A Good One

Last night as I sat in  my easy chair finishing a great book, I had the tv turned to the Emmy Awards, something hardly worthwhile.  Except for one thing.  In a tribute to Robin Williams, they had a few cuts from some of his past tv appearances.  I think it was the Jay Leno clip where he told a belly-laugher.  "God made man with a penis and a brain, but unfortunately only enough blood to operate one at a time."

The book I mentioned was Riders to Cibola by Norman Zollinger.  It is a story of a young Mexican boy taken in by a benevolent rancher who takes a liking to him.  It follows him and the rancher's family through the generations until the conclusion.  It was a good one!

August 23

It's raining here on a Saturday.  Darn, I was going to mow some grass.  Now it'll have to wait til Tuesday since we'll be in Fargo.  I keep busy doing my thing.  I just wrote a newspaper column on the occasion of my year anniversary of submitting articles.  The lady editor just keeps on printing them, so what's a guy to do?  The thing I like about writing is that it makes me get out to learn about things which I didn't know before.  The one I'm getting ready to write is about the Blue Laws in North Dakota.  Some pretty interesting things in the early days.  1917 is the year I started looking.  Til next time.

Before I Forget...

A rest stop in Montana provided a good laugh.  An SUV parked beside us and three burly young men and a gal jumped out.  The conversation from the guys went something like this: "She does not have a  mustache."..."Yes, she does"..."Gawd, she lives down there on the reservation with all them Indians.  She's gotta be tough"..."She's still got a mustache."  And so it went.  Montana cowboys!

A New Week

A new week and lots to do.  I went to an auction sale Saturday, an estate sale, a collector's.  He was a retired employee of the historical society, so I thought he just might have acquired a few things that I might like.  He had a large collection of beer things, bar signs, brewing books, empty cans, etc.  It sold high.  An electric lighted Dakota Brewery sign went for $300 and it had a cracked glass front.  There were books where I thought I might score, which I did.  I spotted one in a box, The Spoilers by Rex Beach.  It's a first edition 1905 copyright in "like new" condition.  At any rate, it's the fictionalized story of North Dakota's big crook, Alex. McKenzie, when he went to Alaska and ripped off the gold miners.  In my way of thinking, it was a good 'get'.  I intend to write more about McKenzie in the future.

Right now I've returned to horses in WWI and have been finding more info on ChroniclingAmerica website.  In the Clinch Valley News out of Virginia, a 1915 story carried this headline: " Horses for Cannon Food and Bullet Meat."    Last Saturday something like 35 horses were bought here for service in the great war.  The horses were shipped to Richmond, and from there they will go to Europe for the army of the Allies.

That is just a small example of the stories regarding the purchasing of horses.  Lots of material there.

Ingomar

Heading west on I-94 into Montana, past place names like Whoopup Creek and Bad Route Road, you eventually arrive at the town of Forsyth where you turn onto Highway 12 which eventually takes you into Helena.  That’s just what we did this past week when we fulfilled a longing to visit that capital city.  About at the halfway point of the interminable miles on that stretch, a little speck named Ingomar appears which contains one business - Jersey Lilly.  One might wonder where the name came from.  Well, it seems that the new owner of the bar, in 1958, borrowed the name from the western character Judge Roy Bean’s establishment of the same name in Langtry, Texas.

In an advertisement found in one of the rack-filling brochures about the state, we read of Ingomar where one needed to stop in and try the famous bean soup.  Let’s go for it, we’ll eat in these quirky little places for a new experience.  The odd collection of buildings sat off the road about a half mile and we drove over very large stones they called gravel.  The Jersey Lilly was one of a kind!  The building was only in a little better condition than the majority of tumble-down shacks and ragged trailer houses that the few residents lived in.

We pulled up to the weathered, boot-worn boardwalk where a sagging overhang shaded and showed someone’s initiative of having already hung Christmas lights.  The heavy sun-baked door displaying a “Push Hard” sign opened into the dual-purpose café and bar.  First-off, a decision needed to be made – sit at the bar or at a table.  One patron sat tipping a longnecker at the bar as the cook busied herself in the kitchen.  A table we chose and walked on an uneven, creaky floor to get to it. 

Character this place had!  Dusty stuffed heads adorned the walls and looking up to the moose head above, we noticed it had a cigarette in its mouth.  Fading John Wayne pictures and a poster featuring heavyweight champions from years past hung undisturbed, probably for years.  A bit skeptical of the food, I chose an old reliable hamburger from the menu, but Mary went for the bean soup.

While we waited we couldn’t help but notice the beautiful cherry wood back bar with its carvings, mirrors, and liquor bottles.  I picked up a little pamphlet from the table that gave some of the area history including this bar.  It had been shipped up the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers from St. Louis on a steamboat in the early 1900’s.

Rest rooms?  The cook smiled and said they were outside, around the corner.  No plumbing in them.  A sink hung in one corner of the bar where we washed our hands.

Here came the food.  Mine on a platter, and Mary’s in a steamy, long-handled kettle.  Too hot to sample right away, I waited my turn.  She said she liked it, “lots of flavor.”  Eventually I got around to dipping my spoon in the cooling cauldron and had my taste of the famous bean soup.  It was okay, but then I went back to my very good hamburger.

We finished and decided the food was good.  We needed to hit the road again.  Ingomar, named after a Swede, Montana.  So long.