Page 35 - Flathead Living Fall 2014

well, Burns still recalls the pre-steakhouse days with wide-eyed nostalgia, as if talking about a strange but wonderful dream. On a crazy day back then, the bar might make up to $8,000 serving 25-cent beer and 75-cent drinks, dizzying math by any standard of alcohol consumption.
Burns recounts a story about a couple who had come to check out the bar to gauge the veracity of its reputa- tion. They asked Burns, “Is it really that wild?”
“About that time a guy drove his Harley right through the bar,” Burns says. “Then a woman rode her horse through. And a little later, a guy packed a little bear cub in.”
“Those days were probably the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. You wanted to be here because you never knew what was going to happen.”
Nowadays, Burns’ businesses have more of a reputa- tion for mouth-watering steaks and home-cooked food than barfights and bear cubs. The Cattle Baron’s steaks have gained recognition in national publications such as New York Magazine and Maxim, and the restaurant is both family-friendly and truly family-run. With 60 grandchildren, Burns says he has “a hell of workforce to choose from.”
“THOSE DAYS WERE PROBABLY THE MOST FUN I’VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE. YOU WANTED
TO BE HERE BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNEW WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.”
When a visitor asked how many of those 60 work for him, he thought hard and arrived at a total of 15. He checked with his manager to confirm.
“Fifteen?” the manager said. “No, it’s about 30-35.”
“Jesus Christ!” Burns hooted. “I didn’t know I had so many!”
Someone in this big family will likely take over the business, but not yet. Even though he’s 71 and his wife, Charlene, is turning 65, Burns doesn’t seem to believe in retirement. In addition to his active role in the restaurants and bar, he still runs cattle and works the land.
“God gave you a body, so you better use it,” he says. “If you just let it sit, you die.”
Leaning back in a Cattle Baron booth in late July, Burns sat stoically as his daughter-in-law braided his hair to keep it out of his eyes when he returned that evening to the hayfields. One of his younger grandchil- dren, perhaps a potential heir to the throne much fur- ther in the future, complained of a toothache. Neither Burns nor the kid knew what was causing it, but they both knew where to look for the remedy.
“I’m going to Thronson’s,” the boy said.
And that’s why there are no boundaries in Babb, figurative or literal. When you’ve had the same neigh- bors for a century, the only lines worth drawing are the ones that connect, not divide, like the well-worn path leading through a grassy field from the Cattle Baron Supper Club straight to the porch of Thronson’s General Store. No matter how brutal the winter is, when the snow melts, that path will always be there. FL
CloCKwise FroM top leFt
Delight Morden, left, and her husband Jeff Morden wait outside The Bunkhouse Cafe for the Cattle Baron Supper Club to open for dinner.
The interior of the Cattle Baron Supper Club in Babb.
old saloon doors segment the entrance to The Bunkhouse Café.
A photo of the original Babb Bar hangs on a post in The Bunkhouse Cafe.
The tables of The Cattle Baron Supper Club are seen ready for the evening diners.
FALL 2014 | FLATHEAD LIVING 33