Though not on the grounds, one of the most interesting places of amusement, and one which without seeing the visitor’s trip to the “Fair” was incomplete, was “Cheyenne Joe’s Rocky Mountain Inn.” This famous or infamous resort, as you will have it, had a seating capacity of more than one thousand people. Tables arranged in squares over a saw-dust floor were attended by waiters in cowboy costume; in the centre of this large pavilion a vaudeville performance entertained its racy patronage; music
was continuous, two bands being used for this purpose; as one ceased playing, the other commenced without interval. A trained donkey bedecked with ribbons ran from table to table nodding to the guests. About every twenty minutes, Cheyenne Joe mounted on a pony would gallop into the scene and cry out, “How much money did we take in to-day?” In unison the cowboys would yell, “Ten thousand dollars.” Joe would shout, “Burn half of it up and shoot out the lights,” whereupon each cowboy drew his gun and banged away, snuffing out every light in the joint. The lights, of course, were operated mechanically; darkness ensued for a few moments only, when the light would be restored. The placards alone were worth a visit to read; but the mirth and revelry indulged in not only by soldiers, civilians, and Indians, but hundreds of the fair sex, during the midnight hours in this Rocky Mountain resort, though lacking in splendor, were akin to the revels at the feasts of the bacchanalians.
During the wee sma’ hours of the morning the Palm Garden, a rustic summer dancing
pavilion, with its glossy floor and Italian orchestra, was ablaze with the scintillating flashes of diamonds which glittered from the smartly clad feminine patrons of the dizzy whirl. Here, to the music of such selections as, “Any rags, any bones, any bottles to-day?” a rag two-step is being performed by a marine and a Venus with a florid style, whose magic spell lends soothing to the blues, but whose high heels were not made for a minister’s daughter.
Surrounding the Fair-grounds and in close proximity were shows of every description. Conspicuous among these were Forest Park Highlands, a veritable Coney Island; Luna Park; Delmar Garden, the scene of the celebrated extravaganza “Louisiana,” the old mill-wheel and “the girl in blue,” “the cave of the wind,” and “the Queen of the Gypsy fortune-tellers,” the Delmar Race-track, where gathered together could be found the most famous thoroughbred racers of the world, with their coterie of noted jockeys and attendants.
“Old Heidelberg,” in the German village, was the bohemia of the outskirts of the
big show; here, to the strains of “Die Wacht am Rhein,” it was strictly proper to eat “hot-dogs” and drink cold steins of imported “hoff-brau.”
Sundays, when the Fair was closed, the permanent summer resorts of St. Louis were flooded with people. Montesano, an island in the Mississippi River connected by a fleet of steamboats, was the most favored Sunday resort; the trip down the river alone broke the monotonoy of the quietude of a hot summer day. The island, with its groves of shady maple trees and inviting dells, extending from the smooth sandy beach and through the interior, was an ideal spot to while away the midday hours in lingering lassitude. There were dancing, boating, fishing, roller-coasting, flirtations, and all that goes to make up an ideal pleasure resort. Along the beach, children with diminutive spades dug holes in the sand in search for shells. Games of all descriptions were conducted quietly, and with far less compunction than under the restraint and restrictive laws elsewhere enforced.
Merrimac Highlands and Creve Cœur
Lake, reached by scenic railways, were also popular places of amusement.