Here’s a good story from Tom Lutey about Max Baucus’ last shot of whiskey at the Two Dot Bar.
I have my own rather minor story about the Two Dot Bar. Many years ago, when my youngest daughter was barely 3, she and I drove from Billings to Boulder to visit a friend of mine. We stopped in Two Dot because — well, how can you not stop in Two Dot when you’re driving down Highway 12?
We each got a can of pop in the Two Dot Bar and the bartender, a rather gruff woman, asked my daughter if we were going to Billings. No, she said. “Going to Helena?” the bartender asked. My daughter looked to me and I said, “More or less.”
So the bartender said, “Ah, then you’re from Billings.” My daughter nodded yes and the bartender appeared quite pleased with herself. I didn’t think it was exactly Sherlock Holmesian, but oh, well.
Anyway, here’s the upshot. My daughter took her can of pop and a straw out to the car, and a bit later, as we were cruising down Highway 12, I looked over and she had her legs crossed, her head thrown back and she was puffing on the straw.
“Mind if I smoke?” she asked.
It was funny, but I felt like a terrible role model.
And I can’t mention Two Dot without thinking of Hank Williams Jr.’s song about that town. It’s not a great song, but you’ve got to love the line, “I’ve been framed for killin’ a dude down in Dillon,” and its memorable chorus of “I’m from Two Dot, Montana, and I don’t give a damn.”
