Big Nose Kate's Saloon
A ghost tripped me in Tombstone, AZ. I'm sure of it.
My wife and I were eating lunch at Big Nose Kate’s Saloon, the liveliest saloon on Allen Street. Horses were hitched out front. Live music spilled through the doors. People crowded the entrance, waiting for tables, and the servers were dressed in Old West costumes. The interior was like walking into a kaleidoscope. Every square inch was covered with photos, memorabilia, rifles, cowboy hats, knickknacks, and stained-glass art, including portraits of Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and Kate. Tombstone played on several flatscreens. Although the food was disappointing and they were out of the local beer I wanted to try, the atmosphere was entertaining, and the history was fascinating.
While I was eating my disappointing burger, someone rose out of the floor. It wasn’t a ghost—not yet—but there was a narrow spiral staircase in the middle of the saloon. I went to check it out.
A sign above the staircase read:
THE SHAFT
Descend into Kate’s Entrance to the Past and
Experience treasures only the mind’s eye can imagine
See Where the Swamper hoarded his stash of silver
And wonder why it has never been found!
The Grand Hotel
There is some history to get into first. Originally, Big Nose Kate’s Saloon was the location of the Grand Hotel. In 1880, it opened with an invitation-only ball to show off its luxurious furniture, elegant chandeliers, and Brussels carpet. During its short lifespan of two years, residents included Wyatt, Doc, and others. Months before he became the undersheriff, the cowardly John Behan tended bar there, and it was a popular hangout for his buddies, the Cowboys. In fact, Ike Clanton and the McLaury brothers were registered guests the night before the infamous shootout at the OK Corral.
Sadly, the hotel burned down two years later, and the only surviving structure was its adobe walls, most notably its front arches. A new building was constructed, using the surviving adobe, but it also burned down in 1924. It was rebuilt again, using the adobe façade, and became “Big Nose Kate’s Saloon” in the ‘70s. According to the historical marker, “charred wood beams, charred adobe walls and arches from yester-year remain part of the structure.”
Ghosts roam the place now, touching visitors with cold, unseen hands. Shadows of cowboys vanish in the doorways. Singing is heard from empty rooms. But no ghost is as famous as a mysterious miner.
The Swamper
In the basement of the Grand Hotel, a recluse handyman lived beneath the bustling activity above. Tombstone was a boomtown because of silver. And the handyman, known only as “Swamper,” spent countless hours digging a hole in the floor of his quarter so he could tap into the mine shafts that ran beneath the hotel, stealing veins of silver. His tunnels were discovered after the fire, but no silver was ever found, leading people to speculate that he’d either escaped with his cache or hid the silver in the tunnels or beneath the hotel.
When people approach the Swamper’s quarters, they’ve heard footsteps, moaning from the tunnels, or a grumpy voice that says, “Get out!” or “Stay away from here!” Camera equipment malfunctions. People have been pushed off the last stair that leads into The Shaft, a gift shop that sells T-shirts, mugs, and more. When merch falls off the shelf, it’s said to be the Swamper, still being protective of his tunnel. A woman felt spectral hands around her throat. Workers and guests have been pushed or poked. Young men, especially, are targeted.
I’m not young, but when I was descending that narrow staircase and looking over the batwing doors into the shop, something strange happened. I missed the last step and dropped several feet to the floor. I’m not young, but I am spry, and I bounced back to my feet, thankful I hadn’t broken an ankle. When I pushed through the batwing doors, embarrassed, the cashier gaped at me and asked if I was okay because she saw me drop out of sight. I said I was, and she laughed. “All I could see was your head, and it just vanished.”
Now, I’m aware that it could have been my own clumsiness. After all, I’d just downed two beers in the saloon after being dehydrated and hungry, and I was a little buzzed. On the other hand, it could have been my own distractibility, or a combination of both.
But I contend I was tripped by the Swamper.
And he didn't want me to find his silver.
There is still more Weird West to explore from my trip to Tombstone. More to come.
