Way Out West

In this patch of the West, the Way Out West, folks are feeling beleaguered. The state they like to call “the last, best place” has been overrun with FBI agents and, worse, large, noisy hordes of national news crews. First it was the “freemen,” that merry band of check-kiting tax rebels presently holed up in a Garfield County ranch house. And then came the Unabomber arrest, up the road from here in a little town called Lincoln.

Never before has Montana attracted so much national attention, all of it unwelcome. Professional boosters of Big Sky country, as well as ordinary folks met in passing, seem almost sheepish about all the big, bad news. Why Montana? they lament, their laconic cowboy voices climbing up an octave, headed toward shrill.

Talk radio and the papers here are full of fretful discussions about whether the notoriety will spook tourists, chase away prospective new businesses. There is concern the state is about to be saddled with a national reputation as a collection point for tax rebels, hermit-terrorists, militiamen and assorted other kooks in camouflage. What they are worried about, frankly, is supplanting California as America’s favorite laughingstock.

Around here, telling California jokes ranks second only to trout fishing as a pastime. And now Montanans sense that they’re about to become a humor genre themselves.

So these two Montanans walk into a gun store. . . .

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Last Thursday in Lincoln a woman named Ann sat inside the Lambkins coffee shop, remarking on the fleet of satellite trucks parked outside. “We have a lot of good things here,” she sniffed. “Montana isn’t just a bunch of nuts.” She described in detail a town fund-raiser held each year to support a town doctor. “How come,” she demanded of a circle of out-of-town scribblers, “I never see any of you here for the Blackfoot Valley Art Auction? How come you never mention the art auction in your stories?”

Well, Ann, it just got mentioned.

Now, back to the nuts. . . .

The Montanans deserve sympathy, of course, but for Californians the Big Sky state’s predicament also must produce a flicker of amusement. It’s almost fun watching another fish wriggle on the hook of national ridicule, especially one that has made it so clear to migrating Californians that they are not exactly welcome: “The first thing you must do,” a transplant from Los Angeles explained, “is lose those California plates as fast as you can. They really don’t like us.”

Out in California, the fickle finger of fate has been pointed at our golden heads for what seems like forever. With every economic downturn and canyon fire, every temblor and mass murder, every low-speed Bronco chase, Californians are held up by the archangels of the national press as hopelessly weird and, therefore, deserving of God’s most clever punishments. Like earthquakes. The premise seems to be that geography is the common denominator of human behavior, a dubious theory in a homogenous nation where everybody watches the same soap operas, eats the same double cheeseburgers, etc.

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All that aside, stereotypes are never works of complete fiction. California can produce bumper crops of nuts and flakes. This probably has less to do with laid-back attitude than it does simple math. The state with the most people is going to produce the most strange people, and also the most ordinary ones. The ordinaries simply don’t make good copy.

In a similar vein, some Montanans admit that there might be more than coincidence to the presence of both freemen and a Unabomber suspect. The wide open landscape, almost heartbreakingly pretty, can produce a form of brooding among its scattered occupants. It also is a great place for hide-outs. Said the state attorney general: “We tend to leave people alone and mind our own business.”

Moreover, people often move here on the run, fleeing what they might term so-called civilization. They calibrate their radars to detect even the tiniest hint of societal invasion, be it by tax collectors or technology. And when trouble comes, the more extreme members will strap on their holsters (or build their pipe bombs) just like the cowboys of yore: Montana-style.

Let us close with a peace offering--free advice from a state that has been there. It is important in these sieges, dear Montanans, to maintain perspective. Most of it is just news chatter, wind, and the satellite trucks always move on. Also, humor helps. A Missoula radio station on Thursday had the right idea, sponsoring a contest for a new state motto. “Welcome to Montana,” went the winner, “It’s Where You’re Wanted.” A personal favorite: “Welcome to Montana, now duck!” See, by laughing at yourself first, you beat invading pundits (like this one) to the punch. Think of it as a quick draw sort of deal.