Featured Writers—4: Montana Poets
bars, towns, and...Hugo, Welch, Reed, Thomas, and...other surprises!
Hello all and sundry!
Come on in! Looking forward to today’s visit! Grab that thing you like to sip, gather something to snack on, and get comfy!
Whenever I reach the time for writing the Featured Writer post it feels like the day has been crouched around a corner and jumps out with, “BOO!” How is it that the end of the month is ALREADY here?!!! Sheesh! Well, whatcha gonna do?!! HaaHaa!
This months Featured Writer post is about several Montana poets and their own ‘bar’ poems. If you’ve been keeping up with me this September—I have been sharing loads of BAR poems! Having grown up in Montana and lived there until I was 29, I was not only exposed to bars (much of my life, being raised in them!), I also got a good dose of the local writers. Believe it or not, these creatives often hung out in—BARS! Not sure if these writing spaces were chosen for the readily available writing ‘material’ or for the frequent occasion needed for an alcohol inspired muse to appear! Whatever the reason, these two, writers and bars, were and are a common marriage!
The poets I’ll be showcasing today are: Richard Hugo, James Welch, and David E. Thomas, though honorable mention will be given to: J.D. Reed, who was a contributor to a famous bar poem challenge, and Anonymous, an unidentified poet from the Dixon, Montana area (You’ll see why!). Each of these poets, at one time or another, took up residence in Montana; they had connections with the U of M (university), the Missoula community, and the surrounding towns—each of which having at least one or a handful of great bars!
Richard ‘Dick’ Hugo
Dick Hugo was a character of bravado, from what I heard told. Now, could be the guys telling the stories were just as full of it as he; give a few drinks to any one of the crowd of writers, journalists, and professors that hung together in the bar bowels of Missoula’s downtown and you never knew what you were gonna get! What I most certainly knew to be true about Hugo (once fully introduced to his writing while in college) was that he was one hell of a poet; he gave me a writer’s vision of so many familiar places and faces through his sentences in verse.
I remember when news hit our western Montana communities that he had died. The reaction wasn’t mixed (except for my hometown)—folks were sad he was gone; a legend and a celebrity had passed.
Hugo wrote a lot of poetry during his time in Missoula about the places and characters and experiences had while bellied to the bar or around a table of chain smoking, drinking, and partaking of other things men. (There were a couple women who would join them as well.) His poems introduced us to them all. He was a journalist by way of poetry; the lives of everyone chronicled line by line.
Now, he died before I ever had an introduction; it was ‘82 and I was still in junior high. Also, our mom hadn’t met our step-dad yet, so we didn’t have the deep Missoula connection that would come once he entered our lives. Our step-dad, Harley Hettick, was a journalist and photographer for the Missoulian in those days (now he is lead consultant for the family melon farm). He also spent a significant amount of time in the downtown bars hanging out with this particular group. I know he didn’t have much positive to say about Hugo, but that may stem from the Dixon Bar poetry written by Hugo and his buddies (our home was Dixon and our parents spent a good amount of time ‘visiting’ Joanne(owner) at the Dixon Bar), and the local’s unimpressed response to these reflective poems. Don’t we all get defensive when someone ‘non-family’ characterizes someone or something we love? So, Hugo may not have been thought of or remembered with much local Dixon esteem.
How Hugo was remembered, from what I would come to realize, differs: one, those who interacted with him, the writer and professor, had one view, very positive, as detailed in this article written by Patrick McRoberts and published at HistoryLink.org, or two, those who encountered him in the bars (often under influence, of course) had another, not as shiny, as alluded to in this article and interview by Vince Devlin with Dixon Bar owner Joanne Schmauch. The latter would come to intersect with the first when Hugo and two of his poet buddies, James Welch and J.D. Reed spent time at the Dixon Bar and had a drunken poetry challenge. The poems, all three titled The Only Bar in Dixon, are shared within Devlin’s article, and were first published in The New Yorker, as Three Poems on the Same Theme. (Now, if curiosity has you, do take some time here to click on these links and get a deeper sense of what I mean.)
This is my personal experience with coming to know of these poems, the poets, and the ruffled feathers felt by many a Dixonite:
Over the years, while joining our parents at the Dixon Bar for drinks or a burger grilled up by Joanne, I would read these poems; they were framed and hanging on the bar’s wall along with a poem mailed to Joanne by an anonymous poet. We did have our suspicions as to who the poetic defender of our only bar and our fiery friend, Joanne, was. Yet, we never pressed them; let their anonymity remain where they wanted it—hanging on the bar wall, standing in protective stance between the other poems and our friends and ‘home’.
Here it is:
Untitled
The shadows of geese still fly in its streets. The deer trails give it room. The sunlight dies under blood-washed skies, Leaving Dixon in the gloom. And on it perch beside the Jocko's birch Lies a spark thrown aside by the fire. It's a neon glow from a place we know, A station in the Flathead's mire. Behind the red sign's glare is a bill of fare That has warmed many a rider. And through thick and thin the stories within Have been the daily bread of the Tiger. On a Salish curse and a skimpy purse, The place has met its desire. It has thawed out the shooter and harbored the looter And held services around the fire. It's the Dixon Bar, known near and far As a place that time has forgotten. The timbers are weak, the wooden floors creak, And the sills are getting rotten. But its carcass survives as it haunts our lives With times in the past to be cherished. And if the glowing red hair and the Tiger weren't there A page in our history has perished. ~Anonymous, 1970
No matter how my fellow community members felt about Hugo, or the other poets, or how they felt about Joanne, her husband, Tiger, or her out-on-the edge, quite obnoxious son, Bud, or how they felt about any possible interest these poets, and their famous poems, brought to our community—I LOVED EVERY BIT OF THE STILL STANDING DRAMA! Which, like good drama does, has held on in this town since I was a year old, in 1970! Some folks can sure keep their hackles raised for YEARS! I do truly think all of this was influential to my beginning of loving banned books; I toted around my hand written copying of these poems in my purse for years (until they disintegrated) to share with anyone who wanted to hear the story of the Dixon grudge or to read these writers, Hugo, Welch, and Reed, who I now ADORED! Of course, I wouldn’t be telling fellow Dixon folks any of this, especially not Joanne—she was after all a fiery redhead and wasn’t one to PISS OFF! Though Hugo and his fellow poets churned up some drama, Joanne couldn’t have been too mad, she did post their poems on the bar wall and they are likely STILL there for all I know, not much of anything changes in Dixon.
For another Substacker’s insight into this whole Three Poems on the Same Theme, The Only Bar in Dixon poems, and the Hugo vs Schmauch contention, the current Poet Laureate of Montana,
does a splendid job recounting his experience getting the scoop on this legendary story. By some spiritually poetic chance, I came upon Chris’s piece while writing this one! What a TREASURE! If you don’t already subscribe to his newsletter, DO! You will be glad you did! Here is link to his article:
James Welch
Welch is most assuredly a Montana treasure! Of all the writers of my home state, he is my favorite and his poetry and novels are by far my most cherished. Apologies to the other greats, but Welch’s writing speaks to me on a level that others have not. My favorite of his novels are Fools Crow and Winter in the Blood (adapted to film in 2013, same title). Though quite notable, of course, are any of his other novels and one piece of non-fiction, Killing Custer. The poem that Welch wrote for the writing challenge with Hugo and Reed is published in his only collection of poetry, Riding the Earthboy 40 (1971).
While attending Salish Kootenai College, I had the pleasure of meeting Welch in 1988. He came to our campus twice as guest lecturer; first, for a class taught by Dr. Kipp, Native American Images in Film, and second, for a creative writing class taught by Prof. Allen Hibbard. What an experience that was! Better, even, was the lunch reception and being seated at the same table with him, Dr. Kipp, Prof. Hibbard, and a few other creative writing and Native American Studies students. I was a young kid, but so enamored and completely transfixed listening to every word of their conversation; for me, a moment in life never forgotten. Being an instant new fan, I purchased everything he had published!
With each poem and novel read, I was drawn in to the way he mastered storytelling and how, with my only-a-white-kid’s knowledge of living on the Rez, he opened my eyes to a history, culture and experience that I only viewed from a distance. He inspired me to change every ounce of ignorant perception I had been encouraged to have by many in my family and to erase the echoing racist beliefs of so many voices of my ancestors. This is likely why I so completely reject any who quietly or boldly join the wide-open racist screaming and stomping being done across our USA today. We should all look at history, acknowledge the errors made, change our current hate-filled wrongs, and open our hearts and minds to respect and honor each other going forward. On my soapbox, I digress. Welch, for sure, was a catalyst for seeking understanding and change in me. I am so grateful to have, not only been introduced to his written works, but to have been, for a moment, in his presence.
James Welch passed in June of 2003. His impact on me and so many others will be forever felt.
—Here is a link to a wonderful video of an interview with his wife, Lois, accessed through the UMAA Book Club and the University of Montana Alumni Facebook pages. Here UM Director of Creative Writing Judy Blunt and Lois Welch discuss: James Welch as writer, the book Killing Custer, and so much more. Lois is, herself, a Montana treasure! (To view: be sure whichever device you are reading this from also has an open access to your Facebook. I have found no other means by which to view the video.)
David E. Thomas
David E. Thomas is known as ‘the walking poet of Missoula’. He is another ‘poetic’ character who spent much time in the downtown bars of Missoula with this grand group of writers, journalists, and professors. My introduction to his poetry happened like this:
On a Saturday after selling Dixon Melons at the Missoula Farmer’s Market, with Mom and Harley, we were walking down North Higgins Avenue after having had lunch and we popped in to Eddie’s Club (now Charlie B’s) and were greeted by a bearded face from Harley’s past, Dave. We had casual introductions and after a short how-ya-been catching up, Dave took from a stack of books near him a copy of his latest poetry book, Buck’s Last Wreck. He quickly penned an inscription and handed a copy to Harley. Later, as I questioned Harley about this poet and the book and the history and Eddie’s Club remembrances—my young writer’s intrigue couldn’t be quenched—he answered all he wanted to and then, handed the book to me saying, “Enjoy it.” I have been a fan of David E. Thomas ever since!
Eddie’s Club had always been a refuge for the working class, and under Nye’s influence, it also became a stronghold for creatives, as one of the American West’s most unexpected cultural melting pots. The “Eddie’s Club Collection” eventually grew to incorporate 125 portraits, including photos of poet Richard Hugo, novelist James Crumley, Irish poet Anthony Cronin, and artist Jay Rummel. Writers James Welch, James Lee Burke, William Kittredge, Edward Abbey, and Allen Ginsberg were also among the regulars or visitors who frequented this haunt.
Written by: Aaron Teasdale, Portraits of Humanity, Big Sky Journal, Winter 2020
Wish Aaron would have included Dave’s name as well….he is an Eddie’s Club icon as well!
Montana Poet Laureate from 2021-23, Mark Gibbons, visits with guest Montana poet David E. Thomas who reads from his poetry collections. Video produced by MCAT.ORG.
Well, all, I sure hope you enjoyed this walk with some great poets from Montana and got a peak at their bar poems and a glimpse into their lives as Montana poets! Seems that BARS are a topic for poets the world over! I know the bars, saloons, and old dives I have set foot in have inspired many a poem from me!
Thanks so much for joining me and I look forward to our next meeting, whether it’s over poetry, prose, or discussing other talented creatives! Enjoy what is left of September! Fall is COMING!
Many blessings and MUCH LOVE,
~Wendy 💜
PS—COMING SOON! And, following…in case you’ve missed my bar poems:
COMING SOON!! Last 'BAR' poems of September: 9/23, 9/27, & 9/30.
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What an incredible list, thank you! Something about big sky country - I was there for two months working on a creative project many years ago and fell in love - the energy there oozed creativity like I never expected! I am happy to have exposure to these poets and appreciate you putting this together! Awesome! 🙌