Virginia City, and in 1908, it was a place where whiskey flowed as freely as the jokes in a comedy club, then arrived an unexpected visitor — none other than the formidable Carry Nations.
Now, if you’re not familiar with Carry, let me paint you a picture: she was a temperance advocate with a penchant for smashing up saloons with her trusty hatchet, which she believed was a divine instrument for enforcing sobriety.
As Carry stepped off the Number 11 onto the boardwalk of the V&T Depot, the whole town seemed to shudder with apprehension. Saloon owners exchanged nervous glances, their bottles of bourbon trembling on the shelves.
They knew they were in for a rough ride.
With her stern demeanor and hatchet in hand, Carry wasted no time. She marched through the streets, her mission clear — to rid the Comstock of its sinful ways. But the townsfolk weren’t about to let their beloved watering holes go down without a fight.
The first saloon Carry barged into was at 120 C Street, where they greeted her with jeers.
“Who let this teetotaling tornado into town?” the bartender exclaimed, trying to steady his nerves as Carry brandished her hatchet menacingly.
But Carry wasn’t one to be swayed by heckling. With a determined glint in her eye, she swung her hatchet and brought it down on the bar with a resounding crash. Bottles shattered, whiskey wasted, and patrons scattered like startled chickens.
Like a whirlwind, Carry stormed from one saloon to the next, leaving a trail of broken bottles and stunned faces in her wake. By the end of her two-day rampage, every saloon and bar in Virginia City had shut its doors, cowering in fear of the hatchet-wielding force of nature that had descended upon them.
Let me spin a tale as wild as a drunken cowboy riding a sun-fishing Bhrama bull in a lion-claw bathtub.
Paul Hoyle, a man with what some call a Bostonian-sensibility, while others say it’s just eccentricity and a penchant for dusty things, was at a crossroads during the middle of 2023. While standing outside the Tahoe House, gazing at the historic building with its weathered façade and whispered tales of yesteryears, he was brainstorming and blocking traffic.
As Paul, great-grandnephew of the waxed playing card impresario Jack Hoyle, contemplated his next move, inspiration struck him like a chilly Zephyr on a stormy night.
“Tonopah!” he exclaimed, much to the confusion of passersby.
For in that moment, Paul realized the key to unlocking the doors of success lay in the most unexpected of places — with Carry Nation.
“Why name my antique shop after some boring old historical figure when I can pay homage to a hatchet-wielding maniac?” Paul mused, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
And so, Carry Nation Antiques was born, much to the bewilderment of the locals. With its shelves stocked full of curiosities from times gone by and its walls adorned with a portrait of the infamous temperance crusader, Paul’s shop promises to become the talk of the town.
But why Carry Nation, you ask? Well, let me tell you, dear reader, it’s not just because Paul has a soft spot for hatchets — though that may be part of it — it’s because Carry Nation embodies everything Paul aspires to be: bold, audacious, and unapologetically unique.
Sure, some may scoff at naming a shop after a woman known for smashing up saloons with a hatchet, but Paul saw the genius in it.
“After all, what better way to attract attention than by aligning oneself with a historical figure who wass equal parts feared and revered?” Hoyle said.
And so, as patrons flock to Carry Nation Antiques, drawn in by the promise of quirky treasures and a dash of historical intrigue, Paul stands proudly behind the counter, hatchet in hand, ready to carve out a slice of history at Tahoe House. After all, in a world of dull and mundane hatchets, why not embrace the chaos and raise a toast to the one and only Carry Nation?
The Old Blog in the Desert 
Leave a comment