The story probably isn’t true but it illustrates that a large part of what makes Virginia City such a colorful places is because the line between fact and fiction is often blurred. In Virginia City, if a story is repeated often enough, it becomes the truth.
Consider the story of the Suicide Table in the Delta Saloon at 18 South C Street. A sign posted above the dusty green felt table somberly noted that in the 19th century about a half dozen people died by their own hand as a result of gambling losses while playing cards at the table.
The Suicide Table was featured on several national television shows, including “Ripley’s Believe It or Not,” and the legend has been repeated in just about every travel article and book about Virginia City.
Is this tale true? Most likely it is not—but since no one alive can refute the story it has become the accepted version of reality.
There’s not even agreement on the name of the allegedly clumsy, inebriated fellow who broke the bottle of whiskey that got the town started. Some history books call him James Fennimore while others refer to him as James Finney. All, however, agree that his nickname was “Old Virginny” and he hailed from the Old Dominion State.
Additionally, some historians believe the whole christening story is a concoction and that the city was named in honor of “Old Virginny” because he was one of the earliest and most respected residents.
Not even Henry Comstock—the man who gave his name to the Comstock Lode, the big mining discovery that sparked the Virginia City mining boom—is immune from the legend-makers. In many books he is referred to as “Old Pancake,” although he was apparently never called that during his lifetime and no one is certain he even liked pancakes?
Over the years, the mines of Virginia City would produce millions of dollars in gold and silver. During its heyday in the mid to late 19th century, Virginia City was one of the more cosmopolitan cities in the West. In addition to having thousands of residents, the town had an opera house, elegant hotels, banks, businesses, restaurants and churches.
Despite a disastrous fire in 1875, which destroyed much of the community, Virginia City has survived into the 20th century with most of its 19th century charm and appearance intact. Walking its uneven wooden sidewalks under drooping awnings, you can imagine you’re retracing the footsteps of Old Virginny or some other Comstock legend.
The false store fronts and Victorian-style homes on the steep hills of the town haven’t changed much since the days when a young Sam Clemens began writing for a local newspaper under the pen name Mark Twain (of course, there are so many versions of the story of how he came by that name that no one will ever know the real story behind that one).
Wandering Virginia City, you can find plenty of other places of legend. For instance, there’s one about two houses built so close together that one is known as the Spite House because, it is said, the owner was angry at his neighbor and wanted to block his view (this story is apparently also not true).
There are also tales about a prostitute named Julia Bulette, who was murdered (true) but over the years was transformed into a Comstock icon. According to some of the legends, she had royal blood, traveled the city in a fine carriage, tossed gold coins to orphans and ministered to the sick—kind of a red light district Queen Florence Nightingale.
In the end, the real fun about visiting Virginia City isn't just learning about its fanciful legends. It’s being in a place that has managed to hang on to so much of its history and character—which is saying something these days when nearly every community has begun to look the same as all of the others.
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