Big plaster replicas of the mighty ursine glower menacingly from above the two main entrances to the casino. When last we visited, one had an arrow shot into his chest, while the other had numerous arrow holes....White King was further immortalized in Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing In Elko," a 1992 Rolling Stone cover story. In it, Mr. Thompson keeps future Supreme Court Justice, Clarence Thomas, from shooting the already dead bear. According to Thompson, a liquored-up Thomas shouted, "I've had enough of this goddamn beast. It doesn't belong here. We should blow its head off."   

                    ~~~ From Roadside America

The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk, they're sober.  

                     ~~~  William Butler Yeats

You're a buckaroo.  You're in Elko...finally...the wagon's cut you loose for the Fourth of July.  There were, back then, three prerequisite stops for the thirsty horseback Knight of the Sagebrush Kingdom:  The Stockmen's, Monas, and The Commercial: Lair of White King....   http://www.commercialcasinos.com/

It's all changed now, but this page is here....to take you old timers back...to remember...to let those of you who have never been...get a glimpse...and to let you Baby Roos...catch a brief whiff..of how it was...when Elko was still a town...filled with the sights of hats and Bluchers and Paul Bonds and the sound of jinglebobs on spurs....rattling gooseneck trailers parked outside in the Stockmen's parking lot lurching with kicking impatient steeds packing slick forks and silver.  Miners?  What miners?  We didn't need...no stinkin' miners....

The Commercial.  Come on.  Get your leppy ass in here.  It's dark.  It's smoky.  But it's cooler...and it's heaven.  Shorty's at the bar already pouring your Jack Daniels on the rocks and smiling your way.  The room is solid with hats.  Look.  The C Punch guys are even here.  The YP, Gamble/Winecup, Span, IL and 25 wagon crews are already in, and they're about six sheets to the wind and as many drinks up on you.  Better build to it, Pilgrim....  You can hear Fast Eddie's baritone and Ross Knox's infectuous laugh at Brian and Clark Morris' drawling stories....  Hank and Jess Brackenbury are here.  So is Souza.  John Adamson and Koepke and Bates are huddled on the end there.  Merv is just grinning.  Damn, Bill Kane's even in for the day.  Maupin's ordering a round for everybody and yelling something about the Matys Brothers had better show up soon...or else.  Ricky and Stan look like they're in shock.  Scooter, Mikey, Spider Teller, Nathan, Homer, Waddie and Tobias are at the blackjack tables.  Two Rein Jane is drawing pictures on cocktail napkins for Symonds.  Pat Merikas' bragging about robbing a train to John Estill and John Harrison, and Schuttes' trying to trade a mecate to Blackie.  Look who just walked in: Kent Craven and Ed Hope...and who the hell let Herb French and Skeeter Clark in?  From the looks of Tim Perryman's face, I'd say...he's been up to shooting arrows again.  Look at the way those women are fawning all over Hosse and Iveson.  Yup, gonna be a long night.  Drop a quarter in the jukebox.  Get in the mood for drinkin' and thinkin'  and rememberin'.....

White King, reputedly the largest polar bear ever killed.  It is rumored that certain Elko County buckaroos....who shall remain anonymous....have been caught on surveillance cameras....placing votive candles, pennies, winning lottery tickets, padded bras, stale saltine crackers, empty Pendleton Whiskey bottles and burning incense at the feet of the giant bruin in devoted homage to his growing Cult....but....so far....the only altar gifts captured permanently on film have been:  the gumball machines.... Then and now: The Commerical Hotel back when it was one...and now...a tinnish, gaudy casino.  The multiple facelifts over the years have demeaned it...cheapened it...and most if not all of the classic old neon is gone...the plaster replicas in a sad state of Post Tim Perryman target practice for bow and arrows....but White King....still stands tall and menacing...in the foyer. 

THE CULT OF WHITE KING

This type is a sub-category of the standard Nevada buckaroo, rarely seen horseback, seen even less, sober; yet if approached appropriately with a $20 bill, some damn good trading gear and the offer of numerous free drinks, can be the most utterly charming, communicative and sociable type buckaroo of all. 

Recent scientific studies have shown there is a corelation between The Cult of White King and APRD (see Bibliography & Sources).

This type has long existed under the radar, yet is well known to all Elko locals.  They are typically hard to pinpoint as most deny any association to this cult yet it is known to have a huge following that spans state lines.  Once a member of the cult it is difficult to withdraw or leave permanently; some members have been known to go 'dry' for as long as 20 years, only to have a severe relapse.  However it should be noted that cult membership is not as coveted as it was say, twenty years ago.  The Commercial has removed the infamous Back Bar where all initiation ceremonies took place.  Once a dark, mysterious place where one could easily hide, drink and chew the fat with fellow saddle tramps, the casino today is not what it once was.  Lit by glaring bulbs that shine far too much light on a drunk buckaroo's retinas making it very uncomfortable, what now passes for the rear bar is littered with electronic poker games and noise...too much noise.  Hence, many buckaroos have taken to hanging out at the Stockmen's, Silver Dollar, the Tiki Room, the Stray Dog, the Red Lion or the Star....and of course, Mona's, Sues, and Inez' brothels down the street.

Peak meeting times for Cult of White King members occur around New Year's Eve, the Elko Cowboy Poetry Gathering, the Fourth of July and Labor Day.  Cult of White King members - mostly male - meet inside the Commercial Hotel and Casino where they partake in secretive alcohol-laced ceremonies that usually include lying, whorehouse visiting, gambling, story telling, poetry reading, and the worst of all: rehashing Matys Brothers skits.

Above:  Elko...in the old days; Cult of White King N. Nevada Recruitment Rep Jim Hosse, exhausted after another long day of pitching memberships for the Cult of White King.  Below: what happens when a Cult of White King Member ties one on: Bridger Hake caught on film in his Clark Morris Impersonation Mode - note the steely eyed glazed gaze - and staying on Ol' Dinky for 8 seconds....

The competition: Before there was White King...there was Giant King, the King Kodiak Bear who graced the Stockmen's Hotel and Casino.  Most of today's Stockmen's employees don't even know he ever existed.  Giant King went up in flames in the 1957 fire started in the Stockmen's kitchen, that took down the whole hotel, he was tagged at 1700 pds, stood 8 1/2 ft tall as mounted and had 40" biceps and a neck circumfrence of 4' 6"; he was approximately 16 or 17 years old when killed at Uganik Bay on Kodiak Island, Alaska, assumably sometime in the 1940's or early 50's.  

We were able to snag this rare photo postcard of Giant King off of E Bay.  Also below, sad day: the classy old Stockmens goes up in smoke...with thanks to the Northeastern Nevada Museum in Elko for sending this photo...  www.museum-elko.us  The ashtrays...are all from our collection.

Remember....those big booths?  So convenient...for hangovers...because you could fall asleep in them and they kind of hid you...from the bouncers and the waitresses who were cool and if you tipped them, would even let you snooze.  Maybe a bunch of you sat in those booths recovering from the past night's festivities.  Maybe a buckaroo doodled pictures of fellow buckaroos on napkins and passed them out like ten cent cigars.  Maybe gear trades were made; job offers; marriage proposals; break ups; bullshit.  Anything could happen.  Hell, the Matys Brothers happened there, so anything was possible.  The Apollo Burger happened...now there was a burger...it was bigger...back then...than it is today...but then...in some ways...so was everything.  On the left in the photo, in the smoky light, if you headed that way then right...the infamous...back bar......dark, smoky and lined with hats and Bluchers and Paul Bonds, unlike today, where it's filled...with miners.

The Commercial back then...was Buckaroo Central.  People were hired and fired there; romances sparked and ended; fights, friendships, more fights, secrets whispered, gossip, more fights, and of course...alcohol consumption was the No. 1 priority.  Shorty kept your glass full and by the end of most evenings you were having intimate discussions with some of the portraits of the Gunfighters on the wall like they were long lost brothers.  And even the Matys Brothers...sounded better and better.....

Rare photo of the Official Youngest Cult of White King Member: Cole the Forked, seen here instructing Dad and Mom....how to set a hoss...frequently sighted...at ropings in California...where he reputedly...and regularly...out-ropes local arena-bred wannabes.... Favorite drink: 100% whole milk, stirred, not shaken, and on the rocks; favorite pastime: ridin' and ropin'; favorite lines: "Look Dad!  It's the Snow Bear!..." and "Dave Weaver....eat my dust...."

If anyone was doing drugs with regularity back then - we don't mean just trying them out - chances were they were too damned spineless and embarrassed to admit it and they knew most of us - if we'd found out - would have slammed the shit out of them into the ground, and 86'd them from the Inner Sanctum.  You could drink, rob, whore, lie, steal, kill, sleep around, rob a train, declare bankruptcy, father a child out of wedlock, maybe cuss out a cowboss, and fight; but drugs?  Back then?  You just didn't go there...

There were other places you stopped at too, of course...the Tiki Room, the Silver Dollar, the Red Lion, the Ranch Inn, the wonderful old Cloud 9, the Pioneer, back when it was a bar...replete...with the two headed calf....these were the pre-Stray Dog and Yuppified Coffee & Latte Shoppe days, of course.  If you were outside of Elko, there was the Cowboy Bar in Montello and the Miners Club in Mt. City and of course, the Taylor Canyon Club in Tuscarora.  When you were done with your power run, you typically drug your hungover ass into the Stockmen's the Day After for a huge Bill Maupin Special: Huevos Rancheros, and lots and lots of coffee. 

Bridgeport, CA: Two Mono County/Owens Valley buckaroos from the 1980's on a run.  The historic Bridgeport Inn was a popular hangout; the Cowboy Bar in Montello was a buckaroo favorite; below, the grand old Niles Hotel and Saloon, Alturas, CA, reknowned for its prime rib and the huge Charlie Russell mural behind the huge old bar.  The Modoc County crowd could be found here: Clark Morris would drop in after a day of checking traps for the government; the HC Ranch crew; the Ravendale crowd; mustangers; maybe Richard Caldwell, the Flournoys....  The Niles: an icon.  Now closed...and for sale, awaiting...resurrection.

Of course...you can only drink....for so long...and there's no trying to outdrink Uncle Bill Maupin at the Stockmen's.  So.  You start looking around for other diversions...

www.monasdivas.com

Back then....you weren't in town every weekend.  There weren't clinics and ranch ropings every month...and you hardly saw your fellow buckaroo companeros except for a few times a year...because...you hardly ever got to town, period.  It was maybe once a month, if then...and if the wagon was out, it was longer.  Way longer.  Some guys stayed out 8...9 months.  Never even cashed their paychecks.  But when they did...they cashed in...big time.....

So you're a buckaroo.  You just got into Elko after being Out There for weeks on end....  You do the prerequisite homage to White King, toss your bedroll and gear in the stairwell back where the old bar was, and Shorty keeps you covered.  You start there...then hit Cap's, Anacabe's, for some new white shirts, suspenders, maybe a new Garcia bit.  Then there was the Ranch Inn, the Red Lion, the Silver Dollar, the Cloud 9, the Tiki Room, back to the Commercial...and you'd wind up at the Stockmen's.  There is the Domain of the Master Maupin himself-former IL cowboss, Bill Maupin.  Of course there is no keeping up with Bill Maupin when he decides to tell stories and drink, period.  Your efforts prove futile.  Pretty soon, if you were Ricky Morris, Jim Koepke or TJ Symonds, you're drunk enough to where a dive into the Stockmen's pool from the second story sounds like a good idea.  Maybe you even pull it off without drowning this time, or getting beat up by the security guard.  Now it's late.  You stagger out into the night and look down the street. 

The brothels were down there. 

Your second home. 

They used to be across the tracks, till they tore the tracks out.  Now everyone is on the same side....of the tracks.  But back then, it  was symbolic - you crossed the tracks to get to Inez', Sue's, Monas'  You always ended up there.  Sharon was House Mother and if you behaved yourself, she treated you well.  Maybe you had a favorite girl.  Maybe it was Shu Shu or Brenda or some other made up name like Juanita or Pearl or Destiny, Trixie, Ruby or ...fill in the blanks.  Or someone else who snuck your laundry in once and awhile and did it without the Madam's knowledge...and was your surrogate mother, confessor, friend, lover and laundress...all rolled into one gorgeous package. 

Your inner compass never failed to lead you back where you were always treated a tad better than the truck drivers or mob guys with wads of fat rolls of cash bulging in their pockets - maybe because that's all they had to bulge in their pockets - but no, the girls always treated you better than most...because you were....a buckaroo....