Frank “Shorty” Harris was one of the most colorful and important characters in the history of the Death Valley/Amargosa area. He was a quintessential prospector and in his more than three decades on the desert he discovered precious metal deposits leading to the founding of several of the region’s most important mining camps, including Rhyolite.
Harris was born in Providence, Rhode Island, in 1857 and died at Big Pine, California, in 1934, at the age of seventy-seven. Orphaned at age seven, he headed west when he was 20 to seek his fortune. He spent time in some of the most fabulous boom camps in the world, including Leadville, Tombstone, Coeur d’Alene, Ballarat, Tonopah, Goldfield, and of course Rhyolite.
Diminutive in stature—he was five feet tall—he was a loner by nature.
Like so many mining people of his generation he had a characteristic way of speaking, delightfully blending enthusiasm, exaggeration, and optimism. Being well known and highly quotable, he made good copy for reporters. His language and character survive in several lengthy published interviews.
In 1993 I took those interviews and combined Harris’ quotes into a one-act play titled “Short Man — The Life and Times of Frank ‘Shorty’ Harris.” That play was presented by UNLV on Feb. 12, 1993, at the Visitor Center, Furnace Creek, California, as part of the 60th anniversary observance of the founding of Death Valley National Monument.
What follows are excerpts from my play.
Shorty’s Desert Home
Referring to his crumbling adobe cabin at the ghost town of Ballarat, on the east side of the Panamint Range near Death Valley:
“Well, haven’t I got a dam’ fine home? I wouldn’t change places with the president of the United States. I’ve got something they can never take away. I step out of my cabin every morning and look it over — 100 miles of outdoors. All mine!
“Those fellows from the newspapers and magazines used to pester the hell out of me after I found gold at Harrisburg and Rhyolite, and some other places. They wanted interviews. I usually tried to oblige. They don’t come around so much anymore since those camps died. It’s just as well — harder for me to outrun ’em now, and my old burro, Camel, out there is nearly blind. I guess we’re both about all in. I’ve been all over this country. At that, I got good money for a fellow like me.
“If I’d got those millions I could’ve made, the big boys would have hauled me off to town, put a white shirt on me. Maybe they would have made me believe Shorty Harris was important. ‘Mr. Harris this and Mr. Harris that.'”
Mighty Fine Woman
“Speaking of wives . . . I knew a girl in Ballarat by the name of Bessie Hart. She was a mighty fine woman and a good cook. No one in camp dared to pull any rough stuff around her — she was six feet tall, weighed 210 pounds, and could lick a husky man. I don’t know why a little hammered-down fellow like me should fall in love with a woman like that — but I did just the same.
“One day I was up by the stone corral sharpening picks in the blacksmith shop, and Bessie was blowing the bellows for me. Two of her best friends, Dean Harrison and Tom Walker, had gone to Tonopah, and she was missing them a lot, and I thought this would be a good chance for me.
“‘Miss Bessie,’ I said, ‘I guess you’re kind of lonesome now since Dean and Tom are gone?’
“‘Oh, a little,’ she said.
“‘Well now, we’ve been kind of friendly for several years, and since they aren’t likely to come back, what’s the matter with me and you getting married?’
“She didn’t say anything for a minute or two—just looked me over from head to foot — just gave me the top-and-bottom stuff, and I wondered if she was going to speak.
“‘Shorty,’ she said finally, ‘I like you . . . . You’re a good friend and a handy little fellow to play with. But you’re too little for hard work!’
“That was all I needed to show me that I was out of luck when it came to getting a wife, and I’ve never tried since!
“But even if I’ve never been lucky at the game of love, I’ve had some good breaks when I was looking for gold.”
Discovering Rhyolite
“The best strike I ever made was in 1904, when I discovered the Rhyolite and Bullfrog district . . . . We left the Keene Wonder, went through Boundary Canyon, and made camp at Buck Springs, about five miles from Beatty’s ranch on the Amargosa. The next morning while Ed was cooking, I went after the burros. They were feeding on the side of a mountain near our camp, and about half a mile from the spring. I carried my pick, as all prospectors do, even when they are looking for their jacks — a man never knows just when he is going to locate pay-ore. When I reached the burros, they were right on the spot where the Bullfrog Mine was afterwards located. Two hundred feet away was a ledge of rock with some copper stains on it. I walked over and broke off a piece with my pick — and gosh, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. The chunks of gold were so big that I could see them at arm’s length — regular jewelry stone! In fact, a lot of that ore was sent to jewelers in this country and England, and they set it in rings, it was that pretty! Specimens of my ore were used by Tiffany for ring settings, lavalieres, bracelets. It went to Paris and London. Ore broken from the ledge sold for $50 a pound. I must have given away thousands of dollars’ worth of it for souvenirs. But right then it seemed to me that the whole mountain was gold.
“I let out a yell, and Ed knew something had happened, so he came running up as fast as he could. When he got close enough to hear, I yelled again:
“‘Ed, we’ve got the world by the tail, or else we’re coppered!'”
Rush to Rhyolite
“I’ve seen some gold rushes in my time that were hummers, but nothing like that stampede. Men were leaving town in a steady stream with buckboards, buggies, wagons, and burros. It looked like the whole population of Goldfield was trying to move at once. Miners who were working for the big companies dropped their tools and got ready to leave town in a hurry. Timekeepers and clerks, waiters and cooks — they all got the fever and milled around, wild-eyed, trying to find a way to get out to the new “strike.” In a little while there wasn’t a horse or wagon in town, outside of a few owned by the big companies, and the price of burros took a big jump. I saw one man who was about ready to cry because he couldn’t buy a jackass for $500,000 . . . .
“Rhyolite grew like a mushroom. Gold Center was started four miles away, and Beatty’s ranch became a town within a few months. There were 12,000 people in the three places, and two railroads were built out to Rhyolite. Shipments of gold were made every day, and some of the ore was so rich that it was sent by express with armed guards.”
Shorty’s Request
“People have asked me, ‘What is it about prospecting — you’ve got nothing to show for it.’ It’s the game, man — the game. . . . .
“I do have one request, though. When I die, bury me beside old Jim Dayton down in Death Valley. Above me write, ‘Here lies Shorty Harris, a single blanket, jackass prospector.’ Above the spot where I hole up forever, if you think about it, you might place a little wreath of athol and desert holly.”
Bob McCracken has a doctorate in cultural anthropology and is the author of numerous books in the Nye County Town History Project, including a history of Pahrump.