Bi-Metallic and Degrees of Gray

 

The Bi-Metallic Complex Photograph from the Ted Antonioli collection

                                                                       Unknown date

One cannot recite the history of Granite County without speaking about the Hope Mining Company, the Granite Mountain Mining Company and the Bi-Metallic Mining Company which merged in 1898 and was presided over by Paul Fusz until his death, February 16th 1910. At that time Charles McLure, who had always been involved in Granite Mountain, took over the presidency. The Bi-Met was in the newspapers almost weekly-be it: The mill is running at full capacity; Jack Boyd and Hank Noble are accused of robbing the mills bullion room; or the mill announced they will be shutting down on Friday causing all local businesses to announce they will be going to cash only beginning next week. As recently as the 2010’s the Mill (albeit remodeled and restored) was back up and running. Although the ore being processed was first from the Drumlummon at Marysville and later ore from Canada, good paying jobs were again available to the residents. One of the last surviving Millwrights, “Wildmeat” put the mill back into running order and trained the new employees to practice this vanishing trade. 

Every time I visit the Mill or the “Brick Hotel” next door or look at pictures of the mill in my files I hear the lines of the poem “The Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg.” This writing was composed by Richard Hugo (1923-1982), who was born and died near Seattle, but lived for a period in Missoula and taught at the University. Hugo had a skill of capturing the essence of a community by driving to an area and spending one day there. This he did in Philipsburg in 1982 and published the following poetry in 1984. (I recommend the reader slowly read each line aloud and think about their ups and downs they have experienced, while digesting the words.) 

 You might come here Sunday on a whim 

Say your life broke down. the last good kiss 

You had years ago. 

You walk these streets laid out by the insane, 

past hotels, that didn’t last, bars that did, 

the tortured try of local drivers to accelerate their lives. 

Only Churches are kept up. 

The jail turned seventy this year. 

the only prisoner is always in, not knowing what he’s done 

The principal supporting business now is rage. 

Hatred of the various grays the mountain sends,

hatred of the mill, 

The Silver Bill repeal, 

the best liked girls who leave each year for Butte. 

One good restaurant and bars can’t wipe the boredom out. 

The 1907 boom, eight going silver mines 

A dance floor built on springs 

All memory resolves itself in gaze 

in panoramic green you know the cattle eat

or two stacks high above the town two dead kilns, 

the huge mill in collapse for fifty years 

that won’t fall finally down. 

Isn’t this your life? 

That ancient kiss still burning out your eyes. 

Isn’t this defeat so accurate, 

the Church bell simply seems a pure announcement; 

ring and no one comes? 

Don’t empty houses ring? 

Are magnesium and scorn sufficient 

to support a town not just Philipsburg, 

but town of towering blondes; 

good Jazz and booze 

the world will never let you have 

until the town you came from dies inside? 

Say no to yourself. 

The old man, twenty when the jail was built, 

still laughs although his lips collapse. 

Someday soon he says, 

I’ll go to sleep and not wake up 

You tell him no, 

you’re talking to yourself. 

The car that brought you here still runs 

The money you buy lunch with 

no matter where it’s mined, is silver 

and the girl who serves your food is slender 

and her red hair lights the wall. 

As a youngster attending school in Philipsburg, very few of the students came from “rich” homes and those of us on ranches out on the creeks, even though we had very little money always had meat potatoes and gravy. Most everyone charged their groceries and some of the kids in town were allowed to go into the store, pick out a candy bar and say “charge it.” Ranchers would pay their bill in full when the cattle were sold in the fall. I remember the “Cash Only” signs when the Mines and Mills would shut down. 

Often the miner stopped at the bar on his way home and the wife joined him, with the children sitting off in the back room. The man whose lips collapsed when he laughed always sat with his two buddies on the bench in front of the Bank and when the mines shut down, the town was very quiet. But there was still logging…then it shut down too. Now the product is the up and down of tourism and the Mill still stands.

 

Crew and probably management during repair of the Bi-Metallic Mill

Date unknown

Ted Antonioli collection