In the area where I grew up there are a lot of legends about a man who was said to have been named John Jeremiah Garrison, who changed his name to Johnson during the Mexican-American War in he 1840s. After the war he came to Montana territory where he had a variety of different jobs including hunter, trapper, firewood seller, whiskey peddler, cabin builder, and even law enforcement officer. He was briefly the town marshal in Red Lodge, the town where my grandparents lived and he traveled and worked all around the area. There is a cabin where he lived in the 1880s that has been moved next to the tourism office in Red Lodge.

Among the stories about Johnson is that the woman he married was a member of the Blackfoot tribe who was killed by a Crow brave who was a member of a group of hunters. Johnson is said to have engaged in a personal vendetta against members of the Crow tribe. One legend says he personally killed and scalped over 300 Crow men. It is said that he removed and ate the livers of the men he killed. As a result of this story he gained the nickname “Liver-Eating Johnson.”

One version of the story of Liver-Eating Johnson was printed on the menu of a cafe in my home town called Crazy Jane’s. The cafe wasn’t there when I was growing up, but after I became an adult and had moved away from town, the Interstate Highway was built around the town and at the western exit a gas station and cafe were built to serve travelers. When I would return home to visit my mother we would occasionally have lunch or dinner at the cafe.

One noon I went to the cafe with my mother. I don’t remember who all was present at the dinner, but I do remember that my mother’s sister and her husband were there. As we sat around the table waiting for our server to take our meal orders, we read and talked about the menu. Conversation was had about the appropriateness of having the story of Liver-Eating Johnson on the cover of a menu. It may have been at that meal or another time of eating at that cafe that someone asked, “I wonder if they have liver and onions on the menu?” At least I had that question on my mind as I opened the menu that day.

I scanned the Menu and my eyes landed on a Reuben Sandwich. I like sauerkraut and enjoy a good Ruben Sandwich, but I couldn’t bring myself to order one from that menu on that day because my Aunt’s husband’s name was Reuben. I kept trying to suppress a giggle at the thought of ordering a Reuben sandwich while dining with Reuben when the menu featured the story of a man reported to engage in cannibalism.

It is all silliness. If the cafe had featured liver and onions, the liver would have been from beef. That part of the world is cattle country and a lot of beef is served in area cafes and restaurants, most of it coming from local sources. Furthermore, the stories of Liver-Eating Johnson are a mixture of historical fact and more than a small amount of fiction. Legends grow up and thrive on exaggeration. I know almost nothing of the true historical facts of his life - only the stories that were told. And Reuben sandwiches are a combination of corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut and Russian dressing served on rye bread.

For what it is worth, I somehow associate Reuben sandwiches with kosher delis. I don’t know much about Kosher law, but I’m pretty sure that there is no way that the sandwich as served in popular cafes can be kosher. Combining meat and cheese in the same dish is not kosher.

The story of eating at the cafe with Reuben got told again during my recent visit with my sister. We enjoy remembering past times and experiences. The cafe is no longer named Crazy Janes and I’m sure that the menus with the story of Liver-Eating Johnson are long gone, and that there aren’t very many people who remember them. My mother, my aunt, and her husband have all died. We enjoy visiting with his son Rick and his wife when we are in that part of Montana, but we aren’t very likely to go to a cafe for lunch when we are with them. I still enjoy a good Ruben sandwich from time to time and I can order one in a cafe with a straight face. I can even order one without telling the story of Liver-Eating Johnson. I am not, however, inclined to order liver and onions in a cafe, even if it is featured on the menu.

What is delicious to me these day are the stories.

I think it is possible that the story of the meal in the cafe has been embellished and exaggerated over the years, just as the reputation of Liver-Eating Johnson was embellished and exaggerated in the telling. I’ve told that story a lot of times. I wonder if any of the other people who were at the table even remembered the incident. I think it is possible that it was a bit of personal humor that went unnoticed by my table companions. But it makes a good story to tell decades later. And some of my best stories are combinations of a bit of reality and a bit of fiction.

One of the deep joys of getting together with family and friends is telling stories and as I grow older I’ve become a collector of stories. I’ve got a story for any gathering of folks and I’ve got plenty of them for times when I get together with people I’ve known for a long time. I suspect that my sister has heard most of my stories multiple times, but she politely listens again when we are together.

I enjoy her stories as well.