South of Denver was quite literally "a field of dreams." From the time Placer miners found gold in California Gulch in 1860, hope flooded the area as high as the ten- thousand-foot peaks. The real boom began in 1877 when silver carbonate beds were discovered, and by 1880 Leadville boasted 120 saloons, 118 gambling halls, 110 beer gardens, and 35 brothels, besides churches, schools, department stores, a plethora of other businesses, 3 newspapers and a gunfighter / dentist from Georgia who arrived by way of Tombstone Arizona. You can't make up stuff like this.
From the book "The Life and Legend of Doc Holliday" by Gary L. Roberts
Mi amigo Tom Egan loves the southwest as much as I do. He showed me around Leadville several years ago. I wanted to have a drink in a real western saloon. We headed for one that had an Irish name that from the outside looked as though it could have been in South Boston or on the Irish Riviera in Marshfield. I said to Tom, "If this isn't the real thing I don't want to stay." WE STAYED. I had told Tomaso of my trip to Tombstone and of going to the Bird Cage for a drink. Because of that yarn, while traveling fairly close by, Tom had driven to Tombstone, walked into the saloon, and ordered a shot of rye whiskey, even though it was only 10 am. Tom is not a drinker, but he just didn't think the Earps, Clantons , McLaurys, Johnny Ringo, or even Doc's woman, Big Nose Kate, would think it proper to order a Diet Coke.
After the burly female bartender in Leadville warmed up to us, she asked us where we were from and what the hell brought us here. I told her that I was a runner and was scouting the Leadville 100 Mile Mountain Race. I don't remember what the Vermont 100 had for elevation, but straight south in Massachusetts Mt. Greylock is only 3,500 feet. Western States 100 in Squaw Valley California starts at an elevation of 8,800 feet above sea level and then goes down. They give you 30 hours to complete that one. Leadville starts at 10,000 feet and never goes lower. Leadville could be the toughest 100 miler in the United States. They give you 36 hours to finish.
Upon hearing that I was an Ultra Marathoner, the bartender simply responded, " Oh, you're one of those," turned and walked away. I am pretty sure she said her name was Miss Kitty.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
My Christmas Story (2009)
Last night Sandy and I drove home in a real New England blizzard, all the way from Providence. 20 miles an hour on RTE 3 ?!?
We have 14 inches of snow this morning but it is still snowing. Abel is happy because Santa will be using his sleigh on Christmas Eve.
It took me an hour just to shovel off the wood decks. The birds came out of everywhere for the seed I put out. Red Cardinals against the white snow.
My cousin from Wisconsin was most enchanted by our Blue Jays when she visited here. Titmice, House Sparrows, Nuthatches, Chickadees, Catbirds, Mourning Doves, Juncos, Woodpeckers of all kinds – Hairy, Red Headed, Red Bellied and the beautiful Flicker.
It made me feel like Saint Francis of Assisi. We even had a red wing blackbird. That usually is a sure sign of spring but not in this case.
I came in for dry clothes and to stoke the fire and to take a break and check my e-mails.
Heard a snow blower and looked out my window and what did I see? Joe Pelkowski, who I had words with yesterday over his excessive power tool noise, is snow blowing our 75 foot driveway. An old fashion neighbor. Imagine doing something like that for someone.
Joe was at my big party four years ago. When the hired bartender left at 2 AM, Joe stepped behind the bar and took over. What is this world coming to?
I am reading my New Mexican amigo’s weekly" Bus Story" blog. Today, Domingo, it is featuring the town Sandy and I grew up in, and especially the church that we were married in 42 years ago. It is a fine story. You can read it here.
Make sure you see all the photos of St. Stan’s. I was wondering how he was going to tie a Bus Story to Adams, Massachusetts. Read it and see. You just could become a regular Sunday reader. So many of our friends have. What a fine start to the holidays. Christmas is looking really good this year!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Hold Your Horses
We decided to spend the day at La Villita (little village), a very old section of San Antonio. It is in Tegsas. No! That’s how Texans pronounce it, and they should know.
Our friend Charles, of Kathy and Charles, had worked at a hospital here for years and he was showing us around. Not that I enjoy history, but La Villita was where Santa Anna’s soldiers were put up the day before the Alamo siege. Of course you remember THE ALAMO?
When we were there, a Texas Ranger walked over to a tourista and said, “Sir, remove your hat. Brave men died here.” I remember he didn’t say “please.”
Texans are different than Pilgrims of Massachusetts. Sandy and I subscribe to Cowboys and Indians magazine. Doesn’t everyone? Once there was a cowboy boot advertisement in it. There was a beautiful, color, full page photo of a pair of worn boots, with a handwritten letter explaining that the Texan was sending them back to the boot manufacturer for repair. He gushed about how much he loved the boots and that, in fact, his first child was conceived while he was wearing the boots. Well that was too much information for me. So I wrote a letter to the president of the company, J.B. Hill. All I could picture was a cowboy and his wife leaning against his pick up out in the desert, him with his jeans down to his ankles. Way too much information. He wrote me back and said the ad really was working well, and he was real sorry if it offended me. I wrote a car dealer here in Massachusetts once. I was really offended by his ad for Vespa Motor Scooters that in large print said, “Don’t be a gas hole.” In a letter, I asked Herb Chambers if his Grandmother liked the ad. He apologized in a short hand-written note and said I would never see that ad again . . . and I didn’t.
It is November in Massachusetts, and cold, but here we are in shorts and Tevas. We walked down a cobblestone street and came upon a fiesta. There was musica coming from behind an eight-foot stucco walled area. We could see all the different colored lanterns swinging in the breeze. There was a uniformed Federale standing guard in front. As we walked by, the music took ahold of Kathy and Charles and Sandy and I and we preceded to dance in the cobblestone street. A Mexican American mujer from the fiesta came out, looked both ways as if to see if anyone else was coming, and saw us dancing. She said, “Come, join us, por favor.” We all said, “No, no, that’s okay,” but she insisted. So we entered.
The courtyard was full of people. The young girls were all dressed up in those colorful ankle-length dresses. In colors of azul and amarillo and rojo and even verde. They wear their make-up really heavy, with black eyebrows and rosy cheeks and shiny, pulled-back, long hair. It makes them seem much older but still they are very striking to look at. We were escorted to our own table and a minute later one of the fathers brought over a whole case of cerveza just for us. Soon the women who invited us in came to our table to introduce her daughter. She explained that her daughter was turning fifteen and it was her party -- I mean fiesta. Fifteen years of age is very big in Mexico. The Quinceaneras.
Sandy and I got up to dance. Kathy said we fit right in with the other dancers. Well, Mexican, or border, dancing is exactly the same as waltzing or two-stepping in the States, but you hold your partner really tight here. I find it to be much harder than the open position. In the open position, you can steer your partner or even dance in place if there is a traffic jam ahead.
Remember in the movie The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada where the girl walks up to John Travolta -- whoops, wrong movie. Anyway she walks up to John Travolta who is leaning on the bar wearing his big black Stetson, and looking out over the dance floor and she says, “Do yah know how tah two step?” And he replies, “Yup!” She hesitates, and then asks, “Wanna prove it?”
The band is a live one and really good. Everyone is dancing except many of the fathers, who are all over in the corner probably discussing cows or cotton or football, when an announcement is made. “We will now dance the Mexican hat dance. Fathers grab your daughters.” And they did.
You know the Mexican Hat Dance. Everyone does. Dah dah dahdah dah dada dahda. The fathers hold their hands behind their backs and crouch toward their daughters. You dance in a small circle the size of a sombrero. The daughters arch their backs and tilt their heads to one side. With one hand the young girls hold their dresses out as in a fan. It is hard to believe that we are in the United States. Obviously, as a youth, I must have watched way too many Cisco Kid movies, but I am not alone in the warm feelings that I have always had for the Mexican people.
We stay almost to the end, then take our leave, thanking everyone for the invitation, and expressing to our hosts just how much fun we’ve had this evening.
This was a non-fiction story. You can’t make up ...........
Roberto Tocino
Our friend Charles, of Kathy and Charles, had worked at a hospital here for years and he was showing us around. Not that I enjoy history, but La Villita was where Santa Anna’s soldiers were put up the day before the Alamo siege. Of course you remember THE ALAMO?
When we were there, a Texas Ranger walked over to a tourista and said, “Sir, remove your hat. Brave men died here.” I remember he didn’t say “please.”
Texans are different than Pilgrims of Massachusetts. Sandy and I subscribe to Cowboys and Indians magazine. Doesn’t everyone? Once there was a cowboy boot advertisement in it. There was a beautiful, color, full page photo of a pair of worn boots, with a handwritten letter explaining that the Texan was sending them back to the boot manufacturer for repair. He gushed about how much he loved the boots and that, in fact, his first child was conceived while he was wearing the boots. Well that was too much information for me. So I wrote a letter to the president of the company, J.B. Hill. All I could picture was a cowboy and his wife leaning against his pick up out in the desert, him with his jeans down to his ankles. Way too much information. He wrote me back and said the ad really was working well, and he was real sorry if it offended me. I wrote a car dealer here in Massachusetts once. I was really offended by his ad for Vespa Motor Scooters that in large print said, “Don’t be a gas hole.” In a letter, I asked Herb Chambers if his Grandmother liked the ad. He apologized in a short hand-written note and said I would never see that ad again . . . and I didn’t.
It is November in Massachusetts, and cold, but here we are in shorts and Tevas. We walked down a cobblestone street and came upon a fiesta. There was musica coming from behind an eight-foot stucco walled area. We could see all the different colored lanterns swinging in the breeze. There was a uniformed Federale standing guard in front. As we walked by, the music took ahold of Kathy and Charles and Sandy and I and we preceded to dance in the cobblestone street. A Mexican American mujer from the fiesta came out, looked both ways as if to see if anyone else was coming, and saw us dancing. She said, “Come, join us, por favor.” We all said, “No, no, that’s okay,” but she insisted. So we entered.
The courtyard was full of people. The young girls were all dressed up in those colorful ankle-length dresses. In colors of azul and amarillo and rojo and even verde. They wear their make-up really heavy, with black eyebrows and rosy cheeks and shiny, pulled-back, long hair. It makes them seem much older but still they are very striking to look at. We were escorted to our own table and a minute later one of the fathers brought over a whole case of cerveza just for us. Soon the women who invited us in came to our table to introduce her daughter. She explained that her daughter was turning fifteen and it was her party -- I mean fiesta. Fifteen years of age is very big in Mexico. The Quinceaneras.
Sandy and I got up to dance. Kathy said we fit right in with the other dancers. Well, Mexican, or border, dancing is exactly the same as waltzing or two-stepping in the States, but you hold your partner really tight here. I find it to be much harder than the open position. In the open position, you can steer your partner or even dance in place if there is a traffic jam ahead.
Remember in the movie The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada where the girl walks up to John Travolta -- whoops, wrong movie. Anyway she walks up to John Travolta who is leaning on the bar wearing his big black Stetson, and looking out over the dance floor and she says, “Do yah know how tah two step?” And he replies, “Yup!” She hesitates, and then asks, “Wanna prove it?”
The band is a live one and really good. Everyone is dancing except many of the fathers, who are all over in the corner probably discussing cows or cotton or football, when an announcement is made. “We will now dance the Mexican hat dance. Fathers grab your daughters.” And they did.
You know the Mexican Hat Dance. Everyone does. Dah dah dahdah dah dada dahda. The fathers hold their hands behind their backs and crouch toward their daughters. You dance in a small circle the size of a sombrero. The daughters arch their backs and tilt their heads to one side. With one hand the young girls hold their dresses out as in a fan. It is hard to believe that we are in the United States. Obviously, as a youth, I must have watched way too many Cisco Kid movies, but I am not alone in the warm feelings that I have always had for the Mexican people.
We stay almost to the end, then take our leave, thanking everyone for the invitation, and expressing to our hosts just how much fun we’ve had this evening.
This was a non-fiction story. You can’t make up ...........
Roberto Tocino
Friday, December 4, 2009
Read "Gettysburg Diaries"
Gettysburg Diaries. It traces the 35 days of two soldiers before a famous Civil War battle. Thomas Lewis Ware a confederate from rural Georgia and Franklin Horner a Union soldier from coal country in Pennsylvania. Both stories follow their diaries. The Rebels enter Gettysburg from the north while the Union soldiers ent...ers from the south. Both men live to tell about it. You can't make up stuff like this.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
A Man and His Mule
For a change of reading pace I ordered from my Connecticut bookdealer "The Moonshine Mule." It is about a present day Englishman who decides to walk from Texas to Manhattan with a mule. No, not a donkey. A mule as in Grand Canyon mule. Why? Because a relative of his did the same thing during the Civil War. YOU CAN"T MAKE UP STUFF LIKE THIS.
Turns out EVEN YOU know the guy, His name was Lieutenant Colonel Arthur James Lyon Fremantle of the British Coldstream Guards. Remember in the movie Gettysburg there was an Englishman observing Longstreet and Pickett and Bobby Lee during the battle? Well, this is the same guy. Small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it.
Robert Haversack Bacon 20th Massachusetts 1861-1865
Friday, November 6, 2009
Jack's Hot Dog Stand
You just have to go to Jack’s Hot Dogs. It just opened . . . in 1917. Sandy's father Jimmy went there and so did my dad, Joe Bacon. It is on Eagle Street, which is a one way street around the corner from the Mohawk Theatre.
I saw Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier there. Not at Jack’s, at the Mohawk. The real Crockett preferred to be called David.
Sandy and I live 200 miles from there but we went to Jack’s twice last month. Once by ourselves for Sandy's high school reunion trip and the next time with our friends John and Barb Cerri. They wanted a tour of Adams. Go figure. To see the lime stone quarry, Saint Stanislaus Polish Church,
Angelina's Sub Shop, Jaeschke’s (yes-keys) Orchard for apples,
the houses we grew up in , the schools we went to and of course Mount Greylock, the highest mountain in Massachusetts, which overlooks the town of Adams.
The town was named after Samuel Adams because of all the drinking that goes on there.
Jack’s is really small. There are only 13 stools -- the old kind that swivel but do not have backs on them.
Service is fast and efficient. If the stools are full, you just line up against the wall and wait your turn. When you are up against the wall waiting, you can touch the person sitting in front of you by simply putting your arm out straight.
For your drink and if you are a veteran you always say "tap," meaning tap water, instead of soda. In the Berkshires it's soda, not tonic or pop. Water in the Hoosic Valley is delicious. Also, subs there are called grinders. “Aye” is used a lot, as in, "So how yah been, aye?” There are many former French Canadians in North Adams.
One employee only takes take-out orders over the phone. Twenty-seven dogs can be a typical order. Williams College is fairly close by and so is the new Mass Moca Museum, which is definitely worth seeing.
Oh yah, the old North Adams State College (now Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts) is really close by also.
The food is great if you like hamburgs, hot dogs and fries. The cheeseburgers are soooooo hot when they are put in front of you that you will burn your mouth if you bite in right away. I like you so I will tell you this secret. When you are down to the last two bites of your hamburger, order a second one. Then use the same plan for the third one. No really, I know you can do this.
The rolls, oh the rolls, are steamed and piping hot. I always get raw onions on mine but go ahead and have it your way. The slogan "Have It Your Way” was stolen by a big hamburg chain.
Hamburgers are 98 cents and cheeseburgers a little more. We ate like pigs when we went with the Cerris and lunch was $15.00 for the four of us. Barb had a chili cheese hot dog and a cheeseburger and John had a chili cheese dog and two cheeseburgers. Yes of course they shared french fries.
Well they do have a hot dog eating contest. It is in October.
Like the writing on the front window says, "Fit For A King."
This has been a total non-fictional story and thanks for listening.
Bobby Bacon was the winner of the hot dog eating contest in October of 1961
OK . . . really , really close to non fiction
SOME COMMENTS:
Oh my gosh great post...we had Jacks at Baci's last Feb. Uncle Chet turned me on to them. I had a burger and knew instantly why he suggested two or three. I think I could have had five. Mmm good. Thanks for the memory. - Chris Bailey
I may have to start eating hotdogs, Aye? - Marnie Bacon
Great story and pictures. Locals won't be happy when all of Bob's World shows up! About the name of the town though????? - Barb Sylvester
You should make sure Jack sees this!! - Angela Scieszka
This is a great post with great pictures. I felt like I was back in Adams. And if I ever have the chance to return – I’m definitely going to Jack’s. I don’t remember Dick mentioning that place. - Pam Brodalski
Hi Bob, next time I'm up that way I will definitely find Jack's. The area is a great riding destination. Thanks for the blog. - Diane Colligan
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
War Path
North up Route 25, west between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico, and west of the Blood of Christ Mountains at the Santa Domingo Pueblo is a National Monument called Tent Rocks. I found it in an article in National Geographic magazine three weeks before Sandy and I were to leave to visit our friends Cactus Kathy and Charles in Bernalillo. (Burn ah leo)
On the way through the pueblo just west of the Rio Grande (it's a river), we saw buffalo grazing. After my Senior National Park card got us in for free, I asked the Indian Ranger why they had buffalo. His name was Chris Joe. He said they were a gift from the Jemez (Hay Mezz) Pueblo, and that they were multiplying, and that they didn't quite know what to do with them.
If you are 62 or older, you can purchase a seniors card for $10 and get into National Parks and Monuments with as many as four people in your car for FREE for as long as you live. What a deal. The National Park series on PBS starts tonight. Have you been to visit the Southwest? Well if not, you should start making plans right now.
Tent Rocks is quite beautiful, as you can see. All the land around it is desert. But watch out for rattlesnakes!
As we were descending Tent Rocks, an easy hour and a half climb through a long slot canyon, we passed a couple heading to the top. They stopped and asked us where we were from. They were from a pueblo (Indian village) on the other side of Tent Rocks, over towards Utah. They had retired to Albuquerque recently.
They asked where we were from and we said Boston. They said they had a son graduate from there as a doctor and they themselves had enjoyed Boston. They also drove the Mass. Pike west to see another son who was playing with the Philadelphia Symphony at Tanglewood. Small world.
Oh! I forgot to tell you . . . they were Apache Indians.
You could try, but . . . you really can't make STUFF like this up.
Roberto "Fat Bear" Baconez
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