One-Horse Town

Monowi,Monowi, located in Boyd County, Nebraska, is truly off the beaten path. This town—if it can even be called that; it’s designated a 'village' by the US Census—sits right in the heart of the continental United States, just four miles from South Dakota and 60 miles from the closest Walmart, enveloped by dirt roads that traverse the scenic farmland. The expansive 535-square-mile county is home to only 2,000 residents, with three towns hosting fewer than 10 people. However, only Monowi can boast its unique distinction, conveniently highlighted by its pronunciation: MONO-eye.

In fact, Monowi is home to just one individual, making it the only incorporated, government-managed town in the U.S. with such a population. That individual is 87-year-old Elsie Eiler. Since the passing of her husband Rudy in 2004—cutting Monowi's population in half—Eiler has become somewhat of an international figure. She has appeared in numerous human interest stories and television segments worldwide, from the BBC to People magazine, and from the Today show to Country Living. Arby’s even set a world record in Monowi, installing the world’s largest advertising poster (spanning 7 acres) near Eiler’s tavern, while Prudential Financial filmed a commercial featuring her as the archetype of the independent woman.

To many, Eiler has long been viewed as a curiosity, embodying a whimsical fantasy of rural life: What’s it like to be an entire town?

Surprisingly, quite busy. As the only inhabitant of a one-person town, Eiler juggles an astonishing array of responsibilities. She meticulously handles all paperwork from the state to obtain funding—for water, electricity to illuminate Monowi’s three street lamps, and for road repairs—navigating various municipal duties with remarkable versatility. She manages tax filing and collection herself. Eiler serves as Monowi’s mayor—always unchallenged—its secretary and clerk, applying for and signing her own liquor and tobacco licenses, while also being the owner, chef, and bartender of the Monowi Tavern restaurant and bar. This tavern is the sole business in Monowi, and managing it is Eiler’s most significant and enduring role, one she has held since June 1971 when she and Rudy purchased it from an older couple who were not keen on maintenance.

Eiler tends bar from Tuesday to Sunday, starting at 9 a.m. and closing up only after her last patron has left, often working 12 to 14 hours. (She started taking Mondays off in 2011 after being diagnosed with colon cancer. On those days when the tavern is closed, she catches up on bookkeeping and other routine tasks at home.) “I finally just sat down to lunch,” she shared during a midafternoon call, “and it’s a peanut butter sandwich. Occasionally, I’ll cook myself a burger, but most days, I just grab a cold sandwich.” She’s on her feet so much and stays busy that she rarely gets the chance to enjoy a proper meal.

Prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, outsiders perceived Eiler’s life as a charming curiosity, a whimsical tale of a little old lady running her tavern in a tiny town. Her unique solitude was endearing. However, with the onset of isolation and social distancing, her solitary existence—save for the patrons at her tavern—has taken on a new significance. She has become relatable rather than extraordinary, shifting from being an object of curiosity to one of admiration. How can someone live in such complete solitude?

Monowi was founded in 1902 as a hub for farming, ranching, and railroads. Its population reached a high of 123 in the 1930s, boasting the features of a vibrant Great Plains community: grain elevators, schools, a post office, a church, and even a jail. However, modernization in agriculture and the railroad's closure in 1978 hastened Monowi’s decline, prompting residents to seek work elsewhere. The jail is now a weathered, rust-colored shell, while the church held its last funeral in 1960 for Eiler’s father and its final Sunday service shortly thereafter. Today, this imposing structure stands abandoned across from the tavern, resembling a gray wooden ghost.

The tavern itself serves as a nostalgic nod to the past. Adorning the bar are nearly 40 ceramic Budweiser mugs, collected by Eiler from the company every year since 1983. The walls are decorated with framed photos of regulars’ families, her own, scenic cornfields, the church, and a collection of Nebraska Cornhuskers memorabilia, including miniature helmets and vintage team photos. Interestingly, the restroom is an outhouse—“which is odd,” comments one Google review that begins with, “Good food!” (Three stars.)

Most of Eiler’s patrons hail from nearby towns—locals who have become regulars. These include construction workers, firefighters, and police officers who stop by weekly to check in on her, share updates about their lives, and listen to her stories. From Thanksgiving until April, a group gathers around the tavern’s largest table on Sunday nights to play euchre. “It’s just an evening out,” Eiler explains. “We don’t do it in the summer since the guys, mostly farmers, are always busy.”

The tavern’s menu has remained unchanged for decades, as have the prices. Eiler focuses on the classics: hamburgers ($0, with an additional 25 cents for cheese), hot dogs ($1.25), and cheese balls ($4). She also sells tins of Skoal and Copenhagen ($5.50) and cigarettes ($6.50). Her wholesale food supplier is located 60 miles away, while the beer—American staples like Budweiser, Busch, and Coors—comes from O’Neill, about 50 miles distant, or Norfolk, 100 miles away. Eiler hasn’t considered diversifying her beer selection to follow trends like hoppy IPAs or fruity sours. “Around here, the flavored stuff doesn’t sell, so there’s no point in stocking it,” she states. “I stick with what moves.”

Occasionally, she calls on friends for help, especially during busy times like deer-hunting season, when hunters are drawn in by signs saying “Hunters Welcome” and “Coldest Beer In Town.” She mentions having a few barbacks “on deck,” friends who live nearby. When I inquire about what “the area” means around here, she laughs, saying, “You wouldn’t want to call someone a hundred miles away in a pinch.” So, it’s more like double-digit miles—fifty miles, perhaps, similar to the distance her burger patties travel.

Loneliness is more than just a condition; it’s a significant health issue linked to a myriad of physical ailments, including obesity, heart disease, and neurodegenerative disorders like Alzheimer’s. Prolonged loneliness can be deadly, with its mortality risk comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes daily, making it even more perilous than obesity. One might expect Eiler to exemplify the detrimental effects of solitude, given that she has lived alone for nearly twenty years among just three structures: her home, the tavern, and Rudy’s Library—a quaint, run-down building housing 5,000 books collected by her late husband, functioning on an honor system.

However, Eiler offers a valuable lesson about solitude: there’s a crucial difference between being alone and feeling lonely. Being alone refers to the mere physical absence of others, while loneliness is the emotional experience of lacking meaningful social connections. The pandemic has turned many individuals’ physical solitude into deep loneliness. Yet, even during lengthy periods spent alone—on Mondays, at night, or during inclement weather—Eiler rarely feels lonely, thanks to her contentment with life in Monowi and her unwavering commitment to the tavern. In fact, she feels less isolated than those of us who depend on the internet for social interactions, given the mutual support she shares with her tavern patrons, where both sides benefit from each other’s company. The Monowi Tavern is not just a hangout; it’s the gathering place—serving as a hub of community and connections that transcends state lines and generations. “I hardly ever spend much time here alone,” she shares. “There’s always someone coming or going. [The pandemic] didn’t impact me much. It wasn’t a big lockdown for me; it’s remained quite busy, and the locals have been very supportive.”

Monowi felt the pandemic’s repercussions most notably in April 2020, when the governor of Nebraska mandated the closure of bars and restaurants in Boyd County. The county sheriff visited the tavern to inform Eiler of the situation. “When I arrived, there were three guys there,” he recounted to the Associated Press. “Two were drinking, and one was preparing to leave. She explained what was happening and said, ‘I have to close up.’ ” However, Eiler never completely shut the tavern. “People couldn’t dine in during April,” she recalls, “so I just prepared meals for takeout.”

Even before the pandemic and continuing afterward, many of Eiler’s patrons have been unfamiliar faces—travelers who discover Monowi online. They come from every corner of the globe; her guestbook features signatures from visitors of all 50 states and over 60 countries—regardless of the season or weather—to meet her and snap pictures with the iconic town sign: MONOWI 1. Two years ago, after a severe storm flooded the roads and damaged bridges, a group still traveled 150 miles to reach the tavern. “Some come quite a distance,” Eiler notes. “But they always seem to find their way.” They continue to arrive, eager not just for themselves but for Eiler, knowing their adventure of meeting the lone resident of the least populated town in America makes for a compelling story. Their presence at the tavern—sharing tales of their travels, friends, and hometowns—nourishes and inspires Eiler.

I ask her if the news coverage and social media — where travelers post proud selfies with her and accounts dedicated to interesting facts share images of the tavern — have positively impacted her business. All this publicity must be beneficial, right? “Well, sure,” she replies matter-of-factly, pausing to reconsider. “But I don’t know. I never see any of the articles that come out. I don’t really pay much attention to it.” She doesn’t own a cellphone, yet people frequently call her on the tavern’s rotary phone. “I have a computer and Wi-Fi, all that stuff,” she explains, “but I’m just not interested in reading about myself when it’s probably—well, whatever.” Because, I suggest, it’s about your own life? “Yeah,” she agrees, then adds with unexpected cheerfulness, “I lead a pretty dull life.”

Throughout the pandemic, Eiler's daily routine remains largely unchanged from her previous weeks, months, and years. She goes to work, returns home, and repeats; the sun rises and sets. In her tranquil corner of the world, self-reliance and independence are the keys to survival for both her and her customers, who find joy in their work and the little moments shared each day.

She states that running the tavern is her passion. “I’m not interested in sitting in someone else’s bar or gossiping at the coffee shop. I can do all that right here.” Each day, she encounters both new faces and familiar ones just by walking the short distance from her home to the tavern. “I don’t mind answering their questions,” she says about the curious travelers and journalists like myself. “I’m more interested in the stories they bring than in what I have to share.” In a quiet tavern surrounded by cornfields, conversations sparked by $3 beers make it easy for people to open up about themselves.

Eiler has no intention of abandoning the life she’s created in Monowi, whether during the pandemic or afterward. “I’m doing what I want to do right now,” she asserts firmly. “Maybe next year I’ll feel differently. But this year, this is where I want to be.”

Kieran Dahl is a freelance writer focusing on travel, culture, design, and technology.Daniel Johnson is a Midwest-based editorial photographer residing in Omaha, Nebraska, specializing in editorial portraiture, food photography, interior architecture, and documentary photojournalism.