Old Missoula

When Missoula Wasn’t Too Pretty

An Amazonian War

The Sallys of Our Alleys Have a Little Time All to Themselves

They fit an fit, till each was sore,

And all around was kivered with gore.

A couple of “kept ladies,” the windows of whose rooms look out upon the classic areaway of the territory bounded by saloons, butcher shops, assignation houses, restaurants, Chinese hash factories, hand-me-down clothing stores, beer joints and the ever ubiquitous Missoulian, last evening indulged in a private tete-a-tete which was witnessed only by the favored few residing in that neighborhood whose back doors lead out upon the scene of action. It was a war of Amazons right in our own alley and the Missoulian cautions the police to keep hands off as it was a battle royal; an exclusive picnic and one to the finish. No draw, except the drawing of hair, the scratching of faces and gnashing of teeth. It was an alley row, a family row, a row among the Sally’s. And here is the way it happened as the fracas appeared to a Missoulian reporter who was perched on the safety valve of the office engine as it blew off its exhaust immediately after the day’s work was done:

One of the hand-painted cameos, who weighs, stripped, about 200 pounds, was approaching leisurely with growler in hand, making a bee line for the rear entrance of a five cent beer joint. Another battle-ax, who tips the beam, in her striped stocking feet, at about 240 pounds, was coming from another direction, having just emerged from the rear of a butcher shop loaded down with a quarter’s worth of quail’s brains. Great heavings; a collision was imminent and the Missoulian reporter at once began barricading his premises, and with a liberal supply of Hokey-Pokey kept himself at a fair distance from the enraged damsels. It was quite apparent that the ladies had met before, for, no sooner were they face to face than they were up and at it. Charges and counter-charges of undue relations with festive pinkeys were bandied to and fro until the elephantine proportions came together and then – the fight was on. Down and over they rolled, pitched and tumbled until their symmetrical limbs mingled and old cans and gum boots in the alley fairly rattled; they scratched, pulled hair, called each other endearing terms and kept up the din until a poor, lone, sickly looking Chinaman, who could endure the sight no longer, courageously stepped up and separated the belligerents. And be it said, to the shame of some fifty or more able-bodied men who watched the entire proceedings throughout, not one could be found possessing sufficient nerve to stop the row. Rather they preferred to look complacently on the picture, waiting for the despoliation of countenance and scant attire, the latter of which was promiscuously scattered about the yard after the ball was over. In fact, but little vestige of clothing remained on either, and to the close observer it did not appear as though either had much on when the row began, as a reconnoitre of the battlefield disclosed the wreckage to consist of two dilapidated Mother Hubbards and one garter large enough for a horse collar.

No arrests; a careful search made for witnesses failed to discover any one who had seen the fracas.

The above account appeared in The Evening Missoulian on August 22, 1893.

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