On the day following my investigation of the Shipwreck! exhibit, my traveling companion and I made a pilgrimage to the town of Guthrie, about 30 miles north of Oklahoma City. Originally established as the state’s territorial capital following the land run of 1889, it grew over a matter of months to become the “Queen of the Prairie” with electricity, a trolley system, underground parking garages, and all other manner of modern conveniences alongside the ornate brick buildings and Victorian mansions lining its streets . It became the first state capital 1907, but this title was lost by popular vote in 1910…by some accounts in retaliation for criticism of state politicians in the local newspaper. By order of the governor, the state seal was moved (or “stolen” according to local lore) in the middle of the night on June 10 of that year. Legend has it that a posse was formed and sent to Oklahoma City to reclaim the seal by force…all to no avail.
With the loss of the capital, Guthrie took an economic nosedive – losing railroad traffic, commerce, industry and eventually much of its population. As it shrank while nearby communities grew, Guthrie never experienced the urban sprawl nor the drive to demolish and modernize that became so prevalent in the other towns. As a result, much of the original city remains completely intact as if it were a time capsule of Victorian frontier living. The city currently boasts the largest urban Historic District in the U.S., with over 2,100 buildings over 400 city blocks.
We began our visit with a trolley tour of the city. The narration was pre-recorded and sorely in need of maintenance. While many of the details were fascinating, the tour lacked color and in many cases (particularly concerning architectural styles) accuracy. Drive times between sites were filled with dead air, squandering ideal opportunities for more elaborate anecdotes. The narrator’s tone was decidedly bitter, particularly when referencing the loss of not only the state capital, but also the university Guthrie had been promised as consolation. Nonetheless, the city spoke for itself through both its extraordinary examples of turn-of-the-century architecture and its unique history.
Historic plaques tell the story of many former residents and their businesses throughout the downtown area. The Same Old Moses Saloon once stood near the corner of Harrison Avenue and 2nd Street. Its proprietor, Moses Weinberger was a banana-merchant turned liquor-dealer from Wichita who had settled in Guthrie during the land run of 1889. A popular host, successful entrepreneur, and shrewd publicist, Weinberger once invited local resident and prohibition crusader Carry Nation to speak at his saloon with the intention of drawing a massive crowd. Upon finishing her speech, she produced her infamous bar-busting hatchet and proceeded to have at the gin mill's fine wooden countertop – at which point she was restrained and ejected from the premises. From that day forward, the Same Old Moses displayed a sign proclaiming “All Nations Welcome Except Carry”.
Directly across the street from the site of the Old Moses stands the Blue Bell Bar, built in 1903 to replace the original wood-frame structure opened in 1889. Tom Mix, star of many early cinematic Westerns, bartended at the Blue Bell during the territorial years before making his way to Hollywood. My compatriot and I sought refreshment at this fine establishment and enjoyed the quaint interior which has retained many of the original fixtures and fittings. Several seats down the bar, two local gentlemen discussed the ineffectiveness of the local 3.2 percent beer while they sampled a variety of imported brews for comparison of taste and strength. At one point, one of the gentlemen insisted on evidence of his drink’s origin and, having read past what he described as “a bunch of German writing” he announced “Bottled in…” - now joined by his partner as they exclaimed in unison: “NEW YORK CITY?!?!?!?!!!” - bringing uproarious laughter to all five of us in the Blue Bell. Somewhere an advertising executive is smiling.
As we departed, the fellow drinking New York’s finest German beer bid us farewell: “Y’all come back and see us again now. We’ll be stuck here for the rest of our lives.” Actually, I can think of worse places.
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