Archive for August 7th, 2010

by JC

For your weekend reading pleasure, I direct you towards Wulfgar!’s story about growing up “normal” in the Bitterroot and his perspective on Wayne Nance, the serial killer who met his maker one day by being sloppy, and died at the hands of one of his victims in 1986. It was just a few days after I moved to Missoula into a cabin a few blocks from the scene of the crime–having just spent a few weeks in West Riverside with a friend (the location of Nance’s first known victim) as I moved and waited for my rental to open up, and hearing the stories of unsolved murders. What had I gotten myself into, I thought?

GO NOW, over to A Chicken is not Pillage and read “One Degree of Separation.” You’ll be a better person for it. And for what it’s worth, I think that Wulfgar!, instead of being a bookstore employee, should be feeding bookstores novels…

“I grew up in Stevensville, the first community in Montana, having moved there when I was barely 10. Stevensville, as with the other communities in Ravalli county, was a normal small Montana rural town. Except Darby, which was and remains a little … off. By ‘normal’ I mean that very thing, which is why I laugh at those usually urban dwellers who paint small towns with the brush of Mayberry USA. Stevensville wasn’t Mayberry, it was normal. We had a bar owner in town who was an unbelievable bully. Everybody knew he was dealing drugs out of his place, as well as other nefarious things, but he was aided by the inaction of the town cops. The latest of those ‘fine officers’ as I grew up is now the mayor of Stevensville starting in January, and what a twit he is. The bully kind of shriveled up when an ex-NFL football player bought the bar across from his. Funny how that works. We had (and have) the yearly celebration of our town’s industry, the Creamery Picnic. The junior high math teacher ran away after being caught banging the wife of the junior high science teacher. He ended up in Polson for a while. None of my female classmates cared because they thought the math teacher was creepy. He’d stand at the bottom of the stairs between class, especially on Friday when girls were required to wear dresses. There were the usual rumors that the senior prom queen was sleeping with the good looking chemistry teacher. Our town’s prominent business men were often corrupt and usually licentious…”

Go read the rest!

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