Report the Seventh

"It gets late pretty light here." -George Everett

I spent my last evening in Butte with the Everett family, dining at the Uptown Cafe that offers "civilized dining in the wild, wild, west." George and his wife Barbara are two of the prime forces in bringing the National Folk Festival to Butte. Their commitment to the event was in ample evidence by their tireless efforts during the event to make it a success. They might question the sanity of their decision tonight, but when all is said and done and the money is counted, they will know it is a good thing and that Butte benefited in ways they can't imagine. Besides, there were sightings of Clint Eastwood and Michael Keaton enjoying the festivities. I wonder if they got any of that elk bratwurst or some of that reindeer sausage.

George is one of the good guys and an old friend. I regret that such distance separates us, and we don't have more opportunity to enjoy one another's company. You can always tell a true friend by that fact that no matter how much time has passed since you last saw one another as soon as you do, that time melts away like an ice cube on a south-facing, summer Baltimore sidewalk.

I'm leaving with their promise of letting me return the hospitality by giving me the chance to show them around Baltimore, land of the weird and home of the depraved.

Tomorrow I fly home, wishing I had time to visit the Lady of the Rockies, take an underground tour, tour more of the architectural sights and surrounding natural wonders. Maybe I'll start planning next year's trip to the first Montana Folklife Festival. Consider that fair warning, George. See you in Baltimore, hon.

Report the Sixth

Today I wandered up Broadway to the Charles W. Clark mansion. Clark was the eldest son of William A. Clark, one of the Copper Kings. The elder Clark went on to serve an undistinguished career as a U.S. Senator after being involved in a political scandal that led to the passing of the 17th Amendment. Mark Twain, in his 1907 essay, "Senator Clark of Montana," skewered him by characterizing him as an example of the Gilded Age's worse product dripping with excess and festered with corruption. Twain said, "He is as rotten a human being as can be found anywhere under the flag; he is a shame to the American nation, and no one has helped send him to the Senate who did not know his proper place was the penitentiary with a ball and chain on his leg."

The son built this lavish home for his bride Kathleen Quinn Roberts in 1898. Architect Will Aldrich modeled it after a chateau in Europe in which the couple honeymooned in 1896. It has a turreted slate covered roof and the exterior is patterned brick highlighted with gray limestone. The yard, surrounded by a wrought iron fence, is also covered in brick and limestone because the fumes from the smelters prevented anything from growing. Inside shows the details for which Clark spared no expense including stained glass, hand painted wallpaper, and a spiral staircase leading up to the four floors.

The most impressive room is the ballroom decorated with hunting scenes and the story of Pocahantas. It was here the Clarks entertained, but their stay was short-lived, and they only occupied the house for a year. Charles, in an attempt to bribe a judge to win a case for his father during the Copper King wars, found a warrant issued for his arrest. He was unaware that one of the other men had already bought off the judge. The Clarks fled to California.

The house has changed hands several times, serving as a men's social club for a period, before being purchased by the city of Butte. It now functions as an historical museum and art gallery and is known as the Arts Chateau.

There were two exhibits on display during my visit. Most interesting was the mixed media work of Nolan Salix. No where else will you find a work of art which lists its medium as "Dead E.Coli virus and watercolors," listed in such works as "Ecoli
Hamburger."

Thanks to Gretchen for the informative tour.

Next, I thought I would continue my exploration of the history of the city with a visit to the new public archives adjacent to the Butte Fire Department building erected in 1900. When I got to the door, one side read: "Butte Silver Bow Public Archives" and the other contained a posted sign: "Closed to the Public." I plan to file that with friendsofirony.com.

Report the Fifth

"It was distinctly old-fashioned, it was not particularly profound, but most of all, it was infectious." -Ivan Doig

It might be against the law out here to blog about Montana without quoting Ivan Doig, so there you are.

And so it is done. The 72nd annual National Folk Festival concluded its merriment this evening and almost immediately the crews began dismantling the tents and stages. It ended where it started, up at The Original with Michael Cleveland and Flamekeeper bringing the show to a rousing, coming-around-the-bend, kick ass conclusion. You could feel the general sigh of relief from the organizers and volunteers that no one had been killed or maimed and that the weather, for the most part, cooperated.

For me, the day started off with breakfast with George Everett, executive director of Mainstreet Uptown Butte (http://www.mainstreetbutte.org/), and an old acquaintance Mac Donofrio. The last time I saw Mac was at another musical event in Montana some decades back. It was at the National Fiddler's Convention in Polson where a group of us woke up with hangovers after sleeping all night on the banks of Lake Polson. According to the story, either Mac or I remarked that even on our worse day we could overcome the other which erupted into an epic wrasslin' match that is still talked about today in certain circles.

Mac then relayed the story of a friend coming out to visit with his daughter who had just received her license. Traveling in their brand new car, the father, in a magnanimous gesture, let the daughter drive. They were descending one of the steep mountainous inclines out here at about 65 mph when the father, feeling in an instructive mood, told his daughter she could shift into neutral and coast down. The car ended up in reverse, flipping it and they made the rest of the descent with the roof shooting sparks. Fortunately, no humans were injured. The poor girl was just worried about the damage she had done, but the wise father remained calm and unconcerned, taking it in stride.

After returning to the motel, I showered and prepared for today's activities. They began at The Original listening to Benedicte Maurseth, a Hardanger fiddler from Norway. The sounds she brings forth are dark and haunting and her voice soars and turns like a mountain wind.

Mac was there and we decided to walk down to the Family Stage together to see Elizabeth LaPrelle. I had already seen her, but wanted to listen to more. This kind of singing is not one you can often find to hear. Her voice is a marvelous instrument.

We grabbed some pizza at the Broadway and headed up to the Quartz stage where the two women we had just seen were appearing together. Putting those two voices together proved to be an inspired idea and they received a standing ovation.

We stayed there for the group from Quebec, Genticorum. Three young guys from Canada singing foot stomping French tunes. They are superb musicians and singers who mix the songs with humorous introductions.

A short break, then off to see Bua, a fantastic Irish band that worked the audience with reels and superb stage presence. At the end, adults were lifting children onto the stage until a little Lord of the Dance erupted on the apron.

Mac peeled off and I went back to the room. George came down in the golf cart to haul my oxygen deprived carcass up to The Original. I told him I went in the Buddhist tent and got too close to the mandela painting that the monk was finishing up and sneezed. A cloud of colored sand flew into the air. I said, "Don't let anyone tell you those monks are pacific. They were all over me in a flash. They're wiry little fellows and I barely got out alive. Did you hear anyone calling Security?" He just laughed at my little fantasy as he always does, but I think I saw him glancing at his radio.

Back up at The Original Dale Watson was honky tonking and did one encore before Michael Cleveland took the stage and took the whole thing home. What a grand event! And even though The National Folk Festival moves on to Nashville next year, Butte plans to continue with its own Montana Folklife Festival. If this year is any indication of what they are capable of bringing together, I would say mark your calendars now and consider making reservations as early as possible. With your help, Butte can continue to build a gold mountain atop its dark and rich history.

Report the Fourth

Today's the big day. Everything is up and running with a full schedule of music starting at noon and lasting until 10:30. I decided to steel myself with some breakfast at my favorite espresso parlor, Venus Rising, owned and operated by Butte's favorite barista Jennifer Grant. First, I took a stroll through the Butte Farmers Market to scan the local wares and produce. Breakfast was a bagel with raspberry jam, blueberry and mango fruit smoothie, and a cup of Morocco tea.

A short walk up to Broadway and Arizona took me to my first selection of the day--a performance of Blues Legends and Legacies at the Family Stage. The gathering of blues singers set to perform and talk about the blues included Phil Wiggins, harmonica; Henry Gray, keyboard; Rev. John Wilkins, guitar; and James "Super Chikan" Johnson. Now, Henry Gray is a legend at 85 having played a major role in the formation of both the Chicago blues and Louisiana swamp blues. Rev, Wilkins is the son of the blues legend Robert Wilkins whose song "Rolling Stone" provided the inspiration for the name of the British rock group, and they put out a cover of his song "Prodigal Son" in 1968. Wiggins is considered to be one of America's top harmonica players coming out of the Piedmont tradition. Sitting in with them was James Johnson.

They played a variety of old blues songs each taking the lead with a special nod to Henry Gray who played with Howling Wolf for 12 years. Wiggins provided commentary between the numbers and bantered with his cohorts who he was playing with for the first time. They received a standing ovation for their Electrifying performance.

The next performer at the same stage was Elizabeth LaPrelle, an Appalachian acappella singer. Her voice is powerful and wraps right around your bones.

The Montana Folklife area further down Broadway presented aspects of the lifestyle of the people who made their living crawling into the earth each day. It included a Pasty making demonstration. These pasties are not worn by exotic dancers. They are the favorite food of the miner. Introduced by Cornish immigrants from the tin mines of Cornwall, they are designed to be a perfect food to fit the miner's occupation. The pasty is a meal unto itself being a baked crust with a meat, potatoes, and vegetables filling. The crust had a scalloped ridge for the miner to grasp without getting his food dirty. The grip could be tossed away once his food was consumed.

All that made me hungry, so I walked a few more steps down Broadway to the Broadway Cafe and got a modern day version of the pasty--a slice of pizza. The polka stylings of Stanky and the Coal Miners drifted up to us as we ate from the Montana Dance Pavilion. I selected the Hilltop, which topped its crust with basil pesto, olives, onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, and mozzarella. Washed down with fresh lemonade, I was prepared to forge on.

After Stanky, Geno Delafoso and the French Rockin Boogie band took the stage so I headed down there. The dance floor was filled with gyrating bodies of all ages bouncing to the zydeco sounds of Gena and the boys.

Time for a break so I headed back to my room to put my feet up before venturing out again for more entertainment.

Back down at the Family Stage, Lou Mauri gave a demonstration of Flatfoot dancing with his family providing musical accompaniment. At the Granite stage, Super Chickan and his Fighting Cocks held the audience in thrall. Then up at the Quartz stage the Apsalooke dancers with the Nighthawk Singers put on a dancing demonstration. When they were through it was back down to the Granite stage to listen to Love Troubles with various representatives from other groups.

I popped into see how venerable Tibetan Buddhist was doing on his mandela sand painting. I'm planning to sneak in his tent tonight and finish it up, so he can go dancing tomorrow.

I grabbed something warm to wear from my room as the air had cooled and the wind had picked up. Last stop for the night was back up at The Original to hear some gospel music from the Legendary Singing Stars. They were all dressed in identical gold striped outfits. I got another dose of vegan noodles and ran into my pal George, executive director of Mainstreet Uptown and one of the local organizers. When this is all done, he will need Asian women walking up and down his back with bare feet. We took a survey of the site in his golf cart before he returned me home.

As I type, I can hear the crowd going crazy up on Quartz Street as the evening comes to a close. It's been an incredible day for music and folk art and more tomorrow.

Report the Third

The festival attendees started drifting in early in the afternoon. They came in and out of the shops and walked up and down the streets. By evening, they filled the streets and every available space in front of the Main Stage at The Original, one of the headframes that were used as support to lower miners in cages down the shaft.

The operative word is FUN, and it was invoked by each speaker before the first band came on and brought the crowd what they came for--music and FUN.

Clouds rolled in and briefly baptized the crowd making the organizers a little nervous and they hurried around looking anxious and upset, trying to figure out who they should call to stop the uncooperative weather. But it was gone before they could work up a lather. A few drops of wet would not deter this crowd and umbrellas opened up, just adding color to the sea of color spread out over the hill in front of the stage.

First to kick off the festivities was Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper, a bluegrass band full of fast strains of the violin sounding like a train's mournful call and some furious finger picking. Cleveland, blind since birth has been playing since he was four and is a seven-time winner of the Fiddler of the Year Award presented by the Bluegrass Music Association. The first notes were hardly in the air before people were up as close as they could get and moving to the rhythm.


The aromas of the food vendors seasoned the air, exciting the appetite. The selections range from ice cream to something called "monkey meat." I satisfied my hunger pangs with a delicious box of vegan Island Noodles with veggies served by Sopa Noodles.

Next up was the delta blues band Super Chikan & the Fighting Cocks whipping the crowd into a more fevered frenzy.

I headed back down the hill amazed by the changing light playing on the mountains, clouds and buildings. The big Federal building in front of me as I head away from the main stage is where J. Edgar Hoover sent agents for punishment. The irony is they quickly grew to like this post where there was little serious crime and they could spend their idle hours fishing. The light changes so quick and creates a new rapturous tableau every minute, it's hard to resist stopping every 15 steps and taking a new series of photos from every compass point.

The festival is underway and off to a successful start. Tomorrow promises even more FUN as the Family area will be in full swing along with the folk crafts. The bands will all be taking the stage for more performances with many more added to the schedule. Stay tuned for a complete report.

Report the Second

If you have ever played Keno, then you owe thanks to the Chinese population of Butte.

Today, I visited the Mai Wah Museum on Mercury Street operated by the Mai Wah Society (http://www.maiwah.org/), a non-profit determined to preserve and research the Chinese and their role in the history of Butte and Southwest Montana.

Two buildings stand there today adjoining China alley. The two story buildings housed businesses operated by the Wah Chong Tai Company, Seattle's successful mercantile enterprise founded by Chin Chun Hock. Eventually the two adjoining buildings served the Chinese community as a general store with a noodle parlor on the second floor. It also contained space for an herb shop, special shopping rooms, and lodging. The Chinese were drawn to Butte for the same reasons as other ethnic groups but were poorly treated as the minority and a threat to the jobs and wage structure of the established majority.

One interesting feature is the "cheater story" built to evade extra taxes since buildings were taxed by the number of stories. The cheater story is a low ceiling space that exists between the first and second stories with small rooms used for offices or lodging. It overlooks the main floor like a loft.

The Mai Wah Museum has a gift shop and displays. One of the main exhibits is a collection of artifacts from the lots across the street where doctors offered medicines and healing in structures that have been since demolished. My favorite items were small jade bottles that once contained medicines. While the Mai Wah Society is struggling to return the buildings to their original glory, there is charm and character to the disrepair that gives you a whole other kind of feel for the busy activities conducted here which fevers the imagination.

But back to Keno. Tong wars erupted in Butte. The tongs were modeled after secret societies in China, but amounted to gangs fighting for control of the cash flow of the opium dens, lottery, and businesses. The lottery, run by the Chinese out of Butte's Crown Bar and known as Pok Kop Piu or the "white pigeon ticket," was an elaborate system based on 80 characters from the book Ts'in Tsz' Man.

The Butte Chief of Police, tired of the violence percipitated by the tong wars and harboring strong opinions about the proper place of the Chinese in his town, set about to close down the lucrative gambling enterprises. Frances and Joseph Leyden, two brothers running the Crown Bar, persuaded the chief to let them run the lottery on their own. He agreed and they figured out how to run it on their own. They made some modifications, and when gambling become legal in Nevada, Frances introduced the system to Reno. With some other refinements, it became the game we know today as Keno.

A look at the history of the treatment of the Chinese in Butte at the turn of the century up until World War II cannot but remind me of the discourse on the immigrant issue and discourse taking place today. The constant battles of one group to maintain dominance and the means they use to do that has changed little since the Chinese settled here and Chin Chun Hock looked over that small piece of property down on Mercury Street and saw opportunity.

Report the First

Rows of Big John's port-a-potties line the uptown streets. White tents rise up like the circus has come to town. Seven stages erected at strategic spots on streets named after states and rocks promise a lot of loud entertainment. Butte is ready for the National Folk Festival for the third and last year.

Butte and the surrounding area sit on 10,000 miles of underground tunnels where miners risked their lives to bring America copper, silver, and other precious metals. Want more historical and urban trivia about this unique American town, once called "the richest hill on earth"? Best place to look would be George Everett's two books on the city: Champagne in a Tin Cup and Butte Trivia.

Escaping the 100 plus degree heat of Baltimore, I landed at the Bert Mooney airport in Butte on Wednesday, July 7 in the early afternoon to a temperature of 65 degrees. After getting settled in my lodgings at the Capri Motel, a two story cinder block structure, which has a fifties feel to it, I headed out to get the lay of the land.

Butte, like most American cities has two faces. Next to the empty store fronts and boarded up buildings are the bright and successful enterprises struggling to overcome economic decline. The Capri itself is undergoing a complete renovation and painters are putting a fresh new face on the old girl and cleaning up visible surface areas with a pressure washer.

But, just as all humans share similar characteristics so too are they individuals, and Butte and its inhabitants developed their own unique character that is equal parts, geography, history, and experience. Today, eating breakfast I overheard a cafe owner and regular customer joking about the obituary of a local resident. The customer could not believe that the person portrayed in the obit was the same one he was familiar with. "And I don't know what kind of camera they used to take her picture, but I don't remember her ever looking like that."

"Yeah, I want one of them cameras," the cafe owner responded as she dipped her hands into a bin of chicken breasts she was breading.

Down the street, a sign in a window, written on the top of shopping bag that had been torn off, read: "To get a bag of Candy Please Enter in knife store." Pure Butte.

Many of the people here are descended from those who climbed a mile high to dig thousands of feet into the earth to bring back its treasures until they extracted all they could and poisoned their own lives. In Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest, Butte serves as the novel's setting renamed Personville but referred to as Poisonville. But like the phoenix, one of the town's inspirational symbols, it is trying to rise from the ashes.

Last night, at an event held at the World Museum of Mining to honor the Robins family, whose story could fill an entry ten time longer than this one, that sense of hope filled the air. The Robins are a mining family with Irish heritage. They like to say the English spell "Robins" with a second "b" and it stands for bastards.

Not even the mosquitoes, which were as big as sparrows and more plentiful, could dampen the enthusiasm and spirit that pervaded the atmosphere and seemed to rise above the Orphan Girl headframe, a 100 foot steel symbol of the city's past that shadowed the memorial wall listing the names of all the miners who died to give this town its life.