Cody, Wyo.
Tucked into the northwest corner of the Cowboy State, this town is a living, snorting, hoof-pounding monument to the way things were in the American West.
Take, for example, the rodeo. Oh sure, a lot of Western towns have rodeos. But here there’s a rodeo every night from June 1 through Aug. 31.
And look at the main street through downtown. It’s 75 feet wide. Crossing it can require two rest breaks and a snack. It’s not 75 feet wide because of some modern urban planning committee or a consultant’s
traffic-flow study. Nope, it’s been 75 feet wide since the late 1800s, built that way because Buffalo Bill Cody wanted it that wide – exactly the width needed by his team of horses to turn his wagon around.
Cody, as you might have guessed, built the town. He oversaw the construction of many of the buildings that still stand, including the downtown Irma Hotel, which he named for his daughter. A few miles to the west sits Buffalo Bill Reservoir, which is prevented from washing away the town by – that’s right – the Buffalo Bill Dam.
And at the heart of the town that definitely doesn’t want to forget its past sits the 300,000- square-foot Buffalo Bill Historical Center. Its five museums display Western art, guns, natural history, Indian culture and everything Buffalo Bill, including an actual fur coat worn by Buffalo Bill himself – a coat that, as you might guess from his nickname, is made of beaver.
Some 225,000 people visit the historical center each year, most on their way to Yellowstone National Park. But about 20 percent, according to center director Bob Shimp, have the museums as their destination.
“The mystique of the American West is what runs this place,” said Shimp, the former president of McMurray University in Texas. “That image of the West still strikes people, people from all over the world.”
Today we’ll take a brief tour of the museum. But first, let’s familiarize ourselves with the man.
William Frederick Cody was born in Iowa in 1846. At the age of 11, he embarked on a journey that became the embodiment of the West. By the age of 20, Cody had mined for gold in Colorado’s Pikes Peak region, served as a messenger for the Pony Express, trapped the aforementioned beavers, worked as a wagon train driver and herded cattle.
In 1867 he began the work that would give him his nickname – hunting buffalo to feed the Kansas Pacific Railroad workers. Later, Cody claimed he had shot 4,280 buffalo in a 17-month period. He earned his famous nickname in a grisly eight-hour buffalo shoot-off against a man named William Comstock, who also wanted the nickname “Buffalo Bill” and, well, didn’t get it.
As we enter the museum, note the actual wooden telephone, dated 1905, from Buffalo Bill’s ranch in Wyoming.
Legend has it that Cody himself often used that phone. Generally very late at night, to call Bill Comstock, laugh and then hang up.
Moving along, on your right is the actual Cody family dining room table, complete with cups, plates, saucers and silverware. There at that very table, the Cody family gathered for supper each evening – his wife, Louisa, and their children bowing their heads and reciting the solemn words they spoke before each meal: “Oh, dear God, not buffalo again!”
Next is the firearms wing of the museum, where seemingly endless glass cases display the guns used by Cody and others during that era and, frankly, during every era. As we leave this wing, note the actual sign near the elevator that reads: “Whoa! If you have already toured and seen the 1,500 firearms on this floor, you may be interested in seeing another 1,200.”
Because nothing captures the spirit of the Old West quite like spending six hours staring at 2,700 guns.
And finally, amid the personal belongings of Buffalo Bill, let’s look at that big, three- pronged wooden fork in the glass cabinet. The sign beneath it, as you’ll note, says: “Fork, c.1855. Used in kitchen or laundry.”
This dual-purpose wooden artifact gives you a close-up, personal glimpse into the way Buffalo Bill Cody lived.
And more importantly, according to the legend, why he constantly complained that his salad tasted like soap.
Rich Tosches writes each Wednesday and Sunday. He can be reached at rtosches@denverpost.com.
