Letters From Montana

By Jack Underhill

Resettling the family in a ranching community in Montana, these are the letters back to civilization of a family adapting to what life used to be in the good old days of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Underhill
• Release date: Aug 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9780982969380

Jack Underhill

Jack Underhill lives in Borrego Springs and Minneapolis, whichever is warmer or drier at the time. He's worked as an opal miner, magazine writer and publisher, television news director, and wood cutter and sawyer. When he was younger he ran with the coyotes at night and raised chickens by day. Till he went broke.

Book preview

LETTERS FROM MONTANA

A Collection of Letters

Between

Jack Underhill and Dusty Arrington

(known in their letters as Joe Montana and El Polvo, and other aliases)

Compiled by Richard Lundy

Smashwords Edition

Copyright, 2011, Jack Underhill

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CONTENTS

1. Foreword

2. The Letters

3. Postscript

1. FOREWORD

I first met Jack Underhill about 15 years ago. I remember clearly my first meeting with him. Marilyn, my wife’s long-time friend, brought him with her on a visit from California. Laurie and Marilyn nuzzled each other, communicating like the long-separated friends they were, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Jack and I sat in our living room, mentally circling each other like two dogs, both trying to imitate the alpha males that neither of us was. The subject turned to literature. I recall that John asked who my favorite author was. I replied that it was John Steinbeck. It was really Leon Uris, but I thought Steinbeck sounded more intellectually alpha. I suspected even then that John was an unusually intelligent ol’ dog - a lot smarter than I. I’d read a lot of Steinbeck over the years, but it became apparent in the next minutes that Jack’s knowledge was a lot deeper than mine. My God, he was smart. And I loved the way he could talk about so many things - not just from reading, like I often do, but vast personal experience. Jack turned out to be a nice guy, adventurous (physically and intellectually), articulate, a true raconteur, highly intelligent. He is an accomplished author and has published a number of books.

Several years later, after Jack and Marilyn were married, Laurie and I were vacationing in Montana. We hooked up with Jack and Marilyn in Kalispell in northwestern Montana. They were touring Montana in their RV. It turned out they were looking for a property in Montana to which they could move to escape California – a goal shared by many other Californians. In fact, the flood of rich Californians into the mountains and valleys of western Montana had driven property prices out of reach of most native Montanans, so many considered Californians undesirables.

Property values in the Kalispell area had been driven sky-high by Californians. I’m a native Montanan, so I told Jack and Marilyn that I would guide them on a house hunting trip on the east face of the Rockies, which hadn’t yet been discovered by the Californians. We explored several tiny towns, and finally we drove into Augusta, a tiny cow-town of about 300 some 50 miles due west of Great Falls, my home town.

We parked on the main drag and walked to a tiny diner for an ice-cream cone. Jack and Marilyn finished theirs and said they were going to walk around. A half-hour later, they caught up with us as we were walking around the town. Come see the house we found. It looks just perfect! they exclaimed. We followed them as they led us to a tiny, old, old, house with cracked, parallel, wheel wide, cement block paths leading to a detached garage to the side and back of the house. The house was locked, so we looked in the windows, Laurie and I independently thinking they must be mad.

The house, it turned out, was the town home of an 80 some year old ranch wife, now residing in a nursing home in Great Falls. By two o’clock that afternoon, Jack and Marilyn had visited the old gal and made arrangements to buy the house. Wow! Two weeks later, they and Jack’s two children moved from San Diego to Augusta.

In the several years Jack, Marilyn and the kids lived in Augusta, Jack and his friend, Dusty Arrington, a TV producer and director from Albuquerque, exchanged the letters presented in this book. I had seen some of Jack’s letters as they were written; later I saw both sides of the exchange.

Both Jack and Dusty are entertaining writers, and I enjoyed their letters, so I decided to share them. I hope you enjoy them as much.

Richard Lundy

NOTE: In these letters they use various names and signatures, some arbitrary, others with meaning. Sometimes they use their real names.

_ _ _ _ _ _

2. THE LETTERS

Subject: El Juano

Date: 7/30/95

To: El Polvo

From: Joe Montana

Am back in San Diego as of last night and sort of phased out at the moment. Wanted to say howdy and let you know I'll be getting you a letter together over the next hour or so, if I don't keel over from culture reentry--we've been in Montana for a month and made an offer on a house in a village of 152 people east of the Sawtooth Range west of Great Falls. Montana's one of the last states where you can buy your home on MasterCard. Yeah, looks like we're bailing outta here, taking the kids with us; they can grow up cowpersons and hunters or fisherfolk. Tiny place, 900 square feet. Well, more with this letter I'll whomp up. Can you advise me as to how I oughtta fill in the Occupation slot on my profile, and I need a personal quote too. You're my strategist and advisor, so come up with something please.

Tu amigo,

Joe

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: Montaña pequeño is Spanish for huge molehill

Date: 7/30/95

To: Joe Montana

From: El Polvo

It gets mighty cold up there hombre. They've been knowed to have ten cord winters and snow storms in August... brrrrrrrrrr. As to your Occupation, I'd say resigned. And here's a quotation I made up that you can use (It's a little strong for me):

La pluma es más poderosa que la espada, pero usted debe escribir con balas en la pluma: (The pen is more powerful that the sword, but you must write with bullets in the pen.)

Dígame más Señor Montana,

El Polvo

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: Montana

Date: 7/31/95

To: El Polvo

From: Joe Montana

Polvo, thanks for getting back and for the great quote. I'll use that forever. It won't fit AOL’s space but it fits my space.

Montana, where we’ll be, gets cold, but the Chinooks play there all winter, and it's comfortabler than the hardcore Montana you envision - mebbe. The country is eerie and beautiful. The foothills, where the land sort of starts ironing out into plains, has these deep valleys that you'd expect to be more plains, but as you get up to them, you see pine forests down there and rugged streams with native trout (no wetback trout there), log cabins, pastures - so unexpected.

The woman we are buying the house from calls herself Nellie Levay. Others call her Boots or GlintEye. Her dog calls her Woof! She was a sheep rancher for 60 years, and she is one fine old coot. Her house is all insulated and has no fireplace, which we'll take care of pretty damn soon. It has hot water heat and a nifty cellar, where all the plumbing to the lil place hangs out. The place is set on a massive concrete foundation. We just really loved it there, the way the neighbors’ character can be read by the appearance of their yards and the livestock in the back, and the sort of fences they have, if any, and what's parked out front. This place has no zoning, no laws or regs or anyone to hassle you, no law. There was a horse ridden in the streets by a woman bronc rider who owns and operates the hardware store, and the last day we were there, a young woman was walking a little lamb in the dirt street, while another had her twins riding eight-month old calves bareback. Her name is Sonia - the mother, not the kids or calves; their names are Cynthia.

Great Falls is 55 miles to the east. Choteau is 25 miles to the north. Not much out there but peace and dazzling beauty. I just gawked all the time I was there. And yes, it snows. It comes in horizontally and drifts deep, but then the warm winds rage over the mountains, the snow melts, and it dries up in a few days. In the spring, the winds lift gravel off the road and pepper you with it, break your windows, or tear your camper right out of the bed of your truck. If you are sideways in some big old RV you lay over fast, like a dog, and show your belly and hope the mean old wind don't tear your gizzard out with its rabid jaws. But I wanted violence in nature, and that is why I connected there, I liked the way the people are, the directness, and the politeness. Neighbors mean something in that part of the world. And in Montana they allow you to die any foolish way you want. They don't have any signs warning you about nuthin; they leave it up to you. A hiking trail doesn't come with a menu of ne’er-do's. Nearby is the Bob Marshall Wilderness area. It is huge, even bigger than the Pecos. All sorts of outfitters live out there in the mountains and they are glad to take you back into the Wilderness area to introduce you to the way it used to be. I'm just dazzled.

As for boating with you, the chances are remote right now because of the cost of the move, but if the house sells in the next two months, we may go. That isn't much warning, doesn't give you much to plan with. You tell me what you want to do on that. We want to sail with you and the young lady you share life and boats with. But we can't commit to it financially right now.

This is a shortened version of what I had planned to write, but I am staved in right now, and will sign off. I was 58 yesterday and want a present from you right away. I'll send you a slice of cake and some ice cream.

Joe Montana

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: Great Falls Gazette

Date: 8/02/95

To: Joe Montana

From: El Polvo

Golly Mr. Montana, that new place of yours sure does sound swell.

Speakin' of swells... forget the sailing trip this year, mate. It wasn't the right time. Kathleen can't do it either. She accidentally bought a new car and needs to make some payments or something. I was trying to hype it up in my mail to you, but I never could completely get immersed and couldn't decide where to go anyway. One of these days, I'm going to sail around the world... or watch a movie or read a book about someone doing it, know what I mean?

Well, I take back that Resigned occupation suggestion... you can go ahead and put down Writer. The way you described it, you made Montana sound almost like, like, uh, well, New Mexico. That's some damn good writin' Earl. You oughta see if they need a weekly communist from California to write in the Great Falls Gazette (but I'd tell em I's from Wyoming if I's you).

Happy Birthday again. Seems like just a couple months ago we were up at Bella Vista with the kids eatin' buskeddi1. I got your present right here Bubba... If you could just learn to STAY in the present, you'd have it made, Earl.

Kathleen wants to go to Montana too. Maybe we'll come visit. Don't worry about the small house; you can sleep on the floor, and we'll take your bed. They got any golf there?

El Polvo

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: Ummm

Date: 8/3/95

To: El Polvo

From: Joe Montana

Golf? Golf? In Montana? Golf in Montana?

Thanks for the birthday gift.

Give a hug with some English to Kathleen from me. Actually, I'm more Irish and Scotch. Ol' Bushmill and that single malt stuff - Yiddick, Glenfiddich? Hope she got a swell car. The seas next year! We'll know where we are then and where we're going.

Joe Montana

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: Golf

Date: 8/5/95

To: El Polvo

From: Joe Montana

There is golf in Choteau, 25 miles north of Augusta. You can work out the kinks in your back from sleeping in our bed on their Stanley Fagan Palmer 18 hole course. Stan's from Moriarty. Worked as a stringer for KOB for years and then as news director, briefly, for KGGM before getting into pro play in Oaxaca, where he was busted for illegally dealing in artifacts and went to a jail, where the only books in English dealt with the history of Scottish golfing. I met Stan when I was working as cameraman at KGGM-TV and majoring in journalism when Tony Hillerman was head of the department at UNM. That was 1969. Stan's an outfitter over in Darby, MT. now, but he lived in Choteau for five years after getting out of jail in '85. He got the city fathers to raise the money for the course. It has a lot of seaside/cliff aspects you wouldn't ordinarily find on the plains these days. I love your quote for me! It keeps on bubbling up stuff from way down deep, like burps from the grave.

You be good now, ya hear?

Joe

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: 1.5 GPA

Date: 8/6/95

To: Joe Montana

From: El Polvo

There is golf in Choteau 25 miles north of Augusta???? My life's dream (one of them) has been to play Augusta. All this time I thought it was in Georgia. I don't need no course to play on, jus' enough room to swing the clubs without hittin' nobody's windas. I can make my own holes with a small post hole digger (or my imagination). ... Visualize the ball going into the hole.. .

1969's when I flew the coop on UNM myself... leaving a perfectly good student deferment and a 1.5 GPA behind. The Hebenstreets sold KGGM, now it's KQRE, and UNM is now KUNM : -{ and Tony still thinks he's head of the Journalism Department.

Did the lady whose dog calls her Woof give you the house yet?

Hey... I've got a great idea for unloading your house in SD... you hold this essay contest and...

Vaya con Dios

El Polvo

_ _ _ _ _ _

Subject: 1.5 GPA

Date: 8/8/95

To: El Polvo

From: Joe Montana

18 holes in Choteau! It's legit, right