Early Afternoon Saloon, Virginia City

Posted on August 25, 2007

Ask historians about Virginia City, Nevada, and they’ll tell you that it’s the nation’s largest historic landmark. But ask any merrymaker—whether they’re apple-cheeked granddads or Harley-clad motorcycle mamas—and they’ll tell you the star of Virginia City is its saloons. Two churches and 900 bars, or so the adage goes. It might be a small exaggeration, but one thing is true. Since the 1860’s, saloons have been the only businesses in the city to steadily survive. The look of today’s watering holes vary. Some hardly resemble the old west, while others have every trapping of a saucy biker bar.

Occasionally, you’ll walk into a place where Skynard isn’t rocking, the TV isn’t squawking, and the rough-hewn baseboards hearken back to days long before our earthly joyride. When we came upon this saloon, it was one o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and the bar’s pin drop silence seemed almost incongruous with the revelry outside. The gentleman sitting in the foreground, a historic worker, was dressed in 1880’s garb. He finished a beer while in quiet conversation with the two women beside him. My friend, following a Virginia City protocol to buy a beer in every bar, bellied up and bought his bottle. We slipped inside a backroom—an old gentleman’s social club—and while I pondered the ghost of Ulysses S. Grant, I leaned through the doorway and took this photo. Calm and intimate. It’s easy to idealize such simple moments. I dreamed of days-long-since-past when the backbeat was softer and strangers knew a thing about hospitality. A trip to Virginia City’s cemetery offered a look at the flipside. Many who lived in this bustling boomtown (which once had 30,000 residents) didn’t survive past thirty-five.

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