Stories from Wallace Looking East

I, Ron Garitone, Mayor of Wallace, Idaho, and all of its subjects, and being of sound body and mind, do hereby solemnly declare and proclaim Wallace to be the Center of the Universe.

Thanks to the newly discovered science of “Probalism” – specifically probalistic modeling, pioneered by the Environmental Protection Agency and the Department of Health and Welfare, and peer-reviewed by La Cosa Nostra and the Flat Earth Society – we were further able to pinpoint the exact center within the Center of the Universe; to wit: a sewer access cover slightly off-center from the intersection of Bank and Sixth Streets.

Upon discovering this desecration of the Center of the Universe, we proceeded forthwith to remove said manhole cover and replace it with this fine Monument, directing all who come upon it to the Four Corners of the Universe, these being the Bunker Hill, the Sunshine, the Lucky Friday and the Galena Mines. Let the courses of all who foray upon these vectors into the known and unknown be forever illuminated by the brilliant, shimmering gleanings of silver, lead and zinc to their destinations, wherever they may be.

The science of Probalism has its roots in the 2002 EPA Coeur d’Alene Basin Record of Decision, and as a syllogism expresses itself thusly: if a thing cannot be disproven, it is thereby proven. Thus, if the communities of the Silver Valley cannot absolutely prove themselves to the EPA’s satisfaction to be good and healthy places to live, then this is proof that they require the EPA’s continued meddling in their affairs.

Similarly, after a search of the literature, our government-contracted scientists in Moscow, Boise and Seattle have, after years of diligence, been unable to unearth one scintilla of proof that Wallace is NOT the Center of the Universe. In the absence of such proof, we are compelled to conclude that Wallace must therefore BE the Center of the Universe.

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.