BOB MCCRACKEN Nye County History Advertisement

A couple of weeks ago, an article appeared in the New York Times under the headline, "Diners Beware: Tourists Pay More in Roman Restaurants." The gist of the piece, really to the surprise of few, was that tourists in Rome are often overcharged and served lower-quality food and drink than Roman diners. Even people from northern Italy, who typically speak Italian with an accent, are not immune to such culinary chicanery. "It's part of the Italian psyche," one chef is quoted as saying, "and I don't think it is done without humor."

The story reminded me of a local tale I was once told involving Ralph Jacobus "Dad" Fairbanks and Walter Edward "Death Valley Scotty" Scott. I think I heard the story from Ralph Lisle, Dad Fairbanks' grandson and a longtime Beatty resident, but I can't prove it.

Dad Fairbanks was a quintessential desert frontiersman and community builder, having helped found a community on the Sevier River in southern Utah in 1883 and another in about 1905 at the spring in Ash Meadows in the Amargosa Valley that now bears his name. Dad went on to pioneer at Greenwater in 1908 and founded communities at Shoshone, Calif., in 1910, and at Baker, Calif., in 1928. Dad was born in 1857.

Death Valley Scotty, born in 1872, was a skilled cowhand and bronco buster who had been with Buffalo Bill Cody's Wild West Show and is a legend in the Nye County-Death Valley area. He has been described by Richard Lingenfelter as "a ham actor, a conscienceless con man, an almost pathological liar, and charismatic bullslinger" who could pry a dollar out of the most tight-fisted businessman and would do anything for publicity. Construction on Scotty's castle, located just across the California line north of Beatty, financed by his longtime benefactor, wealthy Chicago businessman Albert M. Johnson, was under way in 1925.

Dad Fairbanks had operated mercantile businesses at Fairbanks Spring and Greenwater prior to moving to Shoshone. Shoshone was no more than an old Indian village site when Dad set up there. He hauled in several abandoned buildings from Greenwater, used them for houses, a store, and a restaurant. The store, and especially the restaurant, served passengers on the Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad, which stopped in Shoshone. The T&T, as it was known, ran from Ludlow, Calif., to Beatty.

Dad served both local patrons and railroad passengers in his Shoshone restaurant, and Death Valley Scotty dined there often. On the occasion recounted in this story, Scotty stopped in for breakfast and ordered coffee, bacon, and eggs.

About this time, in stepped a well-dressed businessman just off the train, who also ordered coffee, bacon, and eggs, but over easy, not sunny side up like Scotty.

Scotty finished his breakfast and asked Dad what he owed. Dad replied, "Thirty cents." Scotty paid and remained seated to finish drinking his coffee. Before long, the businessman finished his breakfast and informed Dad that he was ready to pay. Dad said, "That'll be 55 cents."

The businessman got a puzzled expression on his face. He looked at Scotty, then at Dad, and said, "Hey, wait a minute. I ordered the same thing he did. You charged him 30 cents and you're charging me 55 cents -- what's going on?"

Dad replied matter-of-factly: "He comes in here all the time; I'll never see you again." The business man paid his 55 cents and left, no doubt muttering unprintables under his breath. Yes, I'm afraid we must conclude that in some ways, though separated by nearly a century and thousands of miles, the last of the great American frontier was not that different from modern-day Rome.

There are a couple of other Dad-Scotty stories I am certain Ralph Lisle told me when I was conducting oral history interviews with Ralph and other Beatty residents back in 1987.

One took place after Dad had set up his service station at Baker. Dad was a hard worker and a pretty good businessman, but he didn't know anything about cars. Scotty was a national celebrity who filled up at Dad's station whenever he could. Dad took pride in the service he provided his customers and typically checked their cars' oil and water.

The Franklin Motor Car Co. produced a great big beautiful automobile, called a Franklin, powered by an air-cooled engine. Part of the Franklin's design was a grille that looked like a radiator with a cap, but it was all faux, just ornamentation--being air-cooled, the car needed no water. The Franklin Company supplied Scotty with a new Franklin once or twice a year, according to Ralph. It was good publicity for the company and helped maintain Scotty's public image.

One day, Scotty drove into Dad's station in Baker and said, "Fill 'er up, Dad. Better check things 'cause I got a hot trip to make." (In those days, people carried extra water to help them make the journey across the desert because the water in the radiators tended to boil away.)

Scotty helped Dad lift the hood and they checked the oil. About that time, a group of tourists recognized Scotty and distracted him. Dad went ahead and tried to check the water in the Franklin. When he failed to remove the faux cap by hand, he got a big 18-inch Stilson pipe wrench and was on top of the car, trying to unscrew the cap. Scotty suddenly saw what Dad was doing and shouted over to him, "Oh, that's all right, Dad. The water's fine. Just leave it alone."

Another time, Scotty pulled his Franklin into Dad's station and, again, tourists spotted him and gathered around. "Fill 'er up, Dad," he said. Dad filled the gas tank and the bill came to $2 or $3. Scotty flamboyantly pulled out a $100 bill, making sure the tourists saw it, then handed it to Dad. Without missing a beat, Dad reached inside his shirt to a big pocket his wife, Celestia, had sewed in. In this pocket he kept a ledger, the only book he maintained, and a "big old wallet."

He licked his finger and thumb and peeled off change for a $100 bill. Ralph said Scotty "wadded this money up and stuck it in his pocket ... like it was so much confetti." Ralph, who was there, said pretty quickly, Scotty, after ditching the tourists, went around to the side of the building and whispered, "Dad, give me that $100 bill back. That's the only one I got." Dad returned it; he didn't want it, either. The only thing he could do with it was take it to the bank -- it was just for show.