Searching for Cora Sue - 6 - Buffalo Bill drinks and the other Clintons

September 26, 1910

Thursday morning we spent walking around the town, seeing the various landmarks, and just enjoying the wonderful scenery and weather. The 26 square blocks of Lower Downtown is where we were told to explore, not that we intended to do anywhere near that amount of walking. Denver brags of a mild, dry climate, with an average of 300 days of sunshine a year – the sixth sunniest city in the US. We were told that the temperature today is to get as high as 64º - very pleasant for the time of year. We were told to drink lots of water because of being unaccustomed to the high altitude. They said, enjoy the blue sky; there is less water vapor in the air so the sky really is bluer.

For lunch we went to a restaurant called the Buckhorn Exchange. It caught my eye because it mentioned Buffalo Bill in the advertisement in the window.

 What a revelation when we went inside. It has hundreds of stuffed animal heads on the walls. We sat down and ordered, and then I asked the waiter why all the heads were there.

“The founder of this restaurant is called Shorty Zietz, and he was a one-time member of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. Buffalo Bill frequently came to eat here and so did President Teddy Roosevelt Maybe you ladies would like to order Buffalo Bill’s favorite cocktail,” he said teasingly.

“A Stone Fence,” I said.

“No, but what made you say that?” he asked.

“I met him, way back in 1883 when he was first starting out with his Wild West show. I did an
interview for a newspaper about his show.”

“So what is in a Stone Fence then?”

“Vodka, lemon and cider.”

“This one is bourbon and apple juice.”

“I expect he had lots of favorite drinks,” said Kate.

“I’ll just have a plain apple juice,” I said.

“Me, too,” added Kate.

“Well have a look at the menu and try something different,” he said. “Buffalo Bill would be
proud of you, if he thought you ate a buffalo steak.”

We laughed as he went away and we perused the menu. It is really quite a place. There are guns,
historic photos and Old West mementos on the walls, while the tables feature red-checkered tablecloths. The menu has buffalo, elk, quail and even rattlesnake.

“Ask for Rocky Mountain Oysters, which are deep fried bull's testicles,” our waiter said as he walked back.

“No, thank you,” we both said without a shadow of doubt.

Feeling we had to get into the spirit of the occasion, Kate ordered quail and I said I would like a
small portion of elk. We both opted for fried potatoes and a salad - which they said they would try to rustle up. Obviously not something normally asked for here. But they did their best with some grated
carrot and raisins, and we thoroughly enjoyed our meal.

Afterwards we walked by a very interesting tall building. We asked a passerby what it was and were
told it was the D and F Clock tower - part of the Daniels and Fisher department store, but based on a 2/3 replica of the Campanile of St. Mark's in Venice.

I had already taken my six pictures from my Brownie camera - some on the train and some when we
first arrived. I spotted what might be a useful shop along the road. The Duhem Brothers Photography Studio. We went inside, and I asked to have my current film processed, and bought another two cameras - one for me and one for Kate.

“It will take a few days for these to get done,” the man said.

“We will check back next Monday if that's convenient,” I said.

“Oh, we will make sure to have them done by then.”

I also bought some postcards and sent one to Franklin and another to Frankie.

We then remembered that we had a date for tea at the hotel at 3, so we hurried home to change and rest a bit before we met the other Clintons.

It was quarter to three when we returned to the lobby but my instinct told me that our friends had already arrived. A couple stood by the door. He had a huge cowboy hat on, and she was dressed in a very fancy dress - and very much over done up for the occasion.

I walked over to them.

“Hello. I wonder if you are Mr. Clinton? I am Mrs. Mattie Temple.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, finally taking off his cowboy hat, but he promptly put it back on again, and Mrs. Clinton didn’t seem to see anything wrong with that.

“My name is Walter and this here is my wife Isobella.”

“How do you do,” I said to her. “Please let me present my mother-in-law, Mrs. Kate Temple.”

Isobella sort of half curtsied, as if we were royalty, and I had to stifle a giggle. 

“It was so kind of you to be so helpful and friendly with us on the phone yesterday,” I said,
“and we have good news. We managed to contact my cousins last night.”

Walter looked cress fallen. “Oh, that's good. Only we thought of all sorts of ways you might have
traced Mrs. Cora Clinton that was the wife of Sydney, but now I suppose you don’t even want to know.”

“It is her daughters that we talked to last night. She died apparently in Los Angeles, as you
said, but they wanted to move back here to be near their roots. They said there was no city quite like Denver.”

I made up that last bit, but I wanted to try to lift Walter’s mood again and thought that
mentioning how nice his city was might do the trick.

“Now why don’t we all go into the lobby and have tea,” said Kate.

She ushered them to the very impressive atrium lobby where tea was about to be served. The pianist
and harpist were audible in the background. There were about 10 tables of customers also awaiting this occasion. A waitress dressed in black with a white frilly apron and headdress showed us to a table for four. Walter sat down heavily, still not removing his hat.

Our waitress smiled as she provided us each with a menu. She didn’t seem at all concerned
about the inappropriateness of our guest’s apparel.

Kate ordered English Twinnings tea, listed on the menu as their specialty, and I asked for a cup of
hot water with lemon. We asked for a selection of scones, tea pastries and tea sandwiches for us all to share.

“I’d really like a beer,” said Walter.

“Shh, you can’t have that here,” said Isobella, almost the first words we had heard from her.

The waitress smiled.

“Certainly sir. Coors beers, made here in Denver, are available.”

“And the wife drinks sherry,” he added.

“Certainly madam,” said the waitress. “Sweet or dry?”

“Sweet,” she said, somewhat relieved that the ordering process was now over.

Above our heads and over to the right was a photograph of Teddy Roosevelt when he was President and had come to stay here at the hotel. I thought this might be a good time for me to tell them about my experiences in Medora. I made it as exciting as I could and I could see that I had been right in knowing how to entertain them. Nothing like a murder by a royal Frenchman to get their interest.

“And so he got off scot free, that Frenchie, did he?” asked Isobella.

“Well, yes, he did. There was a third trial some years after we had been there, and it went on a
long time but he was acquitted at that trial too.”

“And he and Teddy Roosevelt were friends, then were they?”

“Well, they both ranched in the same town at the same time, but I don’t think you could exactly
say they were friends.”

“What is it like, that place?”

“Sort of like I think the Grand Canyon must be, although I have never been there. But, from the
pictures I have seen of it, the Badlands look just like a miniature version of it. Beautiful and strange hills in all sorts of shades of red, and just very wild and wonderful.”

“Teddy shot buffalo, didn’t he? Did you see any buffalo when you were there?”

“Oh, yes, quite a lot, but that was before that big last buffalo hunt that he went on. Lots of Indians went too, including Sitting Bull.”

“Did you know Sitting Bull too?” asked Isobella, starry eyed.

“No, I didn’t meet him, but I met his niece, and lots of other nice Indians. But I heard a lot of
stories about him. I think he was quite a good man really.”

“But he killed a lot of white folk.”

“And a lot of white folk killed Indians after taking all their lands from them by trickery.”

“You probably never experienced anything to do with Indians, Ma’am, but they ain’t to be trusted,” said Walter.

“The Indians killed her father,” interjected Kate, “so I guess she does know a bit about them.”

“Really? How did that happen?” said Walter, all agog again. 

So I had to go into great detail all about Custer’s Last Stand, and the part my journalist father
played in it.

Eventually the tea and other drinks were finished and every last cake and crumb was eaten. With
great reluctance, Walter and Isobella got up to leave.

“Please put the bill on our hotel room,” I said to the waitress when she attempted to give it to Walter. Then I reached into my reticule and left a fifty cent piece on the table.

“Hey, don’t you go forgetting your money,” said Isobella as she picked it up and gave it back to me. I decided it was easier to let the matter go rather than try to explain tipping to her. I would make it up to the waitress on another day.

“Well, I am only sorry that we aren’t related to you two nice ladies,” said Walter as he and his
wife walked back out of the hotel and into the road. “And I do thank you for a very interesting afternoon. Good luck with those cousins of yours.”

We said thank you for coming, and good bye, and could hardly wait until they had gone around the
corner and out of sight before we collapsed into helpless laughter.

“Do you think he wears his hat to bed?” said Kate, breaking up again at the thought of it.

“And I expect he wears it when he has a bath too, that is, if he ever does do that,” I added, and
we went back up to our room to have another quick nap before we planned how to spend the rest of our evening.