Stephen Fried - Appetite for America: How Visionary Businessman Fred Harvey Built a Railroad Hospitality Empire that Civilized the Wild West

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THE NEW RABBI

HUSBANDRY

To Mom and Nana,
who taught me the comforts
of food, home, and family;
and to my traveling companion
in life, Black Bart

Fred Harvey? Do you know the name? If not, then your education has been much neglected

Fred Harvey set a standard of excellence! He has been a civilizer and a benefactor. He has added to the physical, mental and spiritual welfare of millions. No sermon can equal a Fred Harvey exampleno poet can better a Fred Harvey precept. Fred Harvey simply kept faith with the public. He gave pretty nearly a perfect service

The kind of business a man builds up is a reflection of himselfspun out of his heart. Man, like Deity, creates in his own image. I take my hat off to Fred Harvey, who served so faithfully and well, that dying, he yet lives, his name a symbol of all that is honest, excellent, hygienic, beautiful and useful.

Elbert Hubbard, renowned
American orator, philosopher,
nd author of the early twentieth century

Wild buffalo fed the early traveler in the West and for doing so they put his picture on a nickel.

Well, Fred Harvey took up where the buffalo left off.

For what he has done for the traveler, one of his waitresss pictures (with an arm load of delicious ham and eggs) should be placed on both sides of every dime. He has kept the West in foodand wives.

Will Rogers

RADIO INTERVIEWER: How do you feel today, Mr. President?

HARRY TRUMAN: Fine. I just had breakfast, and I always feel fine after having a meal at Fred Harveys. Thats a plug and I wont get paid for it, but I like the food anyway.

PART ONE:

O N THAT SPRING NIGHT IN 1882, THE DRUNKEN COWBOYS RIDING through northern New Mexico could have been forgiven for squinting in disbelief at the sight of the Montezuma Hotel. It did appear to be a hallucination.

The Montezuma was one of the most astonishing architectural creations in Americaalthough perhaps most astonishing was its location. It was nestled in a gorgeous middle of nowhere, in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains six miles outside of Las Vegas, New Mexico, an old Santa Fe Trail town that the railroad had only recently connected to civilization. The largest wood-frame building in the United Statessome ninety thousand square feet, with 270 guest roomsthe Queen Annestyle Montezuma featured a dining room that seated five hundred, a casino, a breathtaking wine cellar, eleven bowling alleys, a billiard hall, and an immense therapeutic bathing facility offering six different kinds of baths and douches, so patrons could fully experience the medicinal powers of the underground hot springs.

The service at the Montezuma was brilliant, with staff imported from the best hotels in New York, London, Chicago, and St. Louis. And the cuisine was amazingly ambitious. The food combined the expertise of classically trained chefs from the restaurant capitals of the world with fresh regional American ingredientsfruit, vegetables, and shellfish, as well as delicacies like green turtles and sea celery harvested by pearl-diving Yaqui tribesmento which few other kitchens in the country had access, and which most chefs wouldnt come to fully appreciate for almost another century. Open for only a few weeks, the resort was already attracting dukes and princesses and presidents, who quickly booked passage on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, the upstart railroad whose newly laid tracks were the only way to get there.

In front of the Montezuma was a large park, exquisitely landscaped with shade trees and rare flowers, planted in three train-car loads of imported sod and topsoil. At the center was a huge fountain, flanked by lawns for tennis and croquet, an archery range, and even a zoo, where the deer and the antelope literally played. The free-form park was illuminated, as was the building itself, by thousands of gaslights fed by the hotels own generating station.

and his men approached on horseback that evening, they couldnt believe their bloodshot eyes.

The cowboys rode first to the park, where they hollered and shot their guns in the air while galloping across the manicured bluegrass and graveled walks. The commotion could be heard throughout the hotel, from its grand entranceway to its cavernous main dining room. There it reached a tall, slim man in his mid-forties, with a perfectly groomed Van Dyke beard, deep, cautious eyes, and senses that were always cocked. He tried to ignore the noise and enjoy his dinner, but soon threw down his linen napkin and rose abruptly from his cane-backed chair.

The man was dressed fastidiously in a dark blue suit with a waistcoat and dangling watch fob, the formal uniform of a Victorian gentleman from his homeland of England. But he walked quickly, with the nervous energy of America, drawing the attention of the dining room staff and some of the guests as he passed.

By the time he left the dining room, the cowboys had dismounted and were running riot through the hotel. He could hear them in the billiard hall, where they were taking target practice with the Indian relics and curios displayed above the bar, and shooting the tops off the private-label liquor bottles on the sideboard.

Boys, put up your guns! the Englishman called out, striding into the room.

Who the hell are you? Red John yelled.

My name is Fred Harvey, he replied. I run this place. And I will not have any rowdies here. If you dont behave like gentlemen, you cant stay here and you cant come again. Now put up your guns and take a drink with Fred Harvey!

Although he had been in America for thirty years, Fred still retained his British accent, which made some Westerners titter.

But as the cowboys laughed, cursed, and taunted him, and hotel guests started gathering, he walked over and grabbed Red John by the collar. In a single motion, the fastidious Englishman yanked the dusty desperado over the bar and pinned him to the floor.

You mustnt swear in this place, he told the stunned cowboy.

There was a moment of silenceand then Red John told his men to stand down.

Fred Harvey is a gentleman, boys, he declared, brushing himself off. I say, lets have those drinks.

When the drinks were done, they were served a midnight breakfast as wellthe breakfast for which Fred Harvey was becoming famous. The freshest eggs and steak available in the country, shipped directly from farms in refrigerated train cars. Pan-size wheat cakes stacked six high. Quartered wedges of hot apple pie. And cup after cup of the best damn coffee these cowboys had ever tasted in their lives.

Red John and his men never made trouble at the Montezuma again.

But they still wanted to know, as did more and more people across the country:

Who the hell is Fred Harvey?

MORE THAN A CENTURY LATER , I am peering over the lip of the Grand Canyon in my pajamas at five oclock in the morning. And Im wondering the same thing.