With all of the unapologetic machismo on display, I was a little surprised that Kip pleaded ignorance when I asked him about the whole brothel thing. One of the guys shooting pool in the back laughed and said, “Kip’s afraid it’ll damage the bar's reputation if he admits that it was a brothel once. But I tell you, when I was a kid my mom used to grab me and my brother by the hand and yank us across the street rather than have us walk in front of the Golden West. Didn’t matter that there hadn’t been any whores around the place for years, the fact that they had been around at all was enough for her.”
Kip said, “Your mother’s full of it.”
The guy shrugged and took his shot. “If it was me, I’d spread the word from here to
Kip looked thoughtful for a minute. Then he said, “You have a point.”
You think, Kip? As far as I’m concerned, the Golden West is the sort of place where legends are made. In fact, I think that Kip's bar is no less deserving of its own mythology than Schwab's Drugstore. Or Michael Jackson. Plus, since when are “the facts” important when it comes to the making of a legend?
So here it is, Kip - my gift to you and the Golden West - the internet launch of a scandalous rumor. Now the world will know:
The Golden West was a whorehouse.
Long live the Golden West.