I lucked out when I landed in
Anaconda, Mont. I didn’t have to tell my friends I was a
Helen or a Malted. I became an Anacondan.
Newspaper folks
like to find shortcuts when writing news stories, and one of the
best ones around is the ability to describe the people in a town
with a single word. Thus, instead of having to write “the residents
of Anaconda,” we at the paper I used to put out could just scribble
“Anacondans,” a savings of three words, though it does conjure up a
hungry snake.
They aren’t so lucky in other places
in Montana.
The residents of Helena, for instance, are
referred to as Helenans, which is not only unpronounceable, but
makes the residents of Helena sound like members of one of the
barbarian tribes that sacked Rome. Add in some Missoulians, and you
could probably state that “the Goths, Vandals, Helenans and
Missoulians overran ancient Rome” without anyone blinking an eye.
The only thing I can come up with to solve the Helenan
problem is to call the residents of the Capital City Helens, which
comes with some problems of its own. But it gets worse.
Consider the plight of our friends in Whitefish, Mont. They could
be called Whitefishermen, but that cuts Whitefisherwomen out of the
picture. Angler is commonly used instead of fishermen because it is
a “gender-neutral word,” that leaves room for men, women and
gender-bendable. But “White-anglers” sounds too silly, and it might
run afoul of the politically correct police when used to refer to a
town full of folks of various shades (though it is true that most
are white).
Just down the road in Butte there is a less
politically sensitive situation. Calling everyone in Butte a
Butte-ician would be a stylish way to go, although it might make a
little hair fly when used as a snide label by, say, a Helen. Then
we have a whole list of Montana town names that don’t lend
themselves to shorthand.
Malta? Are they Malteds or
Maltans? Hopefully neither.
Billings? Billers? Not even
close.
Great Falls? Great Fallers? I wouldn’t know
for sure, but I doubt it.
Dillon? They would have to be
Marshall Dillons, wouldn’t they? Then we have Glendivers,
Kalispell-ringers, and Bozemen and Bozewomen living in Bozeman.
Rocker, on the other hand, presents some interesting
possibilities. Rockettes just might work, since I’ve been
told there is a honky tonk in Rocker that features the dancing of
scantily clad women. Right about now, some folks might be asking
why this guy spends so much time even thinking about, much less
worrying about, the names of towns in Montana. That’s a good
question, and I have a good answer.
I happen to have
spent my impressionable teenage years in a small, western Colorado
town named Basalt. The most charitable and most recent nickname for
folks in Basalt is to label them Basaltines, which isn’t all
it’s cracked up to be. But when I was growing up, the folks
from neighboring towns would look down their pointy little noses
and declare that I was a Ba-splatter.
Obviously, I have
remained somewhat stained by the experience. Not long ago, I moved
to Bishop, Calif., which might make me virtuous by association.
Residents don’t seem to be called Bishoppers, perhaps because
there aren’t that many places to shop, and nobody seems to
prefer traveling on the diagonal, and Bishoprics carries some
Catholic baggage.
I don’t seem constituted to touch
down at any place for long. Maybe my next stop in California could
be another town with a religious resonance — Mecca —
though tiny Rough and Ready arouses my investigative bent. Rough
and ready for what? Maybe I’ll move there, upping the
population by one to 141, and find out.
Jon
Klusmire is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of
High Country News in Paonia, Colorado. The
former editor of The Anaconda Leader in Montana,
he lives now in Bishop, California.
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