THE BIG Creek Store was a plain wood-frame building, low-slung, with windows trimmed out by a thick and crackled coat of forest green paint. A pair of gas pumps jutted from the weedy lot out front. The tavern and store was only one of many miners’ hangouts in the district and was only really distinguished by its location. At just a few hundred yards down from Sunshine, it was the easiest place for the miner in a hurry to get a beer. It was also the social center of the Big Creek community. To the right of the front door was a twelve-foot bar with a candy counter and a cash register. Opposite the bar were a pool table and a handful of tables where miners would drink, play liar’s dice, or just talk until they were sure their pissed-off wives had gone to sleep. At the back of the store were the living quarters of perpetually irritated owner George Dietz. Dietz served more draft than root beer, along with pretty tasty chili and cabbage rolls. After shift change, the place burst at the seams.
