The history of my hometown, as told by eager school teachers and enthusiastic tour guides, goes like this:
Once upon a time, in the year of our Lord 1864 to be exact, four tired gold miners stumbled wearily across the Montana Territory landscape. These men were known as the Four Georgians (even though only one was from Georgia) and they had been on the road a long time, being driven by the old dream that men used to have of a dull yellow metal. Chasing rumors and hopes, they had crossed vast lands, pausing now and then to dip their large prospecting pans into the waters of various rivers. They would swirl the water, dirt, and river sediment around and then peer hopefully, as if looking into a mirror, into the bottom of the pan. In every river they tried, they had only seen their dull reflections and no gold flakes.
They were tired. They were a long way from home. They were running out of money and supplies, so they decided to pack it up and head back to the east and south. Changes of careers were discussed and it is possible that old girlfriends were mentioned. However, before they packed up, they decided to try out their hand on a nearby stream. They hiked over to the gulch where the small stream was flowing, and unpacked their pans.
“Okay,” they said, “This is it, this is our last chance. If we don't hit gold here, we're going home.”
Twenty years later, over 3.6 billion dollars in gold had been removed in what became known as Last Chance Gulch. In 1875, the capital of the Montana Territory was moved to the little town that grew up around the gulch. By 1888, there were over 50 millionaires living in the town and it was one of the most wealthy cities in the world.
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Every time I am back in Helena, I find myself drawn to the Gulch. I have a theory that some geographic places resonate with certain individuals. It is as if these place have a frequency or vibration that, without consciously knowing it, some people feel. They are attracted to these places but they can't really tell you why.
The Gulch has changed a lot from the days of its founding. Where the stream used to flow, now runs Main Street and a walking mall. On each side of the street, imposing granite buildings stand. These beautiful stone structures, which often have unusual shapes due to the fact that they are built in the exact footprint of old mining claims, are relics from another era. Their arches and stone carvings are from a time when skill and design were important building elements and costs were not.
On this visit, my friend Gretchen gave my family and me a personalized tour of the Gulch. She's writing a book about her grandfather who came to Montana by a horse-drawn wagon and opened a blacksmith shop on the Gulch in the late 1800's. She knows her history, which is inter-weaved with that of the Gulch. There are prints from horseshoes on the Gulch that her father created when the city poured the first concrete sidewalk outside his blacksmith shop.
Gretchen gave a great tour and she pointed out other historic features I had seen all my life but had never taken time to understand, such as a monument to the Conferderate Army, the northernmost of its kind in the country. She told us other stories from her family history on the Gulch such as how her husband Joe sold newspapers for a nickel but earned a lot more when he would deliver to Helena's most famous brothel:
“He would go inside the building with the brothel was on the second floor. Joe was only allowed to the top of the stairs and not any further. Big Dorthy, herself, would pay him 75 cents for a paper. That was the price of 15 papers everywhere else on the Gulch.”
Big Dorthy's was eventually shut down. Today, the brothel now houses the Windbag Saloon and the warm, friendly vibes are still around. We have lunch there to finish the tour. The Windbag is home to one of the best burger's in the country. It is called, of course, the Big Dorthy.
Last Chance Gulch is filled with interesting places and intriguing buildings. More importantly, it is filled with history and memories and tales. It is the center of town and the middle of many of my own stories. When it came time to name this blog, the word Gulch resonated and it seemed like a good place to collect my mental wanderings. Plus, I could spell it.
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It is said that there is another tale about the founding of the Gulch, told only late at night and around crackling campfires, and perhaps one day I will relate it here.
