Archive for September 22nd, 2008

by jhwygirl

Well, geez. Here I was working on a healthcare piece about Republican Presidential Nominee Senator John McCain, and here he goes and says it – in his own words!

Via Left in the West, my friends.

Guess I’ll save my piece for some other time…I mean, what’s better than hearing it right from the candidate himself?

Whee! Deregulate!! Whooo hooo!

Any bets on how long it is before the American Academy of Actuaries takes it down off of its website?

by Pete Talbot

Contributors at 4&20, and a few other Montana political blogs, try to maintain some semblance of objectivity — either in the posts themselves or in the comments section. I believe allowing the opposition the opportunity to weigh in goes a long way toward site legitimacy and civil discourse. Otherwise, blogs are just personal rants.

The occasional personal rant, on the other hand, can be quite informative.

Some would call Bill Vaughn’s attacks on Rep. Bill Nooney (R-HD 100) personal. So what? If my representative gave the sand-and-gravel industry the wherewithal to put a gravel pit next to my house, I might get a little personal, too. Check out Vaughn’s latest, entitled, “Denials and Delusions” with the subhead, “The website of Montana Representative Bill Nooney is a place where something besides the truth has beaten out everything else for control.” That sort of says it all. It’s vintage Vaughn and vintage Nooney.

(You might have to scroll down a bit on Vaughn’s site to get to the story. It’s below a fine piece on author James Crumley.)

Remember the name Willis Curdy out there in West Missoula when you step into the ballot booth on Nov. 4.


Others have waxed more poetically than I about the death of James Crumley. (Here’s his obit in the Missoulian, L.A. Times, and N.Y. Times.)

You can still see him down at Charlie B’s, amid the legendary photographs taken by Lee Nye, during Eddie’s Club heyday. That same photo graces the dust covers of Crumley’s first few novels.

In my youth, I fancied myself a writer and Crumley had great influence on my prose. I’d sit on the periphery while the writers and poets like Crumley, Hugo, Ganz and Kittredge would shoot the shit at Eddie’s or East Gate.

Later in life, I’d join Crumley for the occasional drink, etc. Ran into him at the Depot one time and I ordered us a couple of shots of Glenlivet, which I thought at the time was exceptional Scotch.

“Swill,” he said and then proceeded to buy many rounds of Lagavulin, Oban, Glenmorangie, and other single-malts. I don’t recall what we talked about.

I dated his stepdaughter, Mary, for awhile. She had a wild soul, like Jim, and soon tired of me. In those days, she was a stunning redhead.

He was a father, grandfather and great-grandfather. This mellowed him, somewhat, in his later years. He was a friend to the down-and-out and a mentor to the up-and-coming. He was a good Democrat, too.

Crumley captured the ethos of Montana and the West like few other writers. His writing lives on but his presence at the workshops, watering holes and soirees will be greatly missed.  Condolences to Martha, Mary and the rest of the Crumley clan.

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