The trading post
A Few Words - Renae Bottom
It’s a tourist trap.” That’s what my dad said every time I asked if we could stop at the Fort Cody Trading Post in North Platte. “They just want to take your money.”
I would beg, but we’d drive on by, leaving me to turn my head and watch the trading post disappear into the distance outside the back window of the car.
I was left with questions: What was a tourist? And why would anybody want to trap one? The place did not look ominous to me. It looked like a real fort. It had what I believe are called palisade walls, with spikes at the top. There were mannequin soldiers in uniform, watching over the walls for danger. That’s authentic. It was like the real home of the real cavalry, the ones who ride in to save the day when circumstances are most dire. Why was my father so reluctant?
When I saw the Fort Cody Trading Post, I imagined F Troop. I was pretty sure, if I ever got inside, that I would meet Forrest Tucker, Larry Storch and Ken Berry. Sergeant O’Rourke, Corporal Agarn and Captain Parmenter were part of my childhood television landscape. When it came to Old West forts, I was a believer. I knew nothing of gift shops.
I finally stopped asking my dad about going there, and memories of the Fort Cody Trading Post faded from my mind. But the trading post is still there, with its giant cutout statue of Buffalo Bill Cody in front. I don’t really notice it anymore when I get off the interchange at North Platte.
Until last week, when I was driving into town with my daughter and my sister, on the way to see a movie.
“Have you ever been there?” my sister asked as we cruised past the trading post sign. She continued: “I always wanted to go, but dad would never let me. He said it was just a tourist trap.”
In that moment, the memories came rushing back. Mannequin soldiers, palisade walls, Larry Storch. “You’re kidding!,” I said. “That’s exactly what he told me. I’ve never gone inside.” We caught eyes. We laughed. We immediately made a pact to go together at the next opportunity.
That opportunity came two days later, when we found ourselves with a free afternoon. We piled into the pickup with the express goal of entering the Fort Cody Trading Post for the first time.
May I explain that while we strive to remain relevant, my sister and I are no longer what you’d call young. She would back me up on this. But there we were, two thoroughly adult women, giddy to enjoy an adventure that had been on hold since our childhood.
We pulled into the parking lot and took a selfie with the Fort Cody sign in the background. Then we entered the front doors, willingly presenting ourselves to be trapped by anyone inside who took the notion.
We spent a delightful hour roaming the aisles, looking at coonskin caps and curio-sized replicas of Conestoga wagons. To be honest, it’s a pretty nice gift shop, the kind of place you find in every mountain or coastal town, filled with mementos large and small, plain or pricey, all designed to help commemorate a trip. Books about Nebraska history, a jackalope skin or two, loads of jewelry, the obligatory two-headed calf, a section for John Wayne memorabilia, and an impressive hand-carved, miniature replica of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show in a U-shaped diorama, offered plenty for us to browse.
We brazenly bought whatever we wanted, and in spite of my dear father’s many warnings, we made it out with our lives. Mostly, we laughed and had a good time.
It’s nice when childhood dreams come true, even nicer when they come true for you and your sister. And I think fondly now of Larry Storch, even though I never got the chance to meet him.