Tuesday, January 10, 2012


Throughout the years, Hangtown maintained its reputation for throwing a dance or a big parade with little or no provocation.  If there wasn’t some kind of shindig down town at the bell tower, there was a dance going on at Smith Flat House.  The dances at the Three-mile House were usually held upstairs, and if Mr. Case wasn’t calling squares, they were spinning 78s on a dandy Grafonola.  Finding no other excuse, the gregarious residents of Placerville were always primed and ready to celebrate the Pony Express, Wagon Train days, or us irrepressible 49ers. By the close of the nineteenth century, we 49ers were a mighty illusive group!  Those that hadn’t wandered off were mighty long of tooth!  The fewer our numbers, the more privileged we became!  ‘Course Lidge and I just ate that up like candy!  We got to where we was sportin’ whiskers and red flannel shirts ever’ where we went, just so folks would smother us with their admiration! I’d always heard tell, that despite his many accomplishments, a fella couldn’t figure on resting on his laurels.  Lidge and I were sure exceptions to that old rule!  We were celebrated and fussed over, like ol’ Mark Twain hisself, for doing next to nothin’ fifty years ago!  It’s enough to cause a fella to bust his buttons!  There’s nothin’ like being society’s pet, just for being old and toothless.  We’d o’ run for office but we both preferred honest work. “OBIE’S QUEST”

No comments:

Post a Comment