Cicero, IL, York, PA, Anaheim, CA, Utica, NY. If you had to picture it, what would the tenth most populous city in Montana look like? An easy guess could be a suburb of the nearest super metropolis, which in Montana’s case happens to be in Washington, or perhaps Utah. In other cases, these tenth largest cities are themselves small metropolises, places where residents pride themselves on their non-number-one status, where community and survival go hand in hand. Anaconda, the tenth largest city in Montana with a population of around 10,000, can very easily be thought of as nothing more than the landmark near Big Hole River, Old Works Golf Course–designed by Jack Nicklaus, Georgetown Lake, and Discovery Ski Area. However, I would like to give it a different introduction.

On the most expensive night of the week, walking into the Washoe theatre in Anaconda, MT you will be no more than five dollars lighter. Its website–a mere formality filling the obligation of today–is where the occasional foreigner will find movie showings. Residents already know the standardized schedule, three possible movie times and one movie per week. From across the street the brick building looks like any other on Main St and at first glance could be mistaken for an uninviting municipal structure. If it weren’t for the vintage marquee displaying the latest movie info I would have challenged my GPS’ knowledge on the location of the theatre. Behind the ticket window sits an employee with a roll of red ‘admit one’ tickets I imagine came from Family Dollar a few blocks away. You’ll hold your admit one for only a few moments as you walk from the window past the two older Labradors in the vestibule–whose existence I won’t question–right up to the ticket collector. Upon crossing the threshold, the theatre screams yells of old wealth, if you’re paying any attention, you’ll stop in your tracks, look around the lavish 1930’s foyer and know; This place has seen a lot of history. It seems odd that a town with exactly two stop lights has a theatre with its own Wikipedia page, but it’s true. As if frozen in time this building gives one a glimpse of the wealth and livelihood that used to exist in the area. There are no cup holders, the urinals are oddly situated, and every flat surface has a beautiful–probably gold-flaked–90-year-old mural painted on it. The ‘near perfect acoustics’ allow the sparse pre-show Tuesday night crowd to hear every word of the quiet conversation happening between my two friends. The century old silk curtain which depicts large stags looks like it is seldom drawn in the name of preservation. I won’t further recite to you the Wikipedia page, you can look it up for yourself, but this is a theatre like none I’ve seen before. After leaving the theatre in the dark one can’t help but wonder: how many small treasures wait to be discovered in this small town?

Thirty miles away lives Anaconda’s older cousin, Butte. The 5^th largest city in Montana, where I find myself for a full year of service, has a deeply intertwined story with Anaconda. It is impossible to talk about one’s history without mentioning the other. In Montana it has a gritty reputation, a town to be avoided. I would also like to introduce this town.

I have yet to visit any of the theatres here, however a visit to one is unnecessary to see the parallels between Butte and Washoe. Frozen in time, Butte’s streets are lined with mansions of the 1800’s copper moguls coupled with the dilapidated mining shacks of the non-moguls. Its beauty you can easily miss, its past has left scars, and there is an insurmountable amount of work to be done to erase the plunders of old industry, but the residents are here to fight. There are a million paragraphs to be written about its historical theatres, libraries, bank buildings, and one special paragraph reserved for the oldest Chinese restaurant in America, but you must experience Butte to appreciate the paragraphs. Butte isn’t Bozeman, Missoula, or Big Sky; it doesn’t try to seduce you with wide renovated pedestrian streets; Arianna Grande does not have a ranch here, and CEO’s of fortune 500 companies don’t price out the locals for their own vacations. It is a common Butian nightmare that this town would turn into one of those places. Butte is the most Irish place outside of Ireland, The Richest Hill, the birthplace of Evel Knievel, the Location of Frank Little’s death, the largest Superfund Site in the United States, the town where ‘No Smoking’ signs were printed in sixteen different languages, the site of the largest mining disaster in American history,  and the “town with the most history per square inch.” Butte has an identity, the residents are fiercely proud of it, there is no need to redefine the town.

So, to the cashier in Helena who gave me a dirty look when I told them where I live, it’s well within reason to love Butte.