NEVADA
Ely
“Remote mountain town at the eastern edge of the ‘Loneliest Road in America’*
Sovereign Nation: Ely Shoshone (Newe) Tribe Resident Members: 319
Indigenous inhabitance: largest of several Newe villages in northeastern Nevada
Colonial Ely: Founded 1878 Raison d’Etre: Trading post, stagecoach stop (as Murray Station); Pony Express station; copper mining
2021 population: 4,029 Annual snowfall:
* http://elynevada.net/history/ ** https://www.elyshoshonetribe.com/
My mother, Joanne Church Carl (nee Mary Joanne Church) was born at the Ely hospital in 1936 to Lucille Baker Church, a schoolteacher in nearby McGill, and Benjamin Mitchell Church, principal at the McGill School. Lucille’s parents, Mary Kearns Baker and Jess Baker, were longtime residents of McGill. Ely prides itself on its downtown murals, inspired by one painted on the side of the Nevada Hotel in 19xx. I, however, am equally impressed with its vintage motel signs, as seen below. Ely’s done a good job of acknowledging the copper miners who came from across Europe and Asia in the late 1800s. Renaissance Village downtown is a rebuilt mining village of miner’s cottages moved here from the mountains, with each dedicated to a different country from which miners immigrated (England, Ireland, Germany, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Japan, Korea, China, Sweden. I spent two nights at the “historic Nevada Hotel,” now a trifle threadbare, but clean and charming (though do be careful when showering: a sign in my bathroom warned that due to its vintage plumbing, water may turn very hot or very cold without notice).
LIQUOR SNACKS MOTEL
(A Whole-Cloth Conversation)
INT., Day or Night, Some diner, Ely, Nevada
Imaginary Person 1
So you know that old gas station at the top of Main Street?
Imaginary Person 2
(Eating. Barely listening)
A-yep.
IP 1
Think I’ll buy it.
IP 2
(Glancing up)
Buy it? That dump? Why?
IP 1
Well I always dreamed of running a gas station.
IP 2
(Silence. Used to this from IP 1)
IP 1
J-K. Think I’ll fix it up and make it into a motel.
IP 2
A motel. In a gas station. In Ely. First of all, there’s already way too many motels here. You’ll notice most went out of business a long-ass time ago. Also: Toxic lot, due to previous business.
IP 1
(Airily)
Oh no problem there. I know a guy on the zoning board.
IP 2
Uh huh. So what’s your angle?
IP1
Okay, glad you asked.
IP 2
I’m not.
IP 1
Hold up!
(dramatic pause)
It’ll also be … a liquor store!
IP 2
(Legit shocked. This is wack, even for IP 1)
A liquor store motel. Have you lost your frickin mind?
(Shakes head, resumes eating. Then has a thought.)
I spose you’ll sell snacks as well? So guests’ll never have to leave the gas station?
IP 1
Hey! Great idea!
(Contemplative pause)
But we’d need security. I’m thinking Chihuahuas.
IP 2
Chihuahuas. Go on.
IP 1
Yeah — but not just one. A pack of em. I’m thinking three to five.
IP 2
Three to five Chihuahuas. Okay.
IP1
Yessss. And of course I’ll need a very special individual to keep it together daily. I’m thinking an older woman. Stern but loving.
IP 2
Foster mother to stray dogs and drunks.
IP 1
Exactly. Now you’re catching on. Also turquoise. It has to be turquoise.
IP 2
(Feigning resignation but secretly stoked)
I’m in. When’s demo?
CROWDSOURCING AT DENNY’S: A MORALITY PLAY IN TEXTS
Featuring the Recovering America Players: Tricia Leaf-Prince, Stacey McDonald, Rich, Andie, and Jeff Crowell, Julie Crowell Westfall, Sonja Carl, Julie Richardson, Sharon Brody
INT., DENNY’S RESTAURANT, HOTEL NEVADA & GAMBLING HALL, ELY, NEVADA — NIGHT
ME
Should I steal this cup? Kinda digging it.
TRICIA
Yes, always steal! (smile emoji)
STACEY
Yes. That mug’s a keeper. It’s not stealing. You paid for it … over the years, I’m sure.
RICH
But it would be missing the one you didn’t steal from Waffle House. Oh, life’s poignant regrets!
ANDIE
We all vote that you should steal it (if caught, tell them you need a relic from your late mother’s hometown).
JULIE
You could always say Trump said to do it.
ANDIE
Maybe we can take you to a Waffle House in LA. Confident there are none in Ely.
We’ll send JEFF to bail you out of jail. He could get there in a few hours.
ME
Could he just come and steal it for me please? I’m scared!
Oh got not another Waffle House! I’ll buy the mug online!
JEFF
I’m farther away than you think; we’re in Pacific City [Oregon] again. 14 hours, probably.
RICH
Long enough to get reaaaaaal acquainted with your lovely cellmates.
ME
I dunnit! Can’t believe it!
ANDIE
They’ll never miss it!
RICH
And thus begins a life of bigger crime … Loose-fingered Lisa she was knowed as in them days.
JULIE RICHARDSON
I am proud of you Lisa!
ME
Aw shucks! I had a complex strategy, including rehearsing what to say if caught. What a dork.
SONJA
Bahaha. “Loose-fingered Lisa!” That’s a keeper!
JULIE
And she’s headed my way next!
SHARON
Beware! She’s a common thief!
JULIE
Ah but she had encouragement
SHARON
Lisa has turned to a life of crime. The peanut gallery is beside the point.
ANDIE
In Nomadland, a girl needs an iconic coffee mug.
RICH
I’d’a thought a battered tin cup would speak more to the journey. Besides, nomads have to pack light. Not light-fingered, just light.
ME
O.M.G. Y’all are gonna sit there in your armchairs n shame me for not stealing, then judge me for stealing. On the bright side, it’s raining here!
McGill
Population (2019): 209
The host at Renaissance Village, a reconstructed mining camp in Ely, I stopped by the McGill Drug Store, a museum created in 1984 when the heirs to a Rexall in business since the mid-19th century, gave the store to the town as is: soda fountain, Breck shampoo, vintage candy, ribbon-making machine, weathered boxes containing prescriptions from the 1800s … you get the picture. xxxxx, The museum docent, I’d been told, “Knows everything about everything and everybody in McGill. He’s one of those guys who’s too smart for his own good.”
Inside, a 70-something man is sitting by the plate-glass window.
“Hi, Wayne in Ely told me to come see you.”
“Wayne? Oh yeah. Okay.”
“So my mom was grew up here, and my grandmother too, and I was just wondering if you knew anything about them or the family?”
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Mary Church. Her dad was Ben Church, the principal at the school. And Lou Church was a teacher there. Lucille Baker.”
“Yeah. The principal. Sure. Mary Church was in my fifth grade class!”
[Huh?]
The man springs up and pulls a slim book from a shelf, and opens it on the counter.”
“See here? Here she is! And there I am, right behind her!”
Sure enough, that’s mom, looking disgruntled and a good bit taller than the rest of the class. She’d told us often that she was the tallest person in her fifth-grade class (5’ 2”) — but she never grew any taller. But also: This guy’s 85? Wow. And he turned right to the exact page where the photo was.
“Wow! So what was she like back then? Did she talk a lot?” Mom was quite the talker.
“No, she was real quiet. But what I remember about her, she was always the best-dressed girl in the class. Every day. Perfect.”
“Hmmm. That wasn’t her, that was my grandma. She was a real fashionista.”
“Yep, see all those other girls? They’re wearing flour sacks. But not Mary.”
[Ok, flour sacks is an exaggeration, but the others are definitely less flashy than Mom, as you can see below.]
As it turns out, the book he opened is one of three he’s published on the history of McGill. And he puts out a monthly newsletter, much of which is reminiscences of growing up in McGill in the 1940s. I buy all the books and subscribe to the newsletter on the spot.
Goldfield
Population (2010): 268; (1907): 20,000 Founded: 1902 Precipitation: 6.06 inches per year Elevation: x,xxx feet
In 1903, gold was discovered in the Mohave desert, causing 20,000 people to swarm there. In 1907, Goldfield was the biggest town in Nevada. (For perspective, Las Vegas had a population of 4 then, according to a Goldfield store owner). Today Goldfield boasts a few bars, a restaurant, a few other stores, two hotels, and a huge courthouse (it’s the county seat of Esmeralda County). Relics of the town’s boomtime include lots of rusted metal and several buildings destroyed by a 1923 fire. Recently a mining company revved up operations at the hill in the background, taking advantage of new ways to extract and smelt fragments of gold.
.
This quirky shop sells desert rocks (I bought three!), gold and silver jewelry, and guns.
William D. Vanderford, consulting geologist and proprietor of Vanderford’s Gold Strike, offers such services as geologic surveys, prospecting, vein location, recovery systems design, mining and manufacture of gold quartz and gold, nugget jewelry, precious metal exchange and investment advisory.
Vanderford had recently lost his “viscous dog,” and was on the lookout for an Akita. Hearing I’d once owned an Akita, he enjoined one to find him a nice (but presumably trained to attack intruders) one. I advised him that ours at least was the friendliest of friends to people — not so much to other dogs, so perhaps he should try another breed. He remained undeterred.
To clarify: Perhaps his spelling needs work, but he’s an avid reader of obscure texts. He was one of two people who had read Cabeza de Vaca’s Relacion; he even produced an aged copy from the back room of his shop.
The Goldfield Cemetery, located on a windy hill overlooking the town, is an historical archive unlike any I’ve seen. Many of the older tombstones date to the town’s boom in the early 1900s. More than just records of birth and death, they are small found poems, describing perhaps the deceased’s profession, manner of death, accomplishments, country of birth, or characteristic catchphrase. Faithful at least to stereotypes of the Old West, they describe deaths by shootout, suicide, mine accident, and disease. One might even suspect some of them to be leftovers from a movie set. With the exception of the “death by library paste” headstone, they appear to be genuine. Enjoy!
Ernest W. Priest / Age 37 / Died June 24, 1908. / Shoot out near Oak St. and Grand Ave. / Mine Pump man from Wisconsin.
Richard Berryman / June 9 1914 / Age 23 / Accident — Combination Mine / from England / Working on 200 ft. level of shaft / When struck by falling rock
Ira Thomas Gilmore / Age 23 - Died 6 May 1913 / Auto Driver / Born in Texas
(Name Illegible) / Veteran/ Confederate / Indian Wars / Spanish American War / 1848 - 1929
Benjamin H. Nagen / June 14 1911 / Boot Black / Gunshot / Age 9
Wm. Henry / Age 58 / Died Nov 12 1915 / Miner from Scotland
James M. Clark Age 59 / Died 24 March 1909 / Book Keeper / Born in England // Goodby to the world / I quit by my own hard. / A hundred years hence / It will be a better world to live in / Selah Uncle Jimmy
R. I. P. John R. Goodwin / Age 2 yrs 4 mn Died April 9 1909 / Drowned in Water Barrel / Water St. Goldfield / Son of Nellie and Walter
2nd Lt. John Stinemetz / Veteran Civil War / 12th & 13th Regiments / Maryland Infantry, Union / Age 62 Born Maryland / Died Sept. 30 1907 Goldfield / Rest in Peace // I went into town / Will be back soon
W. E. Weiss, Died Feb. 11, 1909, / Aged 44 years, 5 mos., 12 days. / Native of Germany.
Mine Accident / Fractured Skull / Resident of Jumbo Town
Unknown Man / Died eating library paste / July 14 1908
Does anyone else catch the whiff of a prank?
Howard Harrell / June 30 1928 / November 17, 2008 / Lovers Together Forever / Once Met Never Forgot
Unknown
Overlooking downtown Goldfield
Adah May Moser / May 27, 1908
Unknown Man
Carrie M. Sawer / Sept. 12, 1914 / Age — 60 / Spiritualist from New York
R. I. P. / Frank Soapy Smith / Died of Pneumonia / Jan. 17, 1913 / Age 40 / Crap Dealer at Northern Saloon / — Goldfield —
Oscar Anderson / Age 34 from Sweden / Died Feb. 14, 1917 / Silver Pick Shaft / Mine Accident
Beatty
“Gateway to Death Valley”
Established: 1905 Population, 2019: 804 Average precipitation: 5.71 inches Elevation: 3,307 feet
Although one former resident of my acquaintance calls Beatty a one-red-light town, Beatty’s main intersections boasts a blinking stop sign, not a traffic light.
James Henninger, an industrial designer and metal fabricator, is heading up a project to transform the old Exchange Club restaurant and casino into a steampunk bar and coffee shop.
The Exchange Club’s front door, meant to replicate a vault, was crafted entirely by hand.
This austere plot, once owned by Dorothy and Irving Crowell, AKA Grammy and Grampy, once boasted what seemed like acres of cantaloupe vines, whose warm, sweet fruit we used to steal on our way home from downtown on my too-brief visits there.
In mid-20th-century America, The Desert Inn was one only two places to stay in the “Gateway to Death Valley.” Here’s what it looked like when it first opened, in the late 1950s. http://nyecountyhistory.com/collection/brockman_5.jpg
Mel’s Diner and Revert’s Garage, “historic” Beatty establishments.
THE INFAMOUS WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP WILD BURRO RACES OF BEATTY, NEVADA
as told by Beatty natives Andie, Jeff, and Richard Crowell, and Julie Westfall
These two burros (donkeys in ‘merican English) are, besides being beyond adorable, the fulcrum of a natorious … err … beloved, now-extinct tradition in Beatty: the World Championship Wild Burro Races. Nope, nothing like a horse race: These are wild animals. Ornery, too. They’ll run exactly when and where they please, thank you.
But enough from me. Here’s a text thread featuring my cousins Andie, Jeff, and Richard Crowell, and Julie Crowell Westfall, all of whom grew up in Beatty, reminiscing about the good ol’ bad ol’ days of Burro Races. Also featuring cameos by my friends Sharon Brody and Julie Richardson and my sister Sonja Carl.
Andie:
Remember when your dad was in the burro race?
Me:
Yes! Dad gave Isaac the supercool jacket he got. Fits him perfectly!
Isaac Britt models the Burro Race jacket he inherited from his grandfather, Ernie Carl.
Julie:
Does it have a Burro Race pin to go with?
Me:
Don’t think I ever saw the pin.
Julie:
You had to buy them, a different one every year. If you weren’t wearing a pin, you were at risk of being thrown in the horse trough. One grizzled old burro wrangler always had a deep dark mahogany permanent tan and he’d walk the race course with two pinned through his nipples. That vision sorta stays with you …
Richard:
Jules I forgot about that weird guy with the “piercing” buttons. Who knew it was so ahead of its time?
Jeff:
Wayne Krogstie was the burro button piercing guy; he did that every year.
Julie:
Yes the local house of prostitution [Vickie’s Star Ranch] did give green stamps.
Tricia:
(innocent of the barrage of fun, facts, fancy and fallacy that would follow)
Can’t wait to hear these burro stories!!
Julie:
What was it? They dragged or raced behind a burro, 20 miles in the desert heat?
Jeff:
They had to walk/run beside it. Rifling was illegal (and probably impossible if tried). Riding. Though some wranglers probably wished for rifles, too. Some of those burros were mean.
Julie:
They bit!
Jeff:
If a burro got away from his wrangler, the wrangler had to stay there until an outrider brought the burro back.
Andie:
Wouldn’t you be mean if you were dragged away from your happy home to be walked around the desert by an idiot?
Me:
Yes! I’d bite, kick, AND run away.
Andie:
I can’t even imagine the burro races being allowed now. Not that I thought that way then.
Me:
What genius thought this was a good idea, anyway? I mean, like Andie I thought it was great as a kid.
Andie:
Some man [came up with the burro race idea]. To raise money for the Lions Club Eye charities.
Jeff:
Yes. Krogstie tended to bite them back. One time an outrider had had to rope and drag back a burro three or four times and decided to teach the critter a lesson. Next time the burro not loose, he roped it, dallied on the saddle horn, and stopped his horse. The burro hit the end of the rope at Warp Factor Three and went sprawling. So it jumped up, ran back up the rope, and took a chunk out of the wrangler’s leg. Since the guy was a bozo (Jay ______), everybody thought well of the burro.
Me:
(three LOL emojis) Now who’s an ass?!
Julie:
Beatty flat out stole the idea from Bishop, California, just scheduled it for Labor Day weekend rather than Memorial Day.
Jeff:
It turned into a three-day drunk at the end, and the locals decided it was getting to be too much, so the Lions gave it up. A Vegas group put it on the next year, and it was a real mess. There was even an article in Playboy about it (or so I’m told) which played up the seamy side (hookers working the crowd, etc.).
Bishop was Mule Days. Different dealio, but similar.
Me:
So did the men have to find and rope a burro themselves, or was one assigned to them. Also, did any women do it?
Jeff:
They had to race to grab one at the starting gun. The burros were tied to a rope line. The smart guys scoped out the quieter, more amenable burros beforehand and by day 2 they were all after the best ones.
Andie:
Burros provided. One a couple women wranglers. Naturally.
Jeff :
The burros were captured the week prior and numbers were spray painted on their butts. Burros were assigned randomly to the wranglers, a different one each day.
Julie:
There were cash prizes but few women.
Rich:
If a burro got away 3 times, the racer was DQ’d.
Me:
He got to go to Dairy Queen?? Sweet deal!
Jeff:
I remember that dash for them all lined up on the rope in the morning. There were definitely different personalities and preferences among the critters. Each day had a Le Mans start. All wranglers stood at one side of the main intersection (where sat the only traffic light in town. For those not ever having visited, it was a flashing red). The burros were tied to a picket line on the opposite side of the square. At the appointed time, someone fired a (large) pistol in the air, and the wranglers ran to their appointed charges. The burros were decidedly unimpressed by these goings-on and were crow-hopping and buck-jumping as the guys tried to get the lead ropes untied.
Rich:
The burros were tough as nails, and mostly mean as hell. They got fed and watered during the week or 10 days they were captive. Most came from Coffer’s ranch. Real hay versus eating rabbit brush? They were out in the sun and heat either way, not sure walking and trotting beside some joker for 3 days was a bad trade. Jus’ sayin’.
Jeff:
Chaotic would be a charitable description of the festivities.
Me:
Good points, Rich.
Jeff:
Yup. On Saturday there was a “game” of burro polo. A soccer ball was dropped in the middle of the arena and the game was on. To be a legal hit, you had to be “on” your burro (not necessarily astride, just no feets on the ground). Your “mallet” was a straw broom. The burros usually tried to eat the brooms, which gives you some idea what their daily diet was like.
Sharon:
This is the most amazing and remarkable narrative nonfiction I’ve ever read in a group text. Julie: It was fun. After that, no excitement till the following year.
Andie:
And don’t forget, the Hell’s Angels threatening to burn the town down. I think it was because they were asked to leave. That created mob-level terror.
Jeff:
Terror, hell — they would’ve got shot into doll rags, to use the old term. I remember that normal, respectable people were packing that day. I’m serious — there were people standing watch at the edge of town with radios.
Seems to me the Playboy article led to the lid blowing off and it getting shut down, so the article would’ve been the year prior to the last time. The whole town sighed with relief when it was over, I think. A classic “This is why we can’t have nice things” deal.
Rich:
It got out of hand because of the anything-goes rep it got from idiots coming from Vegas (yeah, more wide open than that), and the Playboy article just blew it up. Even as a youngster it was disgusting for the drugged, puking, and passed-out morons in the gutter. The cleanup crews used snow shovels to clean the streets of beer bottles and cans every day. I’m no prude but it got godawful.
Sharon:
Y’all this needs to be if nothing else an oral history. Childhood memories of a wildass tradition. I’m at work (at WBUR radio in Boston) and today’s gig is some national newscasts and I think I’ll ditch actual news, what with we are all sick of actual news and I’ll instead say, “Oh hi, let me tell y’all a little sump’n about the burro tomfoolery that used to be.”
Andie:
Playboy article May 1972. Races held 1961 to 1972 (Wikipedia).
Jeff:
Snort. I see the Wiki article has a section on “Beatty Culture”!
Julie:
Ain’t no such.
ON THE KIDS’ SCRAMBLE
Julie:
Like the Kids’ Scramble held on the rodeo grounds. 200 screeching kids, 2 greased pigs and an unholy collection of baby farm animals in the middle. Little chicks, rodents, goats. We got to keep what we caught. Sonja and Lisa were victorious. I remember someone (Andie?) caught Harriet the house rabbit.
Jeff:
All the town kids were at the fence. On the signal (a gunshot, naturally), everyone tried to catch a critter.
Andie:
Rich caught Harriet. Meanest pet we ever had.
Rich: Aw, I liked her. Though I never knew you could get clawed by a rabbit, before that. I was about 6 when I caught Harriet. (Which places these events in the late 1960s.)
Jeff:
I was never fast enough to contend for the piglet. Everybody said the pig was greased, but I doubt it — the little bastards run like streaks! I have this enduring image of a squealing piglet, pursued by a phalanx of kids, the fastest trailing about 10 feet behind.
Julie:
Mine is of an explosion of chicken feathers, dust, and clawing little feet in the center as the kids converged on our victims.
Jeff:
Every time, as the mass mess of kids converged (how did we not all crash into each other and get concussions?), chickens would explode upwards like pheasants flushing in a field.
Julie:
Andie, you caught Frederika and she lived in Grampy’s chicken yard. Probably was a Sunday dinner to unsuspecting us …
Jeff:
Could be. My chicken was Buffy, by the way. Same name as my dog now, by odd coincidence.
Julie:
And she tasted better too.
Jeff:
Well it’s been a while since I ate any dog, but yeah, I’d guess so.
JUVENILE HEAD WOUNDS of BEATTY, NEVADA
As remembered by Sonja Carl, Jeff Crowell, Julie Westfall, Richard Crowell, and Andie Crowell
Sonja:
Remember the year Jeff dropped the drill bit on my head? We were J the parade from the pickup truck. Dad picked me up, looked at Mom, and asked, “What do I do with her?” I was bleeding profusely and he was wearing his aforementioned burro race jacket. Probably some good DNA to be found on it!
A stain is still visible on the right pocket. Blood, perhaps?
Jeff:
Yeesh. I’d forgotten that.
But I do feel constrained to ask, what were you doing there? For the non-mining people, she not talking twist drill bit (this):
She’s talking jackhammer drill bit.
Sonja:
Yeah, that’s the one! You kept it!
Jeff:
I probably painted it red because the blood stains grossed me out.
Julie:
Sonja, were stitches involved?
Sonja:
No stitches. A lace handkerchief was applied.
Julie:
Well that explains a lot!!
Rich:
Oh, when you’re deathly injured, application of a dainty lace is sufficient to stem the gaudy flow? Hmmmm. Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Some knights would say, “It’s just a flesh wound"!”
Sonja:
Are you offering up your head for a demonstration? Jeff might oblige you. How much do those things weigh?
Jeff:
Probably half a pound.
Andie:
It would put a dent in the hardest of heads, just saying.
Jeff:
I repeat my earlier question: Why was cousin Tono in such a position that noted clumsy dork was able to drop said paperweight onto said skull?
Julie:
Sonja, I mean Tono, your mom being a nurse might have had something to do with the treatment. Let’s blame it on Eric … unless he’s here now …
Big Dune Recreation Area
Big Dune Recreation Area, Amargosa Valley. My AWD vehicle was marooned here in a sandy ditch on a 104-degree day. The place was deserted (ha!), and 22 miles from the nearest town (Beatty). Could’ve been bad. I pulled myself out thanks to a strategically placed wooden cutting board and a filthy piece of carpet that someone had left nearby. Thanks, stranger! I turned onto Hwy 95 South hugely relieved and chuffed by my ingenuity — until I realized that I’d caused the SNAFU in the first place by inadvertently turning the AWD off. What a rookie.
Shoshone
Right at the lip of California in Death Valley, Shoshone today offers a general store and gas station, the Shoshone Museum, cafe, post office, and motel. It is located in the ancestral lands of the Timbisha Shosone, who in 2000 were finally granted 8,000 of non-contiguous lands in Nevada and California within lands used traditionally by the Shoshone, according to its official website (www.timbisha.org). See the tribe’s recounting of their history here: History – Timbisha Shoshone Tribe
A group of Shoshone people in the mid-19th century (above). Shoshone protesters in the fight to have a portion of their lands returned, in 1996 (below; source: mohaveproject.org)
Pahrump
Ya gotcher Jesus, ya gotcher fireworks, ya gotcher cannabis, ya gotcher ice cream …
… and at quitting time and eternally, desert and mountains.
