The History

“Don’t call her Molly,” the tour guide admonished our group before we were even allowed off the front porch.

She was never called Molly.  Maybe Maggie, as a stretch, when she was little.  But never Molly.  She preferred Margaret.   Our rather tense docent actually carried the equivalent of a cussing jar: forcing herself to put a nickel in every time she misspoke and said Molly.

So began our tour of Denver’s famous – and allegedly haunted – Molly Brown house.  Oops.  I just wrote Molly.  I owe myself a nickel.

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