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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Of all the minin' camps in old Colorady, the town of Tin Cup was truly, With all its gamblin' halls, brothels and sleazy saloons the most unruly! 'Tis said that Jim Taylor dipped his tin cup in the 'crick' to take a sip, And found gold in the bottom of his cup even before liftin' it to his lip! The rush was on and in 1880 the rowdy town of Virginia City sprung up! In 1882, assorted drunks and ne'er-do-wells insisted on namin' it Tin Cup! Stakes were claimed, shovels flew and ore was packed out to railheads. Men who worked in 'ore houses' were the butt of jokes by facetious heads! By 1881 there were 6000 denizens and over twenty saloons in the town. Gamblers met at Frenchy's Place and they controlled ever'thing aroun'! Marshals were told, "see, hear and do nothin' or yer first arrest will be yer last!" One quit, two were fired, three were shot, one went insane leavin' the town aghast! For those who died gloriously or otherwise from flamin' guns and billowin' smoke, Boot Hill Cemetery was established south of town to plant many a hapless bloke! Raucous prospectors spent their 'dust' on booze and 'soiled doves' in their cribs. Others got uproariously drunk and awoke with busted heads and shattered ribs! In its heyday, Tin Cup produced millions of dollars in choice Rocky Mountain gold. The last mine, the Gold Cup, closed in 1917 spellin' disaster and the town did fold. Alas, today 'tis a ghost town with curious tourists and sagebrush driftin' about. The ripplin' streams teem, not with gold nuggets, but with fightin' rainbow trout! Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired © All Rights Reserved
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