Livingston, Montana: Where Past Meets Present

“The hub of the upper Yellowstone Valley, Livingston is a place where wilderness meets the Wild West. Founded in 1882 by the Northern Pacific Railroad, the town was the original gateway to Yellowstone National Park. Tourists changed trains here from the main east-west line to a spur line that followed the Yellowstone River upstream to Gardiner at the park’s north entrance. The community quickly became a trading center for farmers, ranchers and miners of the Yellowstone Valley, and by 1905 a thriving city of about 5,000 people had emerged.”

That was how John Gottberg described Livingston in his book, Hidden Montana: Where Vacations Meet Adventures.

Today, Livingston’s population hovers around 16,000. But 436 building from that turn-of-the-century boom era are preserved. In fact, some of these buildings still have visible, albeit faded, advertising signs on their sides. This must be the reason why movie director Robert Redford filmed his adaptation of Norman MacLean’s acclaimed memoir, A River Runs Through It in this city.

People here want it that way. In 1997, when the U.S. Postal Service tried to move the Livingston post office from downtown, it took only four days for 1,500 citizens to sign a petition, contact their congressmen and stop the move.

Three residential districts are on the National Register of Historic Places. Among them is a log cabin that once was the home of notorious fronstierswoman Martha “Calamity Jane” Canary. (Stories here said that when a public disturbance led to her being jailed, she became disenchanted with Livingston and left town.)

If you want to know more about the historic city, visit the Livingston Depot Center (200 West Park Street), located in the 1902 Northern Pacific station. The building, in Italianate style, was designed by St. Paul architects Charles Reed and Allen Stem, who were also responsible, in part, for Grand Central Station in New York City. Exhibits include rail history, Yellowstone exploration, blues shows and special events. It’s open daily from the end of May to the end of September and doubles as a performing arts center in the winter.

There are more history exhibits across the tracks and two blocks north at the Yellowstone Gateway Museum of Park County (118 West Chinook Street.). Located in an early 20th-century schoolhouse, it’s open daily in summer and by appointment the rest of the year.

Then, there’s the International Fly Fishing Museum (215 East Lewis Street). History, ecology, education and art come together to make the museum a unique experience. Large natural history murals surround aquariums of live fish, allowing visitors to experience the underwater world. From the antique to the contemporary, thousands of flies, fly rods and fishing accessories show the art that is fly fishing. Go see the Redford flick to understand what fly fishing is all about.

Livingston has a pair of noteworthy stage groups. The Firehouse 5 Playhouse (Sleeping Giant Trade Center, Route 89) presents a variety of community musicals and holiday specials throughout the year. The Blue Slipper Theatre (114 South Main Street) serves up comedies, mysteries, dramas and other more serious productions year-round.

I have been to the city twice and each time I love the place. The words of New York novelist William Hjortsberg, who settled a few kilometers away from Montana, come into my mind: “It was so beautiful, and it was so unlike the rest of America… there was this innocence.”

Unfortunately, the last time I visited the place was during winter time. So much so that most of the photos taken in this article were taken during the very cold season. If you can only felt what I went through during those times.

One of the most often-visited places is the Sacajawea Park. “Located beside the Yellowstone River, this Livingston municipal park is one of the nicest in Montana,” writes Gottberg in his book. The park is named for a Shoshoni Indian woman who traveled with the Lewis and Clark expedition.

At the park’s broad riverine lagoon, children can fish or feed ducks and geese. Within the park is Livingston Civic Center, where indoor scenes from Redford’s 1992 picture starring Brad Pitt were filmed. Picnic areas, restrooms, a band shell, tennis courts, a playground and a wading pool round out the amenities. From downtown, follow South Yellowstone Street to its south end.

Just some 5-minute drive south of Livingston is the turn-of-the-20th-century Chico Hot Springs. The resort is a mixture of historic rustic Western architecture and modern buildings and additions that blend into the ranching atmosphere. In the main lodge, the floors creak and the doors are worn around the edges. The décor is reminiscent of an old hunting lodge.

The resort’s big draw is the outdoor pool of 98-degree water drawn from a thermal spring. The natural hot mineral water is fed into two pools: a shallow soaking pool which is maintained at about 103 degrees Fahrenheit, and a larger, cooler swimming pool that seemed very popular with children. The use of the pools is a reasonable US$3 per person in winter, US$5 during the summer. Dressing rooms and shower facilities are available.

Now, let’s go back to the Main Street, which strongly resembles its Main Street of 1900. “Downtown, you’ll find things looking pretty much the same as they did before World War II,” commented one historian.

What is interesting about walking at the Main Street is the fact that you might get lucky to meet painter Russell Chatham. If not, try to catch him at his restaurant, the Livingston Bar and Grille. He also owns a publishing company (Clark City Press) and a thriving lithography press where he personally oversees the printmaking process of his signed limited edition prints. “Some days I spend at the restaurant, some days we print at the press,” he discloses. “And some days I paint.”

Chatham’s paintings are collected by such famous people as William Randolph Hearst III, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Harrison, James Crumley, and James Walch; television journalists Tom Brokaw and Ed Bradley; and movie stars Michael Keaton, Jeff Bridges, Peter Fonda, Warren Beatty, Robert Redford, Harrison Ford and Jack Nicholson.

Another world famous person you might get across here is Tim Cahill, an acclaimed writer who founded “Outside Magazine.” Back in the late 70s, when Outside Magazine transferred its offices to Chicago, Cahill faced two choices: move with Outside to Chicago, or go to New York. Thinking it over, he had a sudden revelation: “‘Wait a second,’ I thought, ‘as a writer, I don’t have to work in an office, I don’t have to be in the city. I can be exactly where I want to be.’” That place was Livingston, Montana.

“I have the best job in American journalism,” he insists, smiling and reclining on his sofa in Livingston. The house abounds with testaments to a three-decade career of all-expense-paid travel to remote and often dangerous places: a primitive bow and arrow set from Irian Jaya, in New Guinea; an Indonesian penis gourd; ornate clay pots from the jungles of Mexico; and hordes of graven images from native cultures the world over.

But Cahill is not the only author living in Livingston. Another is Thomas McGuane, who has penned several highly acclaimed novels which chronicle the spectacle of characters living on the edge, thus endearing him to a whole generation of Americans. His books have been published in ten languages and his screenplays for the films “Rancho Deluxe” (1973) and “Missouri Breaks” (1976) have been seen worldwide.

Actually, there are more professional writers, per capita, than San Francisco, New York City, or any other literary hotbed you'd care to name in the United States. Quite a few native species, including journalist Scott McMillion, author of Mark of the Grizzly; singer-songwriter Mike Devine and his singer-songwriter son, Sean; magazine writer Lynette Dodson; archaeologist-writer Larry Lahren; and poet Patty Miller, to name a few.

The list of Livingston-area writers goes on and on: novelist and “Time” columnist Walter Kirn, mystery writers Jamie Harrison and Peter Bowen, environmental authorities Doug Peacock, Alston Chase and Thomas McNamee, fishing and hunting writers John Holt and Ben 0. Williams, jazz critic and humorist James Liska, foreign correspondent Thomas Goltz, journalist Steve Chapple. If you have the opportunity of coming to this place, you will have the opportunity of hobnobbing some of them in restaurants, parks, or grocery stores.

Hollywood stars also find Livingston a great place to live, too. Jeff Bridges has a home and owns a coffee shop. Forty-five kilometers east of Livingston, Tom Brokaw, Michael Keaton, and Whoopi Goldberg all have ranches. “I like it here since people treat me as I am, not as a celebrity,” replied Dennis Quaid, who owns a house here, when I asked him what has attracted him to live in this city. – ###

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My First American Trip Recalled

“Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today...”

It was December 2000 and was singing the Frank Sinatra hymn while packing my bag. For the first time in my life, I would be going to the United States of America, the country that most Filipinos are dreaming of going to.

“Where are you going this time,” my mother inquired. I had not been telling anyone about this trip since I didn’t want them to know just in case I didn’t get a US visa (but I did!). Big Apple, as New York is sometimes called, I told her.

She stood not moving for few seconds. My mother couldn’t believe what she just heard. After all, when I was still a little boy, I told her that one of my dreams was to visit the United States . “Yes, it’s a dream come true,” I replied as I wiped the tears falling from her eyes. She never said a word after that but instead hugged me tightly. “I will be there for just a few weeks,” I said.

Had it not been for Don Hinrichsen, an American environmental journalist, I won’t be able to go to the US . He invited me to co-write a position paper on water and population for the Washington-based Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars. We never met yet in person although we communicated every now and then via e-mail. Both of us are writing for People and the Planet.

I was looking forward to see the city that Wood Allen always featured in his movies. The night before the trip, I was not able to sleep well. I was afraid I might be late in going to the Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila. So, even if it was still three in the morning, I woke up and took a bath. Afterwards, I took a cab and went directly to the airport. There was a long queue while checking in but it didn’t matter to me.

Our flight from Manila to Tokyo was long – about four hours. We disembarked at the Narita International Airport and stayed there for a couple of hours. Then, we boarded in another plane bound for the United States .

The flight was even longer. For the next thirteen-hours-and-a-half, I was doing what most passengers were also doing: eating meals, reading books and newspapers, walking around, drinking coffee or green tea, playing cards, watching movies, and sleeping (most of the time).

It was not my first time to experience a long flight (I had one before, from Singapore to Johannesburg , South Africa). Feeling bored, I watched other passengers. There was a mother bottle-feeding her baby. An American couple three seats from me were talking, or perhaps they were arguing - sorry, I really could not tell the difference. Too far to eavesdrop.

In another lane, one obese man was snoring out loud (if the lady near him was trying to find another seat, I can only guess). Two men were drinking to their heart’s content while another one was typing in his computer.

Those were the images that captured my attention. But before long, I dozed off to sleep – only to be awaken as the stewardess was serving another meal. No, I was not complaining at all.

Thirty minutes before we landed at the John F. Kennedy International Airport, the captain told us that we will soon be in New York . My heart started to beat fast. I could not relax anymore. This is it, I said to myself. I asked for water, then another, then another. Then, our plane landed smoothly. I was on terra firma again.

I followed other passengers going to the immigration area. There was a long queue; I took my passport and other papers and waited for my turn. Twenty minutes later, I was in front of the immigration official. "What’s your purpose of coming here?” he inquired. I explained to him my reason for coming using some technical terms. I was not sure if he was satisfied with my answer but he stamped my passport anyway.

Welcome to New York , the sign said. Thank you, I said to myself but my biggest problem was: how do I get to know Don Hinrichsen, whom I have not met yet? Five days before my flight, he e-mailed me that he will be waiting for me. Asking how I would recognize him, he replied, “At the airport’s waiting area, just look for a tall person with mustache and wearing a hat.” He must be joking!

Just to be on the safe side, I also e-mailed Dr. James Hansen, a former colleague who now works at Columbia University in New York. He answered back that he would pick me up at the airport, too. Now, if Don won’t be able to make it, then there was still James. Or, vice-versa.

Since I knew James, I looked for him at the waiting area. He wasn’t around; maybe he was late, I consoled myself. Now, I was searching for a tall man with mustache wearing a hat. I spotted three men. Who among these three was Don? Bravely and nicely, I approached one person and asked him if he was Don. He answered affirmatively. Still not convinced, I requested for his identification card.

He showed his ID without much ado. Yes, it was the Don I was looking for. We were talking when suddenly, someone from behind called my name. It was James. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to recognize you, Henry,” he apologized. “But when I heard your voice, I am sure it’s you.”

Since Don knew the hotel where I would be staying in New York for the next 10 days, I suggested that I will go with him. James understood the situation. But before he left, he asked Don about the hotel and then told me that he would pick me up by Saturday morning. It was still Thursday when I arrived. “See you by then,” James said, hugged me, and then he left.

As the taxi entered Manhattan , I was completely mesmerized. I only saw these tall buildings in the movies. Now, I had seen them!

We arrived at the hotel safely. When I checked in, the receptionist asked me if I had a credit card. I told her I didn’t have any but said I would pay in cash. When Don heard it, he brought out his credit card and gave it to the receptionist.

That was one of the biggest lessons I learned. When you go abroad, be sure to carry a credit card. Most hotels don’t accept cash unless you have a credit card.

Before leaving, Don told me not to sleep. After all, it was still two in the afternoon. “Okay, thanks for the advice,” I replied. When I was alone in my room, I tried to do push ups. I watched television while lying in bed. Before long, I was already slumbering. I woke up at 8:30 in the evening and was very hungry.

I went out and looked for a place where I could eat. Not far from my hotel, I saw one Mexican restaurant, not very fancy but was serving pizza, short orders and drinks. Not knowing what to eat, I ordered pizza, chicken wings and soft drink. I ate my food with gusto.

The following night, I went again to the same place. The same waiter was serving me and I ordered the same thing. On the third night, I still went to same place. The same waiter was there. But before I could place my order, the waiter said, “Do you want pizza, chicken wings and soft drink, sir?” Now, he knew me very well!

My first three days in New York was alright; there was no chilly weather. But on the fourth day, I ventured to visit the Central Park , which was not very far from the hotel where I was staying. I woke up very early in the morning and went outside the hotel. I was about three meters away from my hotel when I felt the unpleasantly cold air. As if I was taking a bath with an icy cold shower.

I had to rush back to the hotel. “Anything wrong, sir?” the bellboy who saw me asked. Feeling embarrassed, I answered, “I just forgot something from my room.”

It was already January when I returned to the Philippines. But I had with me fond memories about my first US trip. In fact, I had my first Christmas snow when I visited my sister in Hibbing , Minnesota (but that’s another story to write).

“How was your trip?” my mother asked as I arrived. “It was fun,” I answered. I opened my bag, took something and gave her my pasalubong. “This is for you,” I said. “Thanks,” she said. “But the best gift is having you back home safe.”

She smiled and hugged me tightly.

“If I can make it there…” -- ###

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