Stories from Wallace Looking West

You see, back in the day, our courthouse wasn’t just a building; it was the heart of Wallace. I remember it like it was yesterday, the trial of 1935. That was something we’ll never forget. The whole town was talking about nothing else for months. The courthouse, with its stone walls and towering clock, stood as a silent witness to it all.

It started with the disappearance of Jack O’Malley, a miner known by everyone. He was as much a part of Wallace as the silver in the hills. Then came this stranger, a young fellow, not from around here. He was accused of being involved in Jack’s disappearance. The trial, I tell you, it was like a scene straight out of a movie. The courtroom was packed every day, folks squeezing in just to catch a word of what was happening. Judge Thompson presided over the case, and he was as fair as they come.

The evidence, it twisted and turned like our mountain roads. One day you’d think the young man was guilty, the next, you weren’t so sure. Then, right when we thought we knew what was what, a twist came. Evidence showed that Jack might have left town on his own, a case of mistaken identity they said. The day that young man was acquitted, you could feel a mix of shock and relief wash over the crowd. We all spilled out onto the courthouse steps, the autumn air crisp and the leaves turning a fiery orange.

That trial, it wasn’t just about guilt or innocence. It showed us the spirit of our community, how quick we were to judge and how willing we were to listen. Years have passed, but that old courthouse still stands, a reminder of the time Wallace was gripped by a mystery, a time when we learned a lot about ourselves.