Grievous errors, I commit them all too often. Here’s my latest. I’ve told you stories about Carcross Yukon many times, it’s a fascinating place. But until now I’ve completely ignored the town’s most famous and important citizen–Polly the Foul Mouthed Parrot. I apologize, and I am here tonight to correct that error or at least make it a bit less grievous.
Polly came over the Chilkoot Pass with the gold stampeders in 1898; wound up, post stampede, living with the mine manager at the Engineer Mine on Tagish Lake. But in 1918, the mine manager and his wife sank with the Princess Sofia to a watery grave in the Lynn Canal, and Polly spent the rest of her life at the Caribou Hotel in Carcross.
Link to another story “Ghosts Haunt the Caribou Hotel.”
Or, maybe, that should be the rest of “his” life. Those who reported on Polly over the years agreed on many things, but they had trouble with the ‘he or she’ question.
Reporter Dennis Bell who interviewed Polly in the 1970’s, declared ‘him’ “probably the oldest, meanest, ugliest, dirtiest bird north of the 60th parallel. He hates everybody.”
Polly had spent her formative years with miners; mastered all the miners’ ‘arts’. Spitting, swearing, and biting through life—regularly sucking up free booze and falling in a stupor from a precarious perch. Polly’s last owner, Dorothy McLennan, admitted that ‘she’ liked to bite customers—especially miners. Dorothy claimed, though, that Polly also had a sweeter, gentler side–sang songs that charmed the kids who came to eat in the hotel restaurant.
Polly lived a very long time. Tourists and hunters enjoyed Polly’s music, wit and vast reservoir of imaginative cuss words through the 20’s and 30’s. Polly amazed and delighted all comers, in fact, until 1972 when she died at 126.
Polly, you see, was a parrot. And apparently parrots live very long lives.
Johnny Johns, the famous outfitter and guide gave the eulogy at Polly’s funeral; sang some verses of “I Love You Truly”, Polly’s favorite song.
A trainload of dignitaries had come up on the WP&YR for the occasion; and, after the tuneful eulogy, they repaired with Johns to the Caribou Hotel Bar where they honored the dear departed in the most appropriate possible way—by drinking themselves into an honorary stupor.
Under this sod lies a sourdough parrot.
Its heart was gold, pure 14 carat.
Polly now can spread her wings,
Leaving behind all earthly things.
She ranks in fame as our dear departed,
A just reward for being good hearted.
Love the stories …!!!
Thank you. I love finding and writing them. And comments like yours make the work worth it.