The Lottery of Circumstance

A man named John C Curry is buying up property in Virginia City. He has also purchased the most profitable of the three mines and was rumored to be in talks to acquire the rest. There is speculation in the local drinking hole that he is a man of great wealth from the East and that one day, he would own most of the town and there wasn't a thing anybody could do about it. The mines around which the town were built were teeming with silver and a new vein had just been discovered which was cause for celebration in the saloon.

As the tavern patrons grew increasingly inebriated, talk of the mysterious John C Curry accelerated from innocent musings to downright salacious gossip.

"I hear he owns a French style castle on the Atlantic ocean."

"I hear there's a wing of the castle devoted to his harem."

"I hear he has never been married and is in fact in love with his horse."

"Well I heard that once he takes over the mine, he plans to kick us all out of here and build his very own commune for his harem and horses and use the silver mine to fund his sinful lifestyle."

"It makes ya deranged all them riches."

"Then why are you here?" inquires an unfamiliar voice from the back corner.

In unison, the drinkers turn to the direction of the speaker, who's pointed and contentious question has cut through the slanderous racket and silenced the room.

A tall and rough looking man called Ned stands up abruptly while at the same time pushing the table out from him, causing glasses to tip, soaking poker cards in mid play. A priggish little man named Benjamin is deeply annoyed, as he had a brilliant hand to play, but he doesn't dare make a peep.

"What do you mean, then why are we here? Stranger?" says Ned to the guest speaker, who is stepping out from his corner and smoothing down his fine wool pants. He has on an impeccable suit, crisp white shirt and perfectly formed black top hat. He is medium height and build and has softly curled hair that hangs down his neck. He is neither old nor young and could be called nice looking.

"I mean to say, and take no offence citizens of Virginia City, aren't we all here to make...riches?"

"Not sure what business of that is yours." fires back Ned, taking a step closer to the stranger. Another thuggish brute named Pickaxe Pete gets up in solidarity with Ned. The townsfolk didn't appreciate outsiders in their midst, especially one in expensive frippery.

"It is my business, actually...." Ned and Pickaxe Pete and now Filthy Frank take another threatening step towards the speaker "Let me explain fellas!" he cries as he holds up his hands in surrender.

"See, I bought your mine. I am Mr. Curry, and I bought your mine and quite a few of your important buildings. And I intend to use the mine and the property here to make myself an even richer man than I already am." He speaks matter-of-factly and in a tone that is at once deadly serious and jovial.

Outraged, the three men start towards the lone stranger who expresses not an iota of fear but stands his ground. He holds out his hands and pleads for the men to stop and listen. "I didn't come here to cause problems in your town! I promise that you will all have work in the mines. Some of you, if you play your cards right (he gestures to the cards on the table) will be rich men too. Not stinking rich like myself, I'm what you would call wealthy. The kind of wealth that is rare, circumstantial and entirely unfair. No, you will and can be financially secure and prosperous if you come along on my ride. I plan to make Virginia City the jewel of the West."

The three men, and most of the saloon visibly relax and appear to be receptive to Mr. Curry's speech.

"So you want to keep us as your slaves along with your harem so we toil away in a dangerous mine while you never lift a damn one of your soft pink little fingers!" shouts an unconvinced voice.

"It is true," replies John, "Not the harem bit."
With that, gentle laughter erupts in the room.
"But I will not be working in the mine. I have other important things to do to insure that the mine runs perfectly and the town runs perfectly and then all of you will in turn be happy with the town and your lives. You are not slaves but free men."

"So let me get this straight," pipes in Pickaxe Pete, a man so named for his mining prowess, "You will be sitting in yer heavens-high white cloud, and we'll be down in the dust haulin' the riches out of the earth, risking our lives to have a somewhat bearable existence, and all the while you'll be piling up money on your...money pile. And we're supposed to be pleased about it? We're supposed to thank our lucky stars that you came along with your organizin' and your ideas?"

"Well, yes. That's it." says John, deadpan. "I mean, what is the alternative? I'm all ears." He cups his hand around his right ear and leans in toward the irritated audience.

Furtive glances shoot around the saloon as each man is hoping the other has a well thought out and reasoned plan to present. The fact was that they had never really questioned their lots in life before. All they had ever known was the hard work part- the sweaty, exhausting, mind crushing, SOUL crushing side. The one where the man in a top-end three piece suit anonymously and expertly worked out the nuts and bolts. The man who had risked his fortune, be it earned or inherited, on the enterprise. The man who had gambled and won.

And now here he was in the flesh, touchable and real. They needed him as surely as he needed them and therein lay the trouble. If they refused to work unless better provided for, they would be fired and replaced immediately by others who were more desperate.

It was in this moment that the absurdity of life and the lottery of circumstance hit the men of Virginia City over their heads.
It wasn't so much a slap but a dull thud across the temple. 

Ned falls back into his seat, laces his fingers together and rests them on his knees. In his thoughts he is running out of the room, moving on to the next town over, following the goldrush. Maybe staking out his own claim. Panning for flecks, digging holes and striking it big. He could find a woman to settle down with and maybe even love. He would build an ornate wooden house with a wraparound porch and fill it with children. His success would be deserved and he would die fat and happy. Or maybe it would all come to nothing and he would starve and turn to a life of petty crime or begging. To choose adventure would risk his very life. To dream was danger. He rolls those dreams into a little corner of his mind and comes back to the room.

"We were just hopin' that we would get a pay raise every year." Ned says without emotion.

The men cheer loudly in agreement. "Of course!" says Mr. Curry.

"And that, we get a lunch break every day and go home at dusk!" says Pickaxe Pete to more cheers.

"Also," begins a young man with a boyish face, "We have Christmas day off...and..and..a free whole Christmas chicken for all!"

Audible gasps are heard as each man sucks in air nervously at the very audacity of the demand.

Mr. Curry stands quietly with an unreadable expression for what feels like minutes. Then a wide grin breaks out across his face and he cries "Of course! Christmas Day and New Years Day! And not a chicken, a turkey for all!"

The piano starts playing and the men clink their glasses together. Rounds of whiskey are ordered to each table at the behest of Mr. Curry, who waits for the party to reach a fever pitch before quietly slipping out the door.

It is all going to be alright.