Author: Tom Darby

Well, well, well—look who’s back. Measles, that old red-spotted scourge of childhood, thought to have been cast into the dustbin of history by the twin forces of science and common sense, has returned for another engagement. And why, you ask? Because while the disease has remained much the same, our wisdom appears to have taken a sabbatical.

Nevada can relax for now, as there are no cases. But the worrisome minds in public health are fretting over the state’s vulnerability.

Vaccination rates, once the mighty bulwark against such afflictions, have been slipping like a greased pig at a county fair. And when vaccination rates fall, nature does what it always does–it takes the invitation and strolls right in.

Over 270 cases across a dozen states have been tallied, with Texas leading the pack. New Mexico is in the mix, too, and even that great monument to modernity, Los Angeles International Airport, has found itself playing host to a few unlucky travelers whose souvenirs included something far worse than lost luggage.

Can you say, “Illegal aliens?”

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, once dutifully updating case counts daily, has now settled into a more leisurely weekly update schedule—perhaps hoping measles will be courteous enough to follow suit. But the disease has never been known for its manners.

Over 257 cases across 32 states and the District of Columbia were reported in 2024. Not one proved fatal. But this year, things have taken a grimmer turn, with two deaths already—a child in West Texas and an adult in New Mexico—both unvaccinated, of course.

Measles is a pest of a virus, beginning its assault with all the charm of a common cold before escalating to the main event–a rash that declares itself like an unwelcome houseguest. Four days before the rash appears, the infected party is already spreading their misery, and they remain contagious for another four days thereafter. If the fever, cough, and rash ain’t enough, complications such as pneumonia, encephalitis, and death are always lurking in the background.

The vaccine has been around since 1963, and anyone born before 1958 likely had the measles the hard way, earning themselves the dubious prize of lifelong immunity. Once upon a time, a well-vaccinated public had nearly banished the disease to the same realm as smallpox.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimated that 95 percent of Nevada kindergarteners got vaccinated in the 2018/19 school year. But by 2023/24, that number had slouched to 91.8 percent.

A similar dip’s happening across the country. The culprit is no mystery.

It is, in part, the result of a public spooked by tales tying vaccines to autism. Then there was the great COVID-19 vaccine debacle, where a nation got strong-armed into a medical experiment that left many questioning not just that particular jab but all vaccines by association.

If a fellow gets burned on a hot stove, he tends to be suspicious of all cookery thereafter.

Religious exemptions are also on the rise. In 2018/19, only 3.2 percent of Nevada kindergarteners had parents invoking divine intervention to avoid the needle. Now, that number has climbed to 5.6 percent. Meanwhile, medical exemptions remain rare—unchanged at a scant 0.2 percent.

Across Nevada, the numbers vary. Only 83 percent of students are vaccinated in White Pine County, while Storey County sits at a comfortable 95.8 percent. Clark County, the state behemoth, is at 91.5 percent, while Washoe County is ahead at 94.8 percent.

The health authorities are predictably waving their arms, urging parents to get their children vaccinated to protect both the young ones and the more vulnerable members of society. But this time, they are up against something more formidable than the virus–distrust.

Trying to regain order, Health District’s statewide say they’re taking “proactive steps to protect public health.” That means outreach, surveillance, and collaboration with state and federal partners. Whether those efforts will counterbalance the tide of doubt remains to be seen.

Nevada state law still requires vaccinations for schoolchildren—measles included—though exemptions for religious and medical reasons exist. For now, measles remains a threat held at bay, but the cracks in the dam are showing.

Vaccines have worked for decades, but only when people take them. And if history has taught us anything, nature has little patience for those who insist on learning the hard way.

In Nevada, where men have long prided themselves on their ability to rope a steer, mend a fence, and keep a watchful eye on the ways of civilization, a peculiar couple has found themselves in a most unenviable predicament. John and Kimberly Comellas of Silver Springs have been placed in the county’s finest accommodations—namely, its jail—on the strength of 133 charges of animal cruelty, with a few additional offenses thrown in for good measure.

It was on the fateful day of March 13 that the Lyon County deputies, accompanied by their colleagues in Animal Control, descended upon the Comellas’ property, acting on reports of mistreatment so grievous they might have troubled even the hardest heart. What they discovered was a veritable Noah’s Ark gone dreadfully wrong.

The beasts of the land—horses, goats, dogs, and other creatures—were caged, famished, wounded, and teetering on the precipice of mortality. It was not a scene to inspire poetry–unless one had a taste for the macabre.

Among the unfortunate menagerie were seven horses, with one in such pitiful condition that the only humane course of action was to grant it eternal respite. There were also two miniature horses, nine dogs, 47 goats, six peacocks, a cat, a rabbit, and, most curiously, an owl—perhaps an unwilling witness to the entire affair—completed the tragic inventory.

Having demonstrated the worst possible method of keeping livestock, the Comellas were swiftly relieved of their managerial duties and charged with an impressive array of offenses, including failure to license and immunize their animals, exceeding the allowable number of dogs, and, most prominently, the aforementioned 133 counts of cruelty. Their bail was set at $135,205 each— suggesting that the county authorities wished to be thorough in justice and arithmetic.

As for the unfortunate animals, all are in the hands of more capable caretakers, who will restore them to proper health and dignity. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Comellas shall have ample time to reflect upon their misdeeds within the walls of the Lyon County jail, where they may contemplate their errors and perhaps develop an appreciation for the fine art of responsible animal husbandry—though one doubts they will have the opportunity to put it into practice anytime soon.

It ain’t every day that a fellow who once took an oath to uphold the law finds himself tangled up like a fly in a spider’s web, but here we are. Christopher Six, a former Dayton, Ohio attorney, has made quite the spectacle of himself having pled guilty to over three dozen charges involving the grooming of a Nevada teenager—a situation that, one imagines, was covered in his law school ethics class.

Six, a 25-year-old legal eagle confessed in a Montgomery County Common Pleas Court to several offenses. His tally included 20 counts of pandering sexually oriented material involving a minor, 10 counts of pandering obscenity involving a minor, seven counts of disseminating material harmful to juveniles, and two counts of importuning.

For his trouble, Six has agreed to an indefinite prison sentence ranging from two to six years, followed by five years of parole, during which he will presumably have ample time to contemplate why the law frowns upon preying on children. He will also get the distinction of becoming a Tier II sex offender, a title which, while less prestigious than Esquire, does ensure he must register his whereabouts every 180 days for the next quarter-century.

As is the custom in legal horse-trading, some 34 charges got dismissed in exchange for his plea—an arrangement that might make the average citizen wonder how many crimes a man must commit before they stop bargaining with him. His sentencing is April 9th, when the judge will figure out how long Mr. Six will be somewhere less fancy than a law office.

Six’s downfall began in March 2023, when the Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force discovered that his Snapchat account contained child pornography, an allegation that, in any self-respecting society, tends to bring one’s social standing down several notches. Upon further investigation, authorities determined he had been in contact with an underage girl in Nevada, exchanging explicit images and indulging in conversations so vile that even a saloon drunkard might blush. His little house of cards collapsed entirely when Snapchat itself, a company not known for excessive moral policing, decided that his account was a little too repugnant even for their liking and shut it down.

The misdeeds of Mr. Six stretch back to April 2021, when the victim was just 15 years old. As Montgomery County Prosecutor Mat Heck Jr. so succinctly put it, “Sexual predators who do these types of things need to be locked up in prison where they cannot victimize any other children.”

One can hardly disagree with the sentiment.

Six, a West Virginia University College of Law graduate, was admitted to the Ohio Bar in 2021. That career was short-lived, however, as his license got suspended in October 2023, not just for his criminal antics but also for failing to meet continuing legal education requirements—though one suspects that staying out of jail might have been the more pressing matter.

And so ends the legal career of Christopher Six, a man who, by all appearances, would have done well to spend less time on Snapchat and more time studying the difference between right and wrong. But as the saying goes, the law is a jealous mistress.

Fervo Energy’s High-Stakes Bet

At one time, geothermal energy occupied about as much space in the national imagination as a two-bit prospector panning for gold in a dry riverbed—plenty of hope but precious little payoff. Yet here comes Fervo Energy, striding onto the scene with the confidence of a riverboat gambler, laying down stakes in the form of an IPO and a valuation worth more dollars than a mule has fleas.

Fervo’s gamble is no ordinary roll of the dice. With a motley crew of venture capitalists, institutional investors, and even some old oil-and-gas hands at the table, they’re fashioning a geothermal empire out of Enhanced Geothermal Systems (EGS). Now, if that phrase doesn’t make you sit up straight in your chair, know it’s a bit like teaching an old dog new tricks—except the dog is the Earth itself, and the trick is squeezing energy out of rocks that have been sitting around minding their own business for millennia.

The company has already cut its teeth on a modest 3-megawatt pilot in Nevada but has grander visions—115 megawatts to power Google’s data centers in the Silver State and a 400-megawatt behemoth in Utah, split into phases like a serialized dime novel, with the first act arriving in 2026. And why? Because data centers—the hungry beasts of the modern world—are demanding more clean power than ever before, and Fervo is positioning itself as the savior of the hour.

Now, in an unexpected plot twist, geothermal has found itself a surprising friend in none other than the Trump administration, courtesy of an energy “emergency” order from January 2025. Whether this is a stroke of strategic brilliance or a case of throwing a horseshoe at a barn door and calling it a policy remains unseen, but for now, Fervo is riding the wave.

Of course, history has seen geothermal hopefuls come and go like drummers in a cheap saloon band. Australian, Canadian, and American geothermal firms have danced this dance before, only to trip over high costs, government indifference, and the cruel realities of geology. The one standout is Ormat Technologies, a geothermal stalwart with a market cap North of $4 billion, proving that at least one gambler managed to leave the table with his pockets full.

So why should this wager be any different? Well, for one, money is flowing from venture capitalists and institutional investors alike, and AI-driven data centers are sucking up electricity like a sailor on shore leave. And the oil industry has thrown its hat into the ring, bringing its drilling expertise to bear on geothermal’s long-standing technical woes.

Across the Atlantic, Europe is playing its own game, focusing on heating—for when winter rolls around, it’s easier to convince a man he needs warmth than to sell him on the abstract virtues of grid stability. European firms are plowing ahead with district heating networks, benefiting from government support and long-term contracts that make investors sleep easy at night.

The dice are still rolling, and only time will tell if this great geothermal gambit will strike gold—or come up with hot water.

It is curious how men of science can survey a charred ruin where once stood a noble forest, stroke their beards solemnly, and declare, “Well, that was unexpected.”

For years, the custodians of the land hemmed and hawed over a proper course of action for the Beaver Creek Pinery, that noble stand of ancient ponderosa pines and black oaks in the Lassen National Forest’s Ishi Wilderness. It was a singularly fine example of how the woods should look—before men and their big ideas came along.

Never been logged, never tamed, never persuaded to submit to civilization, and thus, like all things in the path of progress and its remarkable inertia, it met its doom in due course. The Park Fire, being of an industrious disposition, made short work of it. What generations of men had debated, the fire decided in an afternoon.

And now, the same men of science who once debated its treatment stand beside its ashes and find it a “cautionary tale.” If that is not the most polite term for “we should have seen this coming,” I do not know what is.

But fret not, for this is no isolated instance of nature giving our best-laid plans the back of its hand. No, the grand scholars of fire modeling have cast their worried glances toward another stand of trees, for this one perched on a spit of land in Lake Tahoe’s Emerald Bay State Park.

The Emerald Point stand, a fine collection of ponderosa pines, Jeffrey pines, and California incense cedar, has been deemed “at high risk”—a term which, when translated from the dialect of scholars, means “will burn down at the first opportunity.”

A man named Hugh Safford, wise in the ways of trees, notes that the stand is an “extraordinary place” and that its inhabitants are of a truly massive persuasion. But extraordinary places have an unfortunate tendency to meet extraordinary fates.

Much like Beaver Creek before it, the stand has not seen a proper fire in over a century, becoming a rather insufferable mess of overgrown underbrush, dead limbs, and assorted woodland detritus. It is a place where a man may enter and never be seen again—not by design, but simply because there is no clear path out.

Now, the good folks of the Forest Service meant well. In 1935, they established the 10 a.m. policy, which dictated that all fires must be subdued by 10 a.m. the morning after being reported.

The policy remained in place for decades, during which time men congratulated themselves for conquering fire as the trees—unconsulted on the matter—grew denser and more combustible with each passing year. Thus, nature–doing some tidying up, added a gentle burn now and then to evade the grander spectacle of total immolation.

Meanwhile, scientists are now suggesting thinning and controlled burning–for fear that a stray cigarette might reduce the Emerald Point stand to an impressive heap of glowing embers. One cannot help but admire their optimism, thinking men will act before a disaster rather than after it.

The tale of Lake Tahoe’s forests is old, tied up with the silver mines of Nevada, where timber was felled not for fire but for fortune. The miners of the Comstock found that their silver was inclined to collapse upon them—a habit most unwelcome—so they turned their gaze to the vast, timber-laden slopes of the Tahoe Basin.

And thus, by saw and axe, two billion board feet of lumber were spirited away to prop up the ambitions of silver men. The Emerald Point stand, however, escaped the worst of it, spared by the whims of landowners whose luck or disinterest preserved its trees from the saw.

But luck only lasts so long. Rob Griffith of California State Parks acknowledges that the stand hasn’t gotten the treatment because it is out of the way and because men are generally inclined to apply effort only where inconvenience is minimal.

However, the scholars at UC Davis and the University of Nevada, Reno, have produced a study showing what any man with common sense could have told you—if action is untaken–the trees will surely burn.

And so, the great debate begins again.

Shall men of science and policy take action, or shall they stand amongst the embers of Emerald Point in some not-so-distant future, solemnly stroking their beards and declaring, “Well, that was unexpected”?

It remains unseen, but history, as it tends to do, suggests an answer.

It is a melancholy fact that some folks have no appreciation for industry. I discovered this firsthand when I was ejected unceremoniously from our local Walmart for nothing more than an honest day’s labor.

I had finished my transaction at the self-checkout—a marvel of modern enterprise where the customer is both patron and employee, cashier and consumer. Having performed my duties diligently, scanning each item with a dedication that would shame many a salaried clerk, I naturally proceeded to the breakroom to rest my weary bones.

No sooner had I settled in than some officious sort stormed in, bristling with authority.

“What are you doing in the breakroom?” they inquired, the tone of their voice suggesting I had committed some great offense.

“I’m taking my break,” I replied, wiping my brow in a manner befitting a working man.

“But you don’t work here,” they said, eyes wide with ignorance.

I sighed, heavy with the burden of explanation. “I must,” I said. “Because I just got done at the self-checkout.”

You would think they’d have thanked me for my service. Instead, they led me to the door without severance or a handshake, not even a gold watch for my troubles—just a stern warning not to return. In this great land of opportunity, I learned that some jobs are voluntary, but breaks are not.

It appears the good folks over at the Washoe County Sheriff’s Office have been quite busy of late, catching themselves a heap of non-compliant sex offenders. In “Operation Safe Washoe,” 410 compliance checks, 41 offenders were being fast and loose with the law, resulting in 25 people arrested.

The arrests included three charges of Failure to Obey Sex Offender Registration Laws—those are the sorts of folks who can’t seem to remember the rules. One offender managed to rack up a second offense of Indecent Exposure, proving that the first time weren’t enough to get the message.

And then there were 24 charges related to Parole and Probation Violations, which paints a picture of folks who can’t seem to stay straight and narrow, no matter how hard they try. Add to that two Warrant Arrests for Sex Crimes, and you’ve got yourself a batch of winners.

With all the confidence of a man who’s seen a bit too much trouble in his day, Sheriff Balaam said, “The safety of our community is our top priority. Operation Safe Washoe demonstrates our commitment to proactively monitoring registered sex offenders and ensuring they comply with Sex Offender Registration Laws in Nevada.”

He didn’t stop there, adding, “The results of this operation underscore the necessity of these compliance checks.”

Which is as close to a polite way of saying, “We told you so,” as you’ll ever get.

So there you have it. Another day, another batch of ne’er-do-wells–scooped up in the net of justice.

The Sheriff’s office, it seems, is keeping an eye on things, and as they say, a watchful eye is a good thing—especially when keeping track of folks who ought to know better.

If ever there were a more lamentable tale of marital discord, it would have to be written in blood and bound in sorrow. As it is, the strange business of Victoria Goodwin, wife of “Ghost Adventures” star Aaron Goodwin, is as peculiar as any specter her husband has ever gone chasing.

Aaron Goodwin, well-regarded in the lively town of Virginia City for communing with spirits of the less fleshly variety, now finds himself entangled with something even more chilling—a murder plot allegedly brewed by his spouse. One would think the man had enough trouble with ghosts without his wife summoning new ones.

Authorities say Victoria Goodwin, perhaps inspired by too many late-night crime documentaries, struck up a prison-born romance with one Grant Amato, a Florida inmate of ill repute. Armed with an illegal cell phone–for even jailbirds must have their trappings of modern courtship–Amato and Mrs. Goodwin exchanged sweet nothings and, as the law claims, a plan to do away with poor Aaron.

The matter was simple—Goodwin and Amato, having decided that divorce was too mild an inconvenience, allegedly arranged for an assassin. With all the subtlety of a tax collector, Victoria even provided the precise location where her unsuspecting husband was– Barstow, Calif.

The reward? A modest $11,515, payable upon successful extermination. It seems true love has a going rate these days.

But alas, as with most criminal enterprises devised by the lovesick and dim-witted, the plan crumbled under the weight of its absurdity. The Florida Department of Corrections caught wind of the sordid affair, telling the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department on March 4th. A search warrant soon followed, and Victoria Goodwin was answering some pointed questions from detectives.

Once faced with evidence–texts as clear as day outlining location, payment, and intentions—Mrs. Goodwin resorted to the well-worn excuse of the guilty: she “did not remember” sending them. Oh, what a cruel mistress is memory, abandoning a lady at such an inconvenient moment!

She did admit to “daydreams” of a different life but insisted that she no longer harbored such notions. The authorities, less inclined toward poetic fancy, charged Victoria Goodwin with solicitation and conspiracy to commit murder. She’s due in court March 25th–where one imagines she will have much explaining to do.

As for Aaron Goodwin, one hopes his future dealings with spirits remain limited to those haunting the Union Brewery and Saloon on C Street and not the ghost of his wife’s ambitions.

The Fernley Vaqueros saddled up and rode roughshod over the Sparks Railroaders on Saturday, galloping to a 20-0 victory. It was a runaway affair from the first crack of the bat, and the Railroaders never found the tracks to get back into the fight. That lopsided score sets a new high-water mark for Fernley this season.

Ximena Rodriguez crossed home plate three times and made herself a presence on the base paths, reaching safely in all four of her plate appearances. Right alongside her, Taylor Tollestrup swung a hot bat, going 2-for-2 and adding a run to the tally. The Vaqueros were firing on all cylinders, racking up a blistering .688 batting average—a performance that’s becoming standard fare, as they’ve now hit .409 or better in three straight games.

With three consecutive home victories, Fernley has pushed its record to 6-1, thanks in no small part to a stingy pitching staff allowing just one run per contest in that stretch. Sparks, meanwhile, has yet to get its season rolling, falling to 0-2 with Saturday’s shutout.

The road ahead offers little respite as they prepare to square off against Elko on Friday at 4:00 p.m. Fernley, looking to keep its winning ways intact, will take on Wooster at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday—a test for Wooster’s bats against a Vaquero pitching crew that has yielded a meager 1.9 runs per game all season.

Elsewhere, the Carlin Railroaders got derailed by the Wells Leopards in a bruising 15-0 defeat. It was a day the Railroaders would rather forget, as their bats fell silent and their nine-game home winning streak came to a screeching halt. Carlin, now 2-1, had been rolling over opponents by an average of 10.6 runs during that streak, but Wells had other plans, snapping a six-game road losing skid and clawing their way to a 2-4 record.

The road calls for both squads in the days ahead. Carlin will head to Round Mountain today at noon, aiming to halt their opponent’s three-game win streak before it stretches to four. Meanwhile, Wells will venture to Virginia City on Saturday at 10:00 a.m., where they’ll be staring down an offensive juggernaut—Virginia City has rattled off ten or more runs in its last four outings. If Wells likes a challenge, they’ve found one.

North Las Vegas bore witness to a spectacle of speed and misfortune Sunday afternoon, the likes of which would make even the most devil-may-care daredevil pause for reflection. At precisely half past noon, the Nevada State Police Highway Patrol responded to a calamity involving two Nissan Altimas, whose fateful meeting upon the Cheyenne Avenue overpass above Interstate 15 was sudden, violent, and most inconvenient for all involved.

A red Nissan, possessed of a reckless spirit and no evident regard for the laws of physics, came tearing southward down I-15 before executing what can only be described as an ill-advised maneuver—crossing all westbound lanes of Cheyenne Avenue at what one can assume was an ungodly speed. It met its first adversary in the form of the center median curb, but rather than being satisfied with this collision, it promptly sought out and struck a silver Nissan Altima for good measure.

The result was a balletic display of unintended motion. The red Nissan, now stripped of dignity and direction, spun counterclockwise before finding another curb to tangle with. The silver Nissan, not wishing to be outdone, spun in the same manner before embracing a concrete light pole with all the force one might expect from a high-speed automobile.

The driver of the red Nissan, a woman whose luck had run dry, was declared deceased at the scene. The driver of the silver Nissan, also a woman, was whisked away to a hospital, where she remains in critical condition, presumably wondering how an otherwise ordinary Sunday had betrayed her so cruelly.

Cheyenne Avenue, meanwhile, took the brunt of this disruption, being closed in both directions for several hours. In their wisdom, officials advised drivers to find alternate routes, which, in Las Vegas traffic, is much like advising a drowning man to find a different means of breathing.

Elsewhere in the city, Death, apparently unsatisfied with his Sunday spoils, made a Tuesday morning call in the central Las Vegas valley. At approximately 4:15 a.m., Las Vegas police received word that an exchange of words between two men in a business parking lot had taken a most unfortunate turn, as one of the gentlemen produced a firearm and saw fit to settle the matter with a bullet.

The shooter, demonstrating both decisiveness and a profound disinterest in lingering at the scene, promptly climbed into his vehicle and sped north on Jones Boulevard, leaving the victim to his fate. Metro homicide Lieutenant Robert Price assured the public that this was an “isolated incident,” meaning, one assumes, that the shooter was not in the habit of performing such acts as a matter of routine.

Authorities, ever hopeful, have asked the good people of Las Vegas to assist in identifying the culprit, should any among them possess knowledge. Those with information are encouraged to call CrimeStoppers, a fine institution dedicated to justice—or at least the collection of anonymous tips leading in that direction.