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Here in the state where the speed limit is whatever you think is reasonable and prudent, a state that lives in a self-imposed exile from the other 49 while it considers whether to just be its own republic, Rod Lincoln had grown tired of life as a school superintendent and bought a saloon 15 years ago in Clinton, Mont. That's probably more of a lateral move than you might think, because you still have to wake people up occasionally, still have to expel troublemakers and still have to lead and inspire.
It's the last part that we focus on now.
"A bar has to have a signature event," Rod is saying as he serves up drinks at the Rock Creek Lodge, a joint that has billiard tables, slot machines and a 5-ft.-tall wooden bull. It is the kind of place where you might expect to see Harry Dean Stanton in an argument with Marjoe Gortner over an eight-ball combination, a knife fight breaks out, and no one remembers either the assailants or the victims as quiet and normal. "I don't care if it's maggot races," Lincoln says. "You have to have something."
And so Dr. Lincoln--he has a doctorate in education--in what can be attributed to either the ceaseless wonder of America's entrepreneurial spirit or a particularly good batch of hooch, invented the Testicle Festival. "I dabbled in poetry when I was young, and it just sort of rolled off the tongue," says Lincoln, who requests that details of his education be downplayed.
Rocky Mountain oysters are a delicacy in Montana. They are, of course, the business part of the bull, and they are served breaded and deep fried, like chicken fingers, though they are not yet available in any Happy Meal deal. Each year for 15 years, Lincoln has sold more of them than the year before. It was two tons' worth last year at the 15th annual festival, which drew a record 15,000 people over five days without any arrests.
Motels, restaurants and other saloons in the Missoula area all cleaned up, although Kim Latrielle says the Chamber of Commerce doesn't promote the Testicle Festival because "it is not a family-type event."
"It's a tremendous boost to the local economy," says Jacque Christofferson. She owns a logging, limousine and liquor company--nobody around here finds that the least bit unusual--and two of the three product lines are in great demand at festival time. "Rod does 40% of his annual liquor sales during the festival." Talk about entrepreneurial genius. Liquor them up, then drive them home.
Judging by the video of last year's soiree ($29.95), the festival might be the only event in America in which bikers, yuppies, lawyers, the Winnebago crowd and perhaps even militiamen can team up in bull chip-toss competition and coexist in a blissful celebration of...of...what was it again?
"You just put on your ugliest pair of pants and go crazy, that's all," says Fred Wagner, 47, a logger.
"We never actually asked anyone to take their clothes off," says Dr. Lincoln. "They just sort of volunteered."