The life of Sam Bolger reads like a romance, tinged with all the vicissitudes of life, livened by the carefree days when gold was more plentiful in Cripple Creek than to-day, shadowed by more sorrows than falls to the lot of the average man. Several Topeka pioneers may remember him in the days of yore when he served drinks over the bar of a saloon on lower Kansas Avenue, before the amendment was put into effect which placed Kansas in the fore rank of dry States. A newspaper man and party visited Gillette. They found the town deserted, except by one man, Sam Bolger. He occupied a dilapidated saloon, but had no customers. An inquisitive nomad put the following question to the old relic: "Where are the rest of the voters?" The faded old man did not answer at first, but then he replied: "They are everywhere but here." He then relapsed into silence, but another Kansan--or, rather, he was a Kansas Cityan--spied a table and a few suspicious-looking bottles within the place. He called the ancient gentleman and together they entered the poorly kept saloon. (Film here deleted by censor.) When the old man came out, some ten minutes later, he was in a more talkative mood. "I hear that you fellows are from Kansas," he said, "but you don’t know Kansas as I knew it. The men who were young then are now in their dotage. When I lived in Topeka, it was a wide-open town, and it was my business to furnish beer and whiskies to its progressive citizens." The man--he said his name was Sam Bolger--again fell into a moody silence. Then he resumed his talk. "I was a fool for ever leaving Topeka. It was in 1880, not long after the prohibition amendment went into effect. I had lost my job. I had no money. So I just naturally drifted West, and for the next ten years I roamed around California, New Mexico, Arizona, and old Mexico. But it was in eighteen-ninety that I came to Cripple Creek. The first real strike had been made. With thousands of others I fell a victim to my ambition to be rich. Out of all those who went to Cripple Creek in those years, only a few remain to-day who have wealth. "I just naturally had no luck. I sweated my life away in the mines. I gambled and drank away my wages in Cripple Creek. There never was a city yet that could equal it. Money flowed like water. I believe it was the wickedest spot on the map. "I was in the great Cripple Creek fire of eighteen-ninety-six. By that time I was part owner of a small saloon. The fire destroyed my place, and I was broke again.