Long regarded as one of the finest restaurants between the Twin Cities and Seattle, the Weiss Cafe flourished primarily between 1907 and 1943, under the management / ownership of Zebulon P. Melhorn (1871-1952). Melhorn sold out in 1943. In it's heyday the Weiss was noted for game dishes, and also for their coffee.

Open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, the front door was reportedly never locked from 1907 to 1935, when minor earthquake damage necessitated a brief closure. The story goes that the key was nowhere to be found, so the door had to be nailed shut.

The Weiss cafe operated under various owners, including noted Helena restaurateur Eddie Gallivan, until about 1957. The space was subsequently occupied by at least two short-lived eateries. The Martha Hotel building, which housed the Weiss and sundry other businesses, was destroyed by fire on April 28, 1965.

In the War of the Pacific - as old as I am
I served three years in Burma - Siam -
Transferred from the Aleutians ice and snow
To the tropical quarters of "Vinegar Joe."

Thru Indo China's jungles deep,
I marched three days and nights without food or sleep.
Then on a pagan god I hung my hat,
And slept with the apes at Banghor Vat.

I have been in tough places; I have held tough jobs,
I have taken punishment in heaps and gobs --
But the toughest assignment of my day
Is the Porter's job at the Weiss Cafe.

At four A.M. I come alive,
And am under fire at a quarter to five.
With mop and bucket, broom and pan
I make the rounds as fast as I can.

I am just getting started, when a waitress comes thru,
Yells, "The lights are out in number two,
The laundry chute is all plugged up,
Get on the ball --you lazy pup!"

There's Alder Gulch mud on the dining room floor.
The aisles are smeared with grease and gore,
The floor furnace smokes and the fans won't run.
Everything's wrong and it ain't no fun.

The booths are like the leopard's lair,
Meat and bones lay here and there.
Ketchup is sprayed on wall and chair,
Broken dishes, silverware and dirty napkins everywhere.

The house is packed but a waitress calls out.
"Your pants are slipping, you careless lout,
Your socks are down and your shirt tails out,
Your eyes are watery; your hair is thin
And there's egg yolk on your ugly chin!"

Waiter and Waitress, little or much,
Are wizards of wisecracks, slang and such,
They are such a wanting, wishing bunch,
Each want different things and all want it at once.

The way it looks from where I stand,
I am persuaded that every man
Will do his work the best he can -
And every woman, large or small,
Will let the poor man do it all.

Now let it here be understood,
I would not change it if I could
And before I lay this pen away,
In conclusion, this I say -

Eddie, Ivar, Frank and Dan,
Madge and Marge and Martha Ann,
Mattie, Mary, Edith, Grace,
John and Charlie, Tom and Ace,
Ruth and Bennie, Jack and Bill,
With all your faults, "I love you still."

WEISS CAFE, HELENA, MONTANA
January 1, 1949

Six years have passed since the above poem was written. Now the famous old cafe has a new
Manager and a new porter. Most of the old help, true to the traditions of their trade have scattered and drifted to other fields. Only Mattie, Marge and Ruth remain. Age has retired Tom and Ace, while John and Charlie have gone to their reward in a land where hunger is unknown and where no distinction is made between a good and poor cook.
Our old manager's beloved daughter Martha Ann passed away suddenly and at her funeral he placed his hand upon her casket and said "Goodbye dear child, I shall follow soon." Not long after at the age of seventy-six, he passed away peacefully in his sleep.

So ended the full and fruitful life of that "grand old man" EDDIE L. GALLIVAN. His faults were negligible and will soon be forgotten. His virtues were many -- their influence will live down through the ages. We, his employees, miss him. By his death we lost a true friend and our city lost a loyal citizen, businessman and benefactor. However our loss is heaven's gain. Be it ever thus.

William C. Ford