National Geographic : 1950 Jul
You Can't Miss America by Bus Four Hands and One Electric Eye Wash a Bus in 5 Minutes As the coach drives onto the wash rack, the electric eye automatically starts the brushes rolling and the spray sprinkling, thus cleaning its sides. Then the windows and wheels are washed by hand. When the bus slowly passes off the rack, it is showered by the rinser (pipe frame). "After all," he said, "that's the way the place got its start." But Butte doesn't live for ore alone. Four important railroad lines meet there to make it an active cattle-shipping center; hence the large stockyards we saw on the flats south of the city. Mayor Morgan hinted that the romance of a wide-open western town still lingers in Butte. He had established a rifle range for his police. "And they're doing all right, too," he smiled proudly; "I've got 'em to the point where they can shoot from the hip." The son of a sea captain, Tom Morgan was born in Cornwall, England. His father tried to make a sailor of him, but the boy fell out of so many boats he had to abandon the idea. In 1913 the captain shipped Tom to Butte on six months' trial. If he liked it, he could stay. I, too, liked it and wanted to stay. But in the cold darkness of the next morning I boarded a coach of Intermountain Transpor tation Company, oldest bus line in Montana, and rode due south. We climbed nearly 7,000 feet in the Bitter root Range and rushed with the wind through Monida Pass; there huddled a desolate hamlet, bleak and cold in the snow. Down the bus raced into that broad, russet realm of Idaho made famous by potatoes. Now in late autumn the tubers had been uprooted, but towns were still busy shipping them. Crossing the Snake River to enter Idaho Falls, I saw the cataract that suggested the city's name.