by Toby Thompson?
Ramblin' Jack Elliott was yodeling a third chorus of "Black Snake Blues" when a deep rumble distracted the hundred or so Montanans gathered in the darkened lobby of the Murray Hotel. They had already suffered distraction from guest sets by Dobro Dick Dillof and the novelist Peter Bowen. But now there was this rumble. The crowd peeked toward the left as the glass doors of the Murray's 1922 elevator slammed shut, and a leering Jack Palance rose like Dracula toward his fourth-floor accommodations.
The Murray is to Montana hostelries what the Chelsea is to the hotels of New York: an antiquated classic. Across from the old Northern Pacific depot, and hard by Dan Bailey's fly shop, it's a timeless caravansary of Western disorder, a place where saloon patrons who've been swaying to the jukebox since 11 A.M. may be gaga over a live band by 9 P.M.; where on any given night one may observe tourists on their way to Yellowstone National Park, backpackers, fishermen or old-fashioned wanderers—like Tom Waits, Keith Carradine, Rip Torn, James Woods, Donna Rice and Whoopi Goldberg.
Livingston, a city of fewer than 7,000, has a reputation as the Montparnasse of the Great Northwest, and the Murray is its lifeblood. Robert Redford shot the movie "River Runs Through It" in and around Livingston; he frequented the Murray bar. Richard Brautigan kept rooms at the Murray, and Warren Oates was a patron.
From outside, it's difficult to imagine what drew them there. The facade, behind a dazzling neon sign, is unassuming brick. But like all good hotels, it epitomizes its geographical milieu: in this instance Montana, which many consider to be the last best place.
In recent years, a fuss has been made over country inns, but the great age of American hostelries coincided with that of the railroad. Fine hotels were built near depots, luring notables, and were inevitably at city center, providing a cultural nexus for their region.
Some 57 miles north of Yellowstone, the Murray epitomizes Livingston: not only the physicality of its mountains, big sky and muscled-up river but also its metaphysicality, as expressed in Western art, horse opera, the dime novel and penny journalism. The Murray is nearly as old as Livingston, which was founded in 1882.
The hotel opened about 1897 as the Elite (pronounced EE-light by locals). Its owner, Josephine Kline, received financing from the family of Senator James E. Murray of Montana. The Murrays foreclosed on the loan in 1925. Legend has it that Mrs. Kline and another woman walked to Washington, D.C., to confront the Senator. But the Murrays took over and gave the hotel their name, and for several decades it was considered one of the grandest in the Northwest.
In 1922, Mrs. Kline had expanded the hotel to four floors, and it then boasted the city's only elevator. Its lobby quickly became a favorite rendezvous. "If you wanted to see who was in town, this was the spot," said Ralph White, the Murray's retired manager and "clerk emeritus," who has lived there since 1941.
The Murray's decline, in the 1960's, coincided with a growth in the Interstate highway system, a consequent decrease in rail travel and an explosion of motels. But recent years have heightened its charm.
A first-time visitor in the summer of 1976 stayed on for two and a half months. He slept in a wide iron bed, bathed in a six-foot-long tub and was privy to a parade of characters through the lobby and scenes never to be forgotten: a woman trucker with an 18-wheeler idling outside, who asked the bar crowd if "some fool don't want to ride out by the Husky station and hear my party tapes"; Mr. Brautigan with Custer-length hair and an absurd fur hat, his head held high among the lobby's stuffed trout; Jimmy Buffett drawling songs in the parking lot at midnight.
Sam Peckinpah lived there from 1979 until his death in 1984 in California. His home was a suite once occupied by Walter Hill, a son of James J. Hill, the Great Northern Railway Company tycoon. Mr. Peckinpah was rarely heard from, except for an occasional shot fired through the roof or a call to the bar.
What is it about the Murray that draws outlaws like Mr. Palance and Mr. Peckinpah? Its ambiance, certainly—antique furniture, red oak doors with hand-painted numerals, a lobby with 700 square feet of marble — and its convenience. At Second and West Park streets, it's within spitting distance of Livingston's simplest delights: cowpoke saloons, the Depot Center Museum (at one time the Northern Pacific depot), an all-night railroad cafe, Yellowstone River, the Absaroka Range and lush Paradise Valley&mdaash;plus Sax & Fryer's, the book and general-merchandise store.
In 1978, Pat Miller, a Livingston rodeo queen, and her husband, Cliff, a rancher, bought the hotel at auction. They sold the establishment to Dan and Kathleen Kaul in 1991. Mrs. Miller had revived the hotel with new furniture, plumbing and decor.
The Kauls have gone several steps further, enticing Mark Glass, a celebrated Montana chef, to run the hotel's Winchester Cafe. The restaurant has become south-central Montana's foremost, its simple Mission-style furniture and hearty post-80's food—local trout, elegant chops, rich pasta—a comfort.
Mr. White, who is 82 and regularly holds court with visitors in his room, is legendary for his grouchiness. Yet, even he has admitted "things're looking up." Bruce Weber shot a fashion spread for New York magazine last June, and tourists crowd the Art Deco bar.
Mrs. Miller is still active, planning a Murray Hotel Writers Conference, with the help of the writers Thomas McGuane and William Hjortsberg and the painter Russell Chatham.
On the evening of Mr. Elliott's concert last July, Peter Fonda was on stage, singing an old Bob Dylan ballad to extended applause. Afterward, he trailed the crowd outside, pausing at curbside. Immediately he was asked for directions, but the traveler interrupted him before he could finish. "Aren't you Peter Fonda?"
"Well, yeah," Mr. Fonda said.
The traveler gauged the hotel warily, then tightened on Fonda. "That's amazing," he said. "You look just like him."
The New York Times?
April 11, 1993, Sec. 9: 3.
Online Source: http://www.murrayhotel.com/rumble.asp
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