Bessie and Me
Words and Music by Tom May


(Originally released on the Vignette album. Open Spaces, Prairie Winds (out of print) 1987)


The middle of Montana, a dirty cold night
I inquired of lodging in a rough lookin’ bar
They told me of Bessie’s, they said that she welcomed all
Sinner and saint, from near and from far

Above an old bookstore, the narrow stairs beckoned
To a tired old traveler, fresh from the road
At the top of that flight, was a weathered old woman
With an accent as thick, as a piece of old sod.

Chorus
Its just Bessie and Me this evening in Butte, Montana
In her empty hotel, on a cold Friday night
With the ghosts of the miners, and the old worn out carpet
40 rooms vacant in the fading twilight
their windows shut tight against the morning

In 1909, these oak door first opened
To the immigrant dreams of a thousand strong men
In the 30’s young Bessie took the ship here from Ireland
To be a maid for her uncle, to cook and to mend

She married a man who came from her own country
They carved out a life there beneath the Big Sky
Their borders were hard men who toiled in the darkness
For the copper and the silver, they lived and they died

Chorus
Its just Bessie and Me this evening in Butte, Montana
In her empty hotel, on a cold Friday night
With the ghosts of the miners, and the old worn out carpet
40 rooms vacant in the fading twilight
their windows shut tight against the morning

Bessie spoke of her youth, and of the easter rebellion
Of a lad that she loved that never was found
She told tales of the 30’s here in western Montana
Of the unions who protected the men, deep in the ground

“Butte was a good town”, I can still hear her say
the men were hard working, and the churches were strong
but now the churches are abandoned, and the buildings are rotting
the Berkely pit and the deep shaft mines have been idle too long

Chorus
Its just Bessie and Me this evening in Butte, Montana
In her empty hotel, on a cold Friday night
With the ghosts of the miners, and the old worn out carpet
40 rooms vacant in the fading twilight
their windows shut tight against the morning

Tonight I walk down the streets, of old Butte Montana
Imagining the Friday nights this town did know
The drinking and the fighting and the spirit of adventure
That summed up this brave land, back so long ago

Bessie’s rooms now are spotless, the towels are clean
The hallways ring hollow, with no one around
Like this Friday night main street of old Butte Montana
There’s the echos of the past, but there’s hardly a sound

Chorus
Its just Bessie and Me this evening in Butte, Montana
In her empty hotel, on a cold Friday night
With the ghosts of the miners, and the old worn out carpet
40 rooms vacant in the fading twilight
their windows shut tight against the morning

©1983 Blue Vignette Publishing, ASCAP