in Carson City. I like the town. I like it today and I like historic Carson City. Since statehood, it has always been the capital of Nevada which made it a political town with pretensions of civility. Virginia City, however, was twenty miles away and it rightly deserves its reputation as one of the rowdiest mining towns of the Old West. Until the mines played out in the 1880s, the Comstock Lode made Virginia City and Carson City very wealthy.

Carson City acted as a freight center and supply depot for the mines. Extensive flumes carried pine logs down the eastern slope of the Sierras to Carson City. Sawmills to finish these raw logs were a major city industry and the finished lumber shored up mine tunnels and provided boards for building above ground. The short run Virginia & Truckee Railroad transported timber, people, and foodstuffs from Carson City to Virginia City. At its peak, thirty-six trains a day passed between the two cities. The pair of towns were bustling, with the best housing, food, liquor, and entertainment that money could buy.

Here’s a description of Carson City excepted from The Shopkeeper. Steve Dancy and Jeff Sharp are just riding into town.

Carson City had been settled as a trading post less than thirty years earlier, so I should not have expected the sophistication of Denver or St. Louis. I had visited both cities, and neither was the primitive hinterland a New Yorker might expect. Carson City, on the other hand, lived up to the image of a new-made town populated by people who had nothing but wanted everything.

After we passed the railroad station and approached the statehouse, the town began to look a bit more established. The main thoroughfare was crowded with wagons, horses, and people bustling about with purpose. Although the commercial district had the same disheveled look as most of the other towns in the West, the residences along the side avenues set Carson City apart. Radiating off the central artery were numerous tree-lined lanes with houses substantial enough to indicate that people intended to stay awhile. In fact, some of these homes were large and well designed.

I glanced up another side lane with nice homes set back from the street. “Looks like there’s some money in Carson City. Settled money.”

“For a mine to prosper, you need two things: lumber to shore up the shafts an’ a way to transport your bullion to market. Trees an’ trains. Carson City has a lock on both. Sometimes I think we miners just toil for a bunch of shysters in starched collars.”

“Which reminds me, I want to buy some clothes while we’re here.”

Sharp pointed ahead. “That’s the new state capitol building. Wherever ya find politicians, ya’ll find haberdasheries.”

The stately capitol building looked sturdy and permanent, as befitted the only pretense to law and order in a society struggling against anarchy. The structure sat in the center of a city block, surrounded by a pleasant park with footpaths, trees, and neatly groomed grass. A white cupola with a silver roof capped the two-story sandstone building, giving it a Federal-style appearance that I had seldom seen west of the Continental Divide.

“Looks impressive.”

“Looks deceive.” Sharp spit. “A more corrupt state government you will not find.”

Honest westerns filled with dishonest characters.

A Fun Night in Virginia City

Last post I wrote that Mark Twain, Owen Wister and Wells Drury portrayed Westerners as particularly fond of pranks and practical jokes. Here is a tale Drury related in his Virginia City memoir titled An Editor on the Comstock Lode.

Rich mining towns attracted all sorts of people, including entertainers. Supposedly, a ham actor named O’Neil arrived at Pat Holland’s Music Hall begging for a job. Holland was known as a gentle practical joker, but would “never think of doing anything more serious than breaking a man’s leg.” He asked O’Neil if he could dance. After a brief audition, Holland decided to “work him for a game.”

“Have you ever tried Professor Morse slippers?” Holland asked.

“Never heard of them,” O’Neil responded.

“They’re a pair of electric slippers and we offer a prize if you can wear them without dancing. There are few who can wear them without cavortin’ all around the stage. If we could find a man who could stand it, we could win a barrel of money ‘cuz the men’d all bet against the game. Ye’ve a mind to try it.”

O’Neil agreed. After the slippers were strapped to his feet, Holland kept telling his stage manager to increase the current, but O’Neil never felt a thing. Finally, Holland ordered his man to “Jam it all on.” Still, O’Neil never flinched.

“Can ye do it?” Holland asked.

“Don’t ya call this doin’ it?”

“Ye’re right! Now for ropin’ in the huskies. Tomorrow we’ll win the majority of the money on the eastern slope of Mount Davidson, and ye shall have half of all we win.”

The next day posters were spread all over town announcing the challenge.  The Music Hall was standing room only that evening. After several preliminary acts, O’Neil was introduced to a roaring crowd.

“Gents, ye see before ye a stranger who proposes to show ye that he can wear Professor Morse slippers for five minutes without jumpin’ around,” Holland announced. “If anybody wants to gamble on the proposition, he’s my Injun.”

The hall was in pandemonium, with everybody holding up $20 gold coins. Holland consulted with his partners and announced that bets would be limited to $1,000, so the crowd needed to consolidate their wagers. A stakeholder and clerks were brought on stage and soon stacks upon stacks of gold coins weighted down the tables. Finally, over $10,000 had been wagered and O’Neil was getting visibly excited at the possibility of winning half of the stake.

A committee was appointed from the crowd of onlookers to remove O’Neil’s boots and put the slippers on his feet.  O’Neil began to brag, “I could walk across the great American desert with them slippers and never make a skip.”

“Turn on yer steam!” an engineer shouted.

O’Neil walked around the stage with nary a skip. At the four minute mark, O’Neil shouted, “I’ve only a minute longer, and I’d like to bet $1,000 I can make it. I’ll call it two thousand!”

About that time, O’Neil yelped and danced and shrieked and jumped. “Take ‘em off!” he screamed.

The crowd of miners yelled and whooped.

Holland had the electricity turned off, and O’Neil gradually recovered from his ordeal. He was pulling on his boots when Holland emerged from backstage with a navy six-shooter.

Cocking the pistol, Holland yelled, “Villain! Ye’ve ruined me. I’ve a notion to murder ye!

“No! Please don’t shoot!”

“Out of my sight. Git!” Holland yelled as he fired into the ceiling.

O’Neil ran for his life, knocking several people down who were hanging around the stage.

Holland made $500 off admission fees and all of the wager money was returned the rightful owners ... who had all been in on the prank.

Favorite Western Writer

Mark Twain in Virginia City by Andy Thomas

My favorite Western writer is Mark Twain. Owen Wister is second. These are probably not names that come immediately to mind when thinking about Westerns, but both of these authors actually experienced the American frontier. They were there and they wrote about it so fondly that the Wild West became a cultural icon. The whole world devoured Western stories. The American Western became a staple of fiction, Hollywood, television, and daydreams.

In Roughing It, Twain tells tall tales about his time in Virginia City. It is supposed to be a nonfiction memoir, but is probably about as truthful as The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. I suspect the two men would have admired each other's ability to make a point by telling a story.

Philip Pullman said, "Thou shalt not is soon forgotten, but Once upon a time lasts forever." The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a perfect example of this axiom. Below are a few handwritten pages from this great American classic. 

Handwritten manuscripts fascinate me. I used James Madison's convention notes when I wrote Tempest at Dawn. His notes were over 230,000 words; all recorded by dipping a quill into an inkwell. I marvel that in olden days, authors  maintained continuity without the cut and paste capabilities of a modern computer. Before word processors, writers had to keep future sentences in their head as their hand scrambled to keep up with their thoughts. Tough work that required exceptional mental agility. I thank Bill Gates daily for MS Word. 

Note: the original title does not include the word The. Recent editions have generally added The.

"Thar's gold in them thar hills."

After a healthy breakfast, we took a morning walk in a residential area of Gardnerville. The air was brisk, sky clear, and the surrounding mountains breathtaking. These acre-plus, rural lots lodged horses, dogs, poultry, restored antique trackers, friendly neighbors, and apple trees in full blossom.

Late morning, we took off for Virginia City. Not much had changed since my last visit … which was good. Except for the crowds. My last visit was during the height of summer tourism, with people crowding the streets, cafes, saloons, museums, and shops. This time we had this historic town all to ourselves. I was surprised that everyone could answer our most obscure questions. The people who work in Virginia City know town history and trivia.

In one store, a friendly old coot told us all about the guns, ore samples, and minerals on display. To prove his bona fides, he pulled out his wallet to show us his membership card in a gold miner association and photographs of nuggets he had found. Then he lifted a chain around his neck to display the Pièce de résistance, a one-ounce gold nugget. We were impressed and let him convince us to buy a 50 million year old insect embedded in a piece of amber. For $34, it would be a unique gift for our rock hound grandson. When I pulled out my wallet, he said I needed to go find someone who worked in the shop. That was a surprise. For all of his familiarity with the stock and his astute salesmanship, I had assumed he was connected with the store, but no, he was just an old miner eager to share his knowledge with tourists. We discovered our friendly miner was not exceptional. 

At lunch, we discovered our relentlessly cute server had lived and worked in Virginia City for eons. When asked a casual question about Mark Twain, she proved smarter than my wife's iPhone and more knowledgeable than most American Literature professors about Twain's stint in Virginia City. 

With limited crowds, the shopkeepers, barkeeps, and café employees were all eager to share information about their historic town. We had a great day, and I gathered up some material for the next Steve Dancy Tale.

On The Road Again

We left Beatty, Nevada fairly early in the morning yesterday and stopped for breakfast in Tonopah, Nevada. This was a nostalgic stop. A few years ago, the four of us got caught driving in a white-out blizzard that had us nervous as hell. To say there was nothing in this part of Nevada would be an understatement. Then Tonopah came into blurred view through the windshield. The main casino in town was the most beautiful oasis of light and warmth on the planet. Checking in, we discovered $29 rooms that came with a roll of nickels and a five dollar discount certificate for the restaurant. We had landed in a toasty haven of congeniality.

This visit was different. In clear weather, the casino looked threadbare and dusty. Breakfast was of the mass quantities variety, with omelets the size of a football. The food was good and the people rural America friendly. Trouble didn't come until we asked the bill to be evenly split between two credit cards. Our server looked struck by pure terror. The bill was $38.43, and she laid chits on the table for $20.18 and $21.43. After laughing, we decided to not even attempt to get the bills straight. We just added a tip and skedaddled.

Garnerville

We arrived in Garnerville in the early afternoon. The views were terrific, wild and domestic animals plentiful, and the hospitality welcoming. Our friends had enough food laid out to feed an Old West cavalry troop. After touring their new home, we complimented their handiwork, caught up on the latest happenings, ate again, and imbibed a little. The only task we tackled was deciding what to do the next day. We would make our first foray a visit Virginia City. Can’t wait.

Garnerville

Beatty, Nevada

We spent the first night of our road trip in Beatty, Nevada, the Gateway to Death Valley. Pretty area—in a desolate kind of way. When we asked for a AAA discount at our motel, the clerk told us other motels in town offered discounts, but not them because they were fancy. Fancy seemed hyperbole. Our room was comfortable, but basic. The room appeared to be designed by a left hander seeking revenge. The water faucets were reserved and the door handles worked in the opposite direction. It was fun sorting things out.

When we checked in, we also asked for a recommendation on a place to eat. She told us the finest restaurant in town was a Denny’s in the casino. When we asked for something with more local color, she suggested a bar that was famous for chili. We told her that was more our style, so she directed us to the second bar after making a turn at the first right. (There was no second right.) She said don’t go into the first bar, and then emphasized that we should avoid that particular establishment. She offered no explanation and we sought none, but we didn't wander over to the first bar after dinner for a nightcap. 

The second bar was great. The people were friendly and the ambiance was a mix of cowboy and Sons of Anarchy. Chili was indeed on the menu. You could have chili in a bowl, chili on a hot dog, chili on a hamburger, or chili on Fritos. That was it. Except for beer and wine. They had a good selection of beer and two varieties of wine; red and white. Thank goodness, the chili was excellent. When we complimented our server, she told us the awards on the wall were a smidgen of the prizes won by her grandmother’s chili. She claimed there was not enough wall space in Beatty to display all the awards.  Then she said something surprising: her grandmother had not yet trusted her with the recipe … or anyone else for that matter. I hope her grandmother remains healthy because she makes a hell of a good chili. We returned directly to our fancy motel after helping to roll up the sidewalks at nine o’clock.

Tomorrow we leave for Garnerville, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the once rowdy Virginia City. More fun in the offing just over the horizon.

Road Trip!

We're about to drive to Garnerville, Nevada with friends. We'll stay with other friends who happen to be relatives. It looks like we might luck into some snow, so a day or two of skiing is not out of the question.









Beyond traveling and visiting with good people, I'll be starting the research for the next Steve Dancy Tale. I won't give away the plot, but a good portion of the story will take place in Carson City and Virginia City. Along with Steve, Joseph, and Jeff, there will a few characters from The Shopkeeper intent on making life difficult for Mr. Dancy and friends. Since The Return, A Steve Dancy Tale is not yet back from the editor, I'm still on recess and plan on having fun. This is a good life.