Memorable Well-Heeled Bulldogs,
a continuation of "It Takes A Village"...
Every town has a Mr. Fancy Pants and Stumptown’s Fancy Pants was Buster Schreiber, or more appropriately Mr. B.S. Worthy of his own write up which will likely be forthcoming (not that there weren’t plenty of those after he was indicted), suffice it to say that Mr. B.S. was always impeccably coiffed and expensively dressed in tailored suits, silk ties and tasseled loafers, weather notwithstanding. He drove the only new Mercedes in the village and there was never a question about who was in your midst when that pale yellow 450SL turned the corner. Mr. B.S. had his fingers into everything, and I mean everything.
There exists a large trucking company headquartered in Missoula, MT called Watkins & Shepard, and Carolyn Watkins was one of those “Watkins”. I suppose she was considered the closest thing to a socialite that a place like Whitefish could have. And like most of the local elite, Carolyn too had a house on the lake but her stays in town tended to be her own version of fashionably seasonal. When she wanted to formally entertain, Chef was often her caterer of choice and I usually helped him out with the service. After I’d left Whitefish, I was told that Carolyn had passed away.
The story I heard again and again during my tortured tenure in Big Sky Country was: “If you want to make a $1Million in Montana, you’ve got to bring $10Million with you.” In other words, no one comes to Montana to make money, let alone get rich. Newcomers would either need to bring their wealth with them, or they would struggle to survive. Rarely was there a middle ground that I could see. And a college degree gave little returns on the investment when one of the best livings to be had involved waiting tables for cash tips. Of course, this was long before the internet made telecommuting the viable option it is today.
Aah, yes, every small town has a Mr. BS. Love it! Are you sure you aren't talking about my town?
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