From Red Lights to Red Hats

Back in the late 1800's and up until the mid 20th century, Wallace, Idaho was a bustling and bawdy silver mining town nestled in pine-covered Silver Valley near the Idaho-Montana border. Now home to less than 800 human souls, the town narrowly escaped demolition back in the late 1980's when plans for Interstate 90 showed that Wallace was in the way of progress. The town's folk, feeling quite attached to their homes and livelihoods and not at all interested in pulling up roots, instead pulled off the coup of the century. Resolute in the knowledge that historic buildings are protected from seizure and demolition by government forces, the town council and elected officials spearheaded a committee to save the town by having every last building in downtown Wallace placed on the National Registry of Historic Places. And so, Interstate 90, rather than displace Wallace, was built "over" Wallace.


Now that the Interstate brings hundreds of thousands of vehicles right over Wallace each year, and the engineers had the good sense to install an exit, the town has the potential to attract visitors--people willing to spend money on goods and services. In 2011, the once sleepy little mining town slated for demolition has blossomed into an awakened little town filled with highly motivated citizens eagerly putting their talents to work showing the world, or at least the part of the world driving above on I-90, that Wallace is worth a closer look.

Silver mining remains a big part of Wallace's economy, an underground economy, so to speak; however, above ground the pristine mountains and lakes now attract outdoor enthusiasts from around the country. Wallace and surrounding towns have capitalized on the deep powder blanketing two ski hills during most of the winter, scenic bike trails beckoning summer peddlers, and alpine lakes enticing kayakers and fisherman. To its credit, Wallace holds the title of Silver Capital of the World having produced over 1.2 billion ounces of silver since 1884, and they wear their title with great pride.

The thirteen or so weeks of summer are filled with ATV jamborees, huckleberry and gooseberry festivals, 19th century plays at the Melodrama Theatre, parades, accordion festivals, Under the Interstate Flee Markets, and good ole' fashioned hospitality. Aside from the Best Western Hotel at the edge of town, there are no chain or brand name businesses--no Walmart, no Albertson's, no Target, not even a Dairy Queen. The entire town is owned and operated by the locals. And it shows. The amount of pride, enthusiasm, attention to detail, hospitality and downright friendliness oozes out onto the colorfully decorated storefronts and sidewalks.

Last week, a group of seven women, myself included, chose family-owned and operated Brook's Hotel, centrally located in historic downtown Wallace, for a two nights' stay in order to take the 17-mile bike ride on the Route of the Hiawatha. http://www.skilookout.com/hiawatha/

While the bike ride wowed on every level with high altitude trestles and two-mile long tunnels, Wallace stole the show. On our first night before the bike ride we walked the half dozen streets comprising "downtown" taking in the architecture, reading the plaques on each "historic" building, chatting with shop owners, and inquiring where we could get a good meal. With several suggestions in hand we decided on A Taste of Aloha. Who knew that Wallace, Idaho had an authentic Hawaiian restaurant, but it does, on the corner of 6th and Pine. Dinner was a truly fun experience as we joked with the owner and his wife who were the chef and waitress respectively.

After dinner we continued walking until we found the Melodrama Theatre built in the late 1800s and in continuous use since. The poster on the window announced the next production which would begin on the next evening at 7 pm. The title: Purdy Gerdy Gets Whacked as Wallace Goes Wireless. Now, who could resist a reproduction of a play that was written, produced, and staged right here at the Melodrama Theatre a hundred years ago? Certainly not us.

Before returning to The Brook's, we found a storefront at the far edge of town across the street from the train depot with a flashing neon sign which read "Bordello Museum". Oh yeah, we're definitely checking that out before we leave. Several doors down from our hotel we passed "The Tea Shop", a fussy, frilly, cafe-style shop reminiscent of every little girl's dreams complete with lace table cloths and bone china tea sets. The sign in the window says they serve high tea in the afternoon. Oh yeah, we're definitely checking that out, too.

The next morning we arose early, ate an ample breakfast, then headed to the trail head. The ride took longer than we anticipated. Our group split into two groups, those who were cold and wanted to ride as fast as possible for warmth and to speed back to the hotel hot tub and cocktails, and the group I chose who dressed appropriately and rode leisurely stopping often to gawk and take pictures. I think I made the better choice. Later in the evening, we all met for dinner at the Jameson Saloon, then walked down the street to the Melodrama Theatre while passing a growing crowd of onlookers awaiting the ATV parade, which kicks off the 3-day ATV Jamboree. After the show, we walked the three blocks back to The Brook's Hotel passing countless ATVs parked nilly-willy along the parade route with people sitting perched on the seats visibly drunk or stoned, or both. The parade was over, but the party had just begun.

The next morning, the group who sped through the bike ride decided to head for home after a wonderful breakfast of huckleberry waffles cooked by Bill Brooks and served by his daughter, Amy. The remaining three of us had our sights set on the Bordello and the Tea Shop as well as cruising the side of the mountain that tightly held tiny little houses where most of the town's people live.

First the Bordello Museum. A local family bought the building in the late 1990's after it had been boarded up unused since the FBI raided it and shut it down in 1988. The entire second floor, which was where business was conducted had been literally frozen in time with nearly everything intact as it was on the day of the raid, including cigarette butts in the ashtrays and bags of groceries in the kitchen, not to mention the actual red lights that illuminated the stairway as well as the lounge. The girls, along with the madam, lived in the bordello. The bedrooms that the girls serviced the clients in were their actual bedrooms. The madam had very strict rules, which were posted and followed to the letter. The girls were not to leave the bordello for any reason except for their monthly doctor visits. They were, however, allowed on the back second-floor deck in the afternoon for fresh air and sun. Periodically, girls were moved to other towns, sometimes in other states, to keep them from becoming attached to their clients and to keep the supply of girls new and different.

I had expected the Museum to show prostitution as it was during Wallace's early days when the town bustled with bawdy women, raucous men, and a host of lawless characters. I suppose like many people I have a romantic notion of America's wild west with saloons, show girls, drunken brawls, lively poker games, and Miss Kitty. Instead I saw a very depressing, very unromantic, reality where young women experienced degrading, dehumanizing treatment from those who "owned" them and those who used them. We learned that at one time the entire block was considered the "red light district", which began in the late 1800s during the silver rush and lasted nearly a hundred years.

After spending the next few hours checking out every single shop and business, we headed to The Tea Shop for high tea. There were only 5 tables in the tiny crowded shop and two of them were reserved so we were asked to return in a half hour or so. This gave us ample time to cruise up the mountain and see where everyone lives. It was amazing to see houses literally clinging to the side of a cliff like a goat; it was also amazing to see the views that people wake up to each morning. A view of a beautiful valley nestled between two ranges with a town tucked underneath an Interstate.

Back at The Tea Shop, a corner table awaited our arrival. Like three bulls in a china shop, we clumsily skinnied our way past several tables, taking care not to bang our elbows or shopping bags into the sea of enormous red hats sticking out over the chairs blocking our way. It seems the reserved tables now hosted eight elderly, overdressed ladies from Wallace's chapter of The Red Hat Society. The eight women seated at two adjoining tables nibbled tea biscuits and sipped Earl Gray tea in complete and utter silence. I wasn't sure what to make of this strange behavior. Most of the Red Hat ladies I've seen have been boisterous, almost demanding the attention they sought. But not this group. Not a peep. I wondered if they thought they were behaving appropriately. I also wondered if they had done this so many times that they simply had nothing to say to one another. I also wondered if maybe their hats were too tight and they weren't getting enough circulation to the brain. Then another thought came to mind, I wondered if any of these women's husbands had visited the bordello. I also wondered if any of these women had worked at the bordello. I wondered about all of the history, all of the stories that made this town what it is, and how it had evolved from red lights to red hats.

And so it is.