Priority on Glory

Out of 200 men & women buried in 1863, says Idaho City folklore, only 28 died of natural causes. Idaho City had sprung full-blown from the 1862 gold rush: one day there was a pine-covered hillside; next day a teeming, quarreling, gambling, gold-plated city of 25,000 people, all hot as their pistols.

Gambler Ferd Patterson, fresh from killing his mistress and a steamboat captain, swaggered through town in buckskin trousers, high-heeled boots and a frock coat, cut down Idaho City's sheriff to the size of a notch on his gun. A deputy wrestled Patterson into jail, used a cannon to beat off a mob of vigilantes, sadly saw Patterson acquitted by jurymen who knew only too well the hazards of voting guilty.

Idaho City had southern Idaho's first newspaper, its first sawmill; Jenny Lind and Madame Modjeska appeared in its old opera house. But its fortunes zigzagged like its temperatures: 100 degrees in summer, 30 below in winter. By 1869 the gold was gone; so were all but less than 1,000 of its people.

Most of its old buildings have burned down now; the roof has fallen off the jail. But last year a mining company discovered that there was still gold under Idaho City; it bought up rights to move away the houses, dredge the land, put back the homes without their gold foundations.

For its old jail land, Idaho City got $4,440, more than the contemporary city fathers had ever dreamed of seeing in the treasury. For spending it, they hit upon a glorious plan. Even in its heyday, Idaho City had never had a water system; $4,440 would buy a beauty. If Idaho City had to be a ghost town, at least it could be a ghost with hot & cold running water.

Into this dream of glory clanged the alarm clock of wartime priorities: no metal for pipe. Last week Idaho City bought $4,440 worth of defense bonds, put its dream aside for the duration.

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