Distinctly Montana Magazine

86 D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A M A G A Z I N E • S U M M E R 2 0 2 5 At 90 years old, Montana Frank was still writing to the newspaper to tell people that he was probably the last liv- ing American West- ern legend. He was unlikely to make any money from the letter, so why did he write it? For recogni- tion? For fame? Rec- ognition, fame, and financial incentive go hand in hand for a working vaudeville performer, but what value are a few eyes reading your name in a Virginia City newspaper to a nonagenar- ian living in the woods? And yet, this odd letter and its spurious claim that he couldn't read or write, that he was an important part of the state's living history, that he had in fact lived a Western adventure (and not, pointedly, the life of a Midwestern vaudeville performer of mod- est success) make him seem more fragile, more human to me. His lies, perhaps, were not so much unforgivable sins as features of his stage persona. But as he achieved the impressive feat of reaching nearly a century old, it seems to have been a little more fame, just a helping more of the admiration of the crowd that he craved. When he died in 1959, newspapers all over the country de- voted a small column or two to printing his wild stories without question. No one wants to doubt an old man. I think that Montana Frank realized at some point that the problem, his enemy, was the truth. He would have to conquer it, and as long as he fought at it hard enough, and long enough, he would eventually defeat it. Unseat it. Dethrone it. He therefore entered into a tenuous partnership with his audience. He would lie to them in an entertaining and outrageous way. They, in turn, would at least pretend to believe his tales. Buffalo Bill had worked out a similar scheme with his audi- ence when they praised the "realism" and "authenticity" of his show. "Authenticity," whatever that means, is a rare commodity, sought after but scarce, while the appearance of authenticity is a lot easier to scrounge up and sell. Just ask John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, or Yellowstone's creator, Taylor Sheridan. It might just be that the Western, a two-dimensional variant of the Wild West show, thrives on exactly the same primordial ooze as did Mon- tana Frank and, for that matter, Buffalo Bill. In March of 1959, there were no more Indian wars, no buffa- lo herds, and no vaudeville. But Sputnik III did circle the earth, beeping, and it was the same year that Xerox introduced the

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