Youngest son had his first gig today.

He has joined the high school Jazz Band, and they spent several hours today (for food, tips and a pittance) playing background Christmas-type music at the local Holiday Fair.

They were playing on the second floor, overlooking the vendors. You could barely see the band, as they were behind a chain link fence. Just like in The Blues Brothers, or Roadhouse.

Except that there were both verticle and horizontal gunslots built into the protective fence.

See, the local holiday fair is held in the old prison, in one of the old cell blocks. And I mean old. Just about 100 years old. Butch Cassidy stayed in this prison.

Really.

And yet, my wife's first job after we got married was in this then-functional prison. She likes going through the museum and pointing out where her desk was, and who sat where.

Things were different then. The economy was booming, from both gas and uranium when she moved here. We were still renting, and doing laundry in the only local laundromat.

Rig workers came there often, using the oversized machines to clean their field gear. These were true roughnecks. More than a few were wanted by the law in other states.

Always helped the wife with the laundry, so she wouldn't be alone.

Needed to get some chores in town done once, and asked if she would be okay for a few minutes.

"Sure," she says, pointing at a few men in one corner. "Those guys are trustees from the Pen. They'll watch out for me."

My young wife felt safer with the inmates from the Pen than she did with the average citizen on the street.

So anyway, the wife and I wandered the cells for a while, seeing what the vendors had to offer while listening to the band. (Important tip: if you ever want to set up here to sell, do like the inmates tried to do. Get the south side. Infinitely warmer and brighter in the winter. Of course, the inmates wanted the third or fourth floor cells, so they could also watch the real world walking by outside.)

At my suggestion, wife bought a commemorative plate showing her former place of employment, long about 1902 or so. But didn't really get any Cmas shopping done.

When wife took her shift at the volunteers' refreshment stand (in the old prison kitchen), I headed back to the auction across the street.

Things were going cheaper than even two weeks ago. Two perfect Fiesta Ware cereal bowls (oooold stuff, from estate of a 94-year old resident) for $5. If we had a digital camera, I would snarf this stuff up and put it on ebay. The spotter with his own antique store bought over 15 boxes of stuff, most for $2.50 or less. Will probably get 1000% mark-up on some of it.

Everything was cheap, except, of course, for the things I wanted. Like the 1991 Chevy Blazer, the box of coffee table books, and the old dinner plates with the logo of our town's only hotel.

Didn't take notes, but remember one remark by one of the auctioneers that was worth noting.

He told one woman (kindly) that "We don't allow that kind of thing here. You are not allowed to hit the person bidding against you."

Yes, literally. Her friend sitting beside her had bid against her. So she punched her.