Poor Pocatello is Idaho’s Ugly Red Headed Stepchild

Oh, Pocatello, you’re the dumps

You make old men into grumps

Credit Bill Colley.

You can sing the above to the old tune Rubber Duckie. It’s something some members of my audience can relate to when they’re listening. Especially the old coot who wrote me a two-page single-spaced letter. Anonymously. He claims he’ll never listen again and that he’s fired me.

I made a joke one morning about snow covering up all the warts in Pocatello. Pocatello’s feelings were hurt, and the city cried itself to sleep. Hey, take hope. At least it’s not Chubbuck, which a friend in Pocatello routinely mocks for the number of drunken brawls and petty theft. But even the people in Chubbuck have rebuffed annexation attempts by the larger neighbor.

Every state has its holes. Idaho is no different. A guy in Rupert once told me Burley was the armpit of the state. I’ve visited both places and found them both nice. Pocatello is where I made a quick stop one morning at a convenience store, snagged a coffee, and then just as quickly got back on the highway. Another member of my morning audience lives in Blaine County, not far from Carey. A place may not be as well appointed as Hailey, but I like most of the people I meet in Carey. I can’t say the same about the swells across the mountain in what she calls Glitter Gulch. She also warns that she wouldn’t leave her car parked for long in Pocatello, because someone could make off with her tires.

The anonymous letter writer told me I could see a narrow gauge railway in Pocatello, or not far away and visit a museum dedicated to a burst dam that killed a lot of people. I’ll try. First thing next year.

Someone has way too much time. I’ll just share a quip I heard from someone else. If you were going to give the planet an enema, you would put the tube in Pocatello (that’s not original and I’m not the source).

Oh, Pocatello, you’re in the dumps.

You make old men into grumps.