Martin, the hotel's manager (owner?), was a man of Czech descent. He had a shock of black hair and dark, intense eyes. He was often accompanied by a tubby border collie, who could also be found going for short strolls down the north end of Higgins. Not overly friendly, Martin was kind nonetheless, always permitting a drunk or two to couch surf until said drunks could make their way home.
Lovely Mary Jo, who sang in the band Soul-o-Flex. She had flowing auburn hair, pale eyes, and a pierced nose. Very nice person, an artist through and through.
God, I wish I could remember his name...young man, tall, svelte, blondish hair, usually dirty. Had a face that might remind a person of a young Leo Di Caprio. Incredibly sexy he was. He would come into Bernice's Bakery, where I worked for a spell, and all of us lusty lasses would swoon and then gather in front of the display case after he left, inhaling his b.o. as if it would get us high.
Chris "The Joker" Suters, a trust funder from Massachusetts. Definitely the bad seed in his respectable family. His face was slightly, um, off...his smile was too broad, revealing too many teeth and his eyes always glistened with mischief. He slung bags of gawd-dawful Mexican ditch weed out of the A minus at a time when not much else was available to acquire. Most people clipped their association with him not too long after getting to know him...not quite straight, not quite gay, his preferences and perversions seemed to defy sexuality. He got off on what he perceived to be his inherent superiority. Go figure. At the same time, he had a forbidding charm, and sometimes it seemed he was on the brink of redemption, only to tumble willfully and gleefully back into the abyss.
Lee, dubbed "the barstool philosopher", was able to spin yarns so tall they'd have bumped their heads on the ceiling at Charlie B's. He was from Alaska...convinced that the CIA was hiding the fact that aliens were building bases on the dark side of the moon. The yin to Chris Suter's yang, he was often seen drinking beer and arguing with The Joker. He also liked to fling potatoes out of his third story window, using his rickety loft bed and a giant, makeshift sling shot.
Kate, a former pastor's wife, was a Missoula fixture. She flounced around the U of M campus and downtown Missoula like an earth bound fairy, clad in massive hippie skirts, wool socks, and worn Birkenstocks. She knew absolutely everyone. Dean told me of a seder that Kate hosted for Passover at the Atlantic, authentic down to the bitter herbs which symbolize the bitterness of slavery. Long after she moved out of The Atlantic, she told me the story of her recent break up with her son's father and left me with this piece of advice: Never trust a man who steals your bear rope.
Marina, the mellow baker at Bernice's, whose life seemed perfect to me at the time...had finished college, lived in the Atlantic, had a great job, and was just enjoying life until the next phase, whenever and whatever that was. She was not too quiet nor too talkative... humorous, kind, and all kinds of cute. There was an old soul wisdom, a stability about Marina, which may have been part of the reason she was attracted to the A minus and lived there contently.
Too many vignettes to remember, but they will return to the forefront of memory, as they tend to do.
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