I once enjoyed those winter days in Montana. In my memory, I still do.

By Kevin S. Giles

I reflect often on the majesty of snow and ice as seen through the eyes of a Montana boy.

Winter, you lost friend.

Sliding and skating captivated me mostly in my preteen years. I’m much older now and inclined toward frequent bouts of sentimentality. Barreling down a hill on metal runners holds no charm for me nowadays. Not that I care to further experience what’s done. Ice gives me shivers since I slipped and broke my shoulder a few years ago. The wonder of ice still astounds me, but only ice on a rink. Caution comes with age.

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Nothing like a death ride behind the wheel, but foolishness loses its appeal with age

By Kevin S. Giles

Navigating the insane traffic on a recent cross-country road trip reminded me how I once aspired to the simple pleasure of driving my parents’ car down Main Street.

The license I coveted would allow me freedom behind the wheel. The freedom I envisioned involved “cruising the drag” with friends in our small western Montana town.

A teenager doesn’t think ahead to crowded interstate highways where speeding multi-ton vehicles pass within inches of each other. That’s the stuff of adult life.

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Sad stories: The fire-charred legacy of Butte, Montana’s legendary Mining City

Medical Arts fire in Butte, Montana

One of Butte’s most sensational fires occurred on July 28, 1973, when the Medical Arts Building burned. Numerous businesses were lost. The prominent building previously was known as the Owsley Block. Photo permitted by The Montana Standard.

By Kevin S. Giles

Fire stories: Butte burned again and again in its first century, killing 359 people in nearly 500 fires.

In a city built too fast, sprawling as it was across Butte Hill’s broad face, fire departments couldn’t win the battle of the flames. Buildings of all descriptions pressed against one another. When one caught fire, others did too. Commonly, entire city blocks perished.

Sadly, the fires continue in Butte’s second century.

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Mystery of the Purple Roses: hard-boiled, crime-solving newsman investigates murders

Photo shows mystery novel

Introducing Red Maguire, crime-solving ace newspaper reporter.

Buy! Mystery of the Purple Roses

By Kevin S. Giles

Clouds over the mountains felt close and heavy. Rain streamed off the windows. What a dreary day for a man to die but die he must. The revolver was loaded with six bullets. Five weren’t needed. The killer set aside the gun and caressed the photograph. Sorrow, what a regrettable thing.

That’s how I begin my first mystery novel. True to my Montana roots, I set the story in Butte, the mining city that once had hundreds of underground mines.

The protagonist of Mystery of the Purple Roses is a crime reporter at a fictional newspaper, the Butte Bugle, in 1954. The same leading character, Red Maguire, appears in my second novel as well. Once I publish my first novel I will set to revising and publishing the second. Should I stop there? I think I’ll write a trilogy.

A Montana city of hell-roaring past

There’s a grittiness about Butte you can’t find anywhere else in Montana.

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Senior Lounge, historic experiment during psychedelic days in Montana high school

Photo shows Powell County High School

The “new” Powell County High School in Deer Lodge is more than 100 years old. An addition to the west side of this building, at left, was completed in the late 1950s. Senior Lounge was at the back of the school at far right.

By Kevin S. Giles

It probably occurred to reasonable adults that grouping “Senior” and “Lounge” in a singular title was a spectacular admission of what would follow, but so it was.

I’m a veteran (survivor?) of the historic, but short-lived, experiment that began at my Powell County High School in the fall of 1969. We were the new seniors, the Class of 1970, emboldened with a plan that we should be trusted without supervision in a remote corner of the old school.

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Montana memory: when a man, resembling a boy, arrived in our little town

(I originally published a shorter version of this post in my monthly e-newsletter. If you wish to join my free mailing list, add your email address here.)

By Kevin S. Giles

When I was young I knew a man named Mickey. Despite his graying temples he was more of a boy like me. Mickey arrived in our hometown of Deer Lodge, Montana, in the summer. He became a conspicuous presence around town as he rode his bicycle everywhere, a thirty-something man pedaling with an oversized wire basket attached to the handlebars. The basket, he told me, was for running errands for the nuns at the Catholic Church.

Mickey came from the state school for the developmentally disabled at Boulder. My parents explained that a new law sent people who lived in institutions to towns and cities across Montana to live among us. I didn’t know much about such things at my tender age. However, I did come to know Mickey. When he saw me he smiled and shouted my name, showing the big gap between his top front teeth. “Kevvvvin!” he would sing, sincere in his enthusiasm.

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Most everyone has a hometown. Mine is Deer Lodge, Montana, still fresh in my mind

Photo shows Deer Lodge, Montana

Deer Lodge once was a two-stoplight town. It’s a quieter, less-populated place now. The town lost 1,000 residents after the railroad pulled out. This view looks south toward the old prison, towers visible in the distance.

By Kevin S. Giles

I have memories of my father building a contraption that sprinkled used motor oil on the gravel road beside our house. He hitched it to his 1953 Chevy pickup, driving it back and forth to keep the dust down. Neighbors who wanted to help with this endeavor, which included everyone living in the four houses at the intersection of College Avenue and Claggett Street, stood on the

Photo shows digging basement

This photo from 1965 shows a conveyer belt hauling earth out of our expanding basement at the corner of College Avenue and Claggett Street in Deer Lodge.

contraption as it bounced along, turning faucet handles that released the oil. It seems gravity created the flow. Possibly it was something more ingenious than that, such as a pump, but time has blurred the details. Dad was blue collar to the core. His first love, I think, was tinkering with machinery. When he wasn’t working inside the walls of Montana State Prison, he was running machines in the detached garage behind our house. He rebuilt motors. He also owned at least a dozen machines for sharpening saws and blades. Often, he kept several running at once, a cacophony of grinding and screeching. Even today, I hear those ear-wrenching sounds.

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My brush in Montana with actors in a western movie, in six easy interviews

By Kevin S. Giles

It was a big deal, interviewing those movie actors in person for the newspaper. Natalie Wood’s sister Lana? Wow. And Ben Johnson, winner of an Academy Award? Yes.

I was a young writer at the Helena Independent Record when American International filmed “Grayeagle” east of the city. Sensing an opportunity, I volunteered to write profiles of the top actors. Then the fun began.

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Tale of mysterious 1966 hit and run death in Montana draws strong interest

By Kevin S. Giles

My recent post about the lingering mysterious hit and run death of 63-year-old widow Montana Martinz attracted a record number of readers to my website.

Within two days, the number of “hits” topped 1,000. My story also generated dozens of emails and instant messages from readers who ventured theories about who drove the car that killed Mrs. Martinz in Deer Lodge, Mont., on Oct. 15, 1966.

Most commonly stated was that the driver was “the son of a prominent businessman,” coupled with another persistent theory that the driver disappeared after police began investigating. Some people remain convinced that a young teenager drove the car that killed her. Others think the driver was a young adult, in one case a father who moved his family out of town soon afterwards. Many readers used the word “coverup” to explain their interpretation of the mystery.

If you’re just now joining us, here’s some brief background: A coroner’s jury empaneled soon afterwards concluded that two and possibly three drivers were racing when Mrs. Martinz was struck. Paint chips taken from her body indicated the car that hit her was a new, blue, 1966 model Chevrolet or Buick. The jury ruled that she died “by an automobile driven in a careless and reckless and criminally negligent manner by a person unknown.”

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50 years later, rumors linger in Montana over hit-and-run death of 63-year-old woman

(The following story was compiled in 2015 from public court records, newspaper coverage and interviews with public officials and residents. Thanks to Gary Newlon for his research assistance.)

By Kevin S. Giles

Half an hour past twilight, with only a sliver of a moon rising, Montana Martinz began her fateful walk home.

Cradling a sack of groceries, the 63-year-old woman left the IGA supermarket on the main street of Deer Lodge, Montana. It was October 15, 1966. The wind off the mountains felt cold. She stepped briskly through pools of light under the streetlamps.

Four blocks later, she entered the intersection of Fifth Street and Texas Avenue. She was three minutes from her house at 524 Conley Avenue. Mrs. Martinz lived alone. A year earlier, her husband Peter had died at St. Joseph Hospital of coronary thrombosis. Their only child, a son, was grown and gone.

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