Author: Tom Darby

The Lyon County Board of County Commissioners convened on March 6, 2025, to hash out county affairs, approve what needed approval, and settle what needed settling. Among the more noteworthy moments of the meeting was Sheriff Brad Pope presenting Deputy Trevor Bonds with a Meritorious Service Medal for his gallant conduct during a high-speed hullabaloo in Smith Valley on January 25.

The Commissioners then turned their attention to Nevada Copper, which, like many a hopeful miner before it, had found itself in a bit of a financial pickle. The company was allowed to square its personal property tax debt for $1,170,339.77. In a stroke of charity—or perhaps pragmatism—the Board waived penalties and trimmed the bill by five percent, provided Nevada Copper paid up without delay.

In other matters of local consequence, the Commissioners blessed Desert Hills Dairy to expand its anaerobic digester systems. Those unfamiliar with the term may take comfort in knowing that it is a sophisticated way of saying the dairy can now do more with cow leavings than letting them pile up.

Verizon Wireless and its accomplice, Vertical Bridge, secured a Conditional Use Permit to plant a new wireless communications facility and a 115-foot windmill tower in Mason Valley. The windmill, presumably, is for aesthetic purposes or perhaps a nod to the past, as it is unlikely Verizon intends to harness the wind for anything other than metaphorical purposes.

Meanwhile, the Commissioners took a red pen to The Lakes at Dayton Valley Planned Use Development. Out went the idea of a hotel and casino, in came something more fittingly labeled “Community Commercial,” which could mean anything from a laundromat to a grand emporium of curiosities. Additionally, a zoning map amendment was approved to reassign various parcels from single-family nonrural residential and tourist commercial designations to the more all-encompassing PUD (Planned Unit Development), ensuring the future of Dayton Valley remains as flexible as a well-worn saddle.

Silver Springs also saw its fair share of change, as Tract Capital Management, LP, received the go-ahead to swap out vast swaths of land from rural to suburban and from fifth rural residential to service industrial. The Board also approved a “mini master plan,” which, despite its diminutive moniker, will steer the planning of roads, waterworks, and sundry necessities across a 460-acre stretch.

Lastly, the Commissioners turned their attention to the Sheriff’s Office, approving the conversion of certain evidence items—including firearms—into County Property for lawful use or disposal. It is unclear whether the disposal will involve smelting or a more creative redistribution, but it got settled without fuss.

After a solemn silence worthy of a tomb, the Nevada Supreme Court has stirred on the matter of Reno’s esteemed Mayor, Hillary Schieve, and the case of the mysterious GPS tracker. The justices have graciously set aside 34 minutes on April 8—presumably because 35 would be an unreasonable indulgence—for oral arguments on whether the name of the man who hired a private investigator to follow the movements of Schieve shall get tossed to the lions.

Schieve and former Washoe County Commission Chair Vaughn Hartung have taken great offense at the notion that a public servant might be subject to scrutiny. It is an understandable concern, for history has shown that public officials prefer their affairs to remain as private as possible—particularly when wrongdoings get uncovered.

The problem, however, is that a certain “John Doe” hired a private investigator, David McNeely, to conduct this scrutiny. McNeely employed a GPS tracker—an act which, while perhaps impolite, is not so very different from the time-honored tactics used by law enforcement, news reporters, and opposition research teams.

For his part, Doe argues that hiring an investigator was a fine example of First Amendment conduct, for if one cannot look into the actions of public officials without fear of retribution, then what need have we of private investigators at all?

The mayor and her compatriot, however, see it differently. To them, this is not about transparency or accountability but their sacred right to govern the public without being watched.

In its infinite wisdom, the court has already ruled that McNeely must name names, but Doe has thrown himself upon the mercy of the justices, hoping to keep his anonymity. Should he lose, he may appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court or resign himself to the reality that, in Nevada, investigating the powerful is a pastime best left to those with nothing to lose.

Should his name be revealed, Schieve and Hartung will have their satisfaction, and the civil case against McNeely and Doe will proceed. Should the court rule in favor of Doe, the mayor, with her ally, will have to proceed by suing only the investigator.

Either way, the message is clear: the next time one wishes to investigate an elected official, one should consider the wisdom of remaining blissfully ignorant.

Out yonder past the prairie’s bend,
A cowboy rode to find his mend.
His wits were dull, his thoughts ran slow,
He needed brains to help him grow.

He found a Doc in a fancy coat,
Who stroked his chin and cleared his throat.
“A brain transplant? Well, sure, I can!
I got three kinds for a thinkin’ man.”

The cowboy tipped his hat and said,
“Well, tell me what ya got instead
The Doc said, “First, a healer’s mind,
For three hundred, it’s sharp and kind.”

“A lawyer’s brain, now that’s worth more,
Five hundred bucks, it’s full of lore.
But if ya got some high aims,
Ten thousand buys the politician’s brain.”

The cowboy’s brow went stiff and tight,
“Ten thousand? That don’t seem right!
Why’s that one worth so much more.”
The doc just grinned and swore,

“Well, friend, it’s fresh, it’s clean, it’s true,
Never been used—and it’s practically new!”

Baseball and softball are as unpredictable as a desert storm—wild, relentless, and capable of turning instantly. From Virginia City to Dayton and beyond, teams battled for bragging rights, with some walking away victorious and others licking their wounds.

After falling to non-varsity opponent in their last meeting, the Virginia City Muckers’ softball squad came out with fire in their bellies on Saturday, clinching a 15-12 victory. It was their first road win against their rivals since March last year, and they had none other than Nanna Lopez to thank.

Lopez was a nightmare on the basepaths, scoring four times and stealing three bases while reaching base in all four of her plate appearances. Not to be outdone, Ava Farrell went 2-for-3, tallying two runs, a triple, and a stolen base.

The Muckers’ bats were relentless, boasting a scorching .407 batting average on the day—continuing a six-game streak of hitting .316 or better. But the celebration was short-lived. When the two teams meet again, Virginia City found themselves on the losing end of a 23-13 slugfest, dropping their record to 2-1-1.

Next up, the Muckers will make their home debut against Wells.

Fernley’s softball team didn’t just win on Saturday—they made a statement. The Vaqueros overwhelmed the Sparks Railroaders with a 17-1 shellacking, securing their second straight victory and boosting their record to 5-1.

They’ve now won three games this season by at least five runs, proving that when they get rolling, there’s little that can stop them.

Fernley’s baseball squad didn’t fare as well. They found themselves on the wrong end of a 4-0 shutout at the hands of the Wooster Colts, marking their fifth consecutive loss to their rivals.

Despite the defeat, Hayden Lyon was a lone bright spot on the mound. The young hurler struck out eight batters over five innings while allowing just one earned run on four hits—the fewest given up since March 2024.

The loss dropped Fernley to 1-6-1 on the season.

Meanwhile, over in Dayton, the Dust Devils made quick work of the Hug Hawks on Saturday, steamrolling their way to an 18-1 victory—their sixth straight win against their northern foes. The game was over almost as soon as it began, thanks to a dominant two-way performance from Duke Evans.

Evans was untouchable on the mound, striking out seven batters over three innings while surrendering no earned runs on three hits. It was his first scoreless outing since April 2024. But he wasn’t done there—at the plate, he went a perfect 2-for-2 with a home run, four RBIs, and a double, setting a new personal best in RBIs.

If Evans was the hammer, Ivor Evans was the anvil. He torched Hug’s pitching staff, going 2-for-3 with a home run, seven RBIs, and three runs scored.

Those seven RBIs were also a career-high, cementing his place as the team’s biggest offensive threat. Dallan Cowee rounded out the offensive showcase, going 1-for-2 with a triple, two runs, and a stolen base.

Dayton’s red-hot offense posted a .474 batting average, marking the fifth consecutive game in which they’ve improved their team hitting percentage. The win pushed their record to 5-1, with an average margin of 14 runs per game.

Next, Dayton will host Smith Valley on Tuesday, with the Dust Devils’ pitching staff—which has allowed just 2.2 runs per game—ready to put the clamps on another opponent. Hug, now 2-2, will try to bounce back when they take on Lowry at home next Saturday.

With plenty of baseball and softball left–the season is still wide open.

Nevada’s Carson City Federal Building on the Chopping Block

In a move not seen in nearly 60 years, the General Services Administration (GSA)—the federal government’s highfalutin real estate broker—has been ordered by President Trump to offload over 500 buildings deemed “non-core assets.” It is part of a sweeping effort to cut waste and rein in the government’s ever-expanding footprint, a move that’s sure to ruffle the feathers of bureaucrats who have long grown comfortable in their taxpayer-funded offices.

Among the properties marked for sale is Carson City’s Federal Building at 705 N. Plaza Street. Built to house the U.S. Post Office in 1972 after it vacated the historic structure now known as the Paul Laxalt State Building, the unassuming facility has since been home to a collection of federal agencies, including the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration, the Federal Highway Administration, the Bureau of Reclamation, and the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

But now, the government has decided it no longer needs the space, leaving its tenants wondering where they’ll hang their hats next. The GSA’s goal is nothing short of a downsizing move—reducing its owned buildings by 70 percent and shrinking the overall real estate footprint by 50 percent.

Unlike the Associated Press’s mistaken claim that Elon Musk is behind this initiative, this directive comes straight from the Trump administration, marking one of the most significant reductions in federal property holdings in modern history. The plan is to sell off the buildings rather than continue maintaining underused space and instead lease offices only where necessary—cutting costs and forcing efficiency in a government that has long resisted both.

Nevada is just one piece of the puzzle. Other notable buildings set to hit the market include Chicago’s John C. Kluczynski Federal Building, Boston’s John F. Kennedy Federal Building, and Tennessee’s Ed Jones Federal Building. What fate awaits these properties remains uncertain. But given the government’s knack for mismanagement, one hopes they don’t end up as overpriced condominiums or empty shells haunted by the ghosts of federal inefficiency.

For Carson City, the question is who will buy 705 N. Plaza Street. If history is any guide, someone will figure out how to turn government surplus into private profit.

Whether that means an office park, a casino, or an enterprising land baron snapping it up for pennies on the dollar, one thing is clear—when Washington decides to clean house, it pays to pay attention.

Though seldom spoken in polite society— a lawyer in possession of good standing must be in want of a scandal. Enter Adam Lawson Woodrum, a man of learned pedigree and most unfortunate inclinations, whose present legal entanglements have left the Carson City courthouse in uncommon confusion.

Mr. Woodrum, formerly of the Carson City Public Defender’s Office and once an esteemed deputy attorney general of Nevada, now finds himself in the defendant’s chair, charged with the heinous crime of molesting a child. Naturally, such an affair is bound to turn the wheels of justice, though in this instance, said wheels appear to be running backward down a hill with a missing axle.

Upon his arrest on January 22, Mr. Woodrum, armed with means and legal acumen, promptly posted bail before the ink on his warrant had time to dry. Judge Thomas Armstrong, perceiving a conflict of interest, excused himself from the proceedings, thus handing the gavel to Judge Melanie Bruketta, who, in a most generous interpretation of justice, granted Mr. Woodrum’s release with nary a condition beyond the usual instruction to remain a law-abiding citizen.

One might assume that a man charged with such a crime would find himself subject to the full embrace of judicial oversight, like GPS monitoring, Department of Alternative Sentencing supervision, and, most curiously, a prohibition against contacting the victim were altogether absent.

So unobstructed was Mr. Woodrum’s path to freedom that he took to sending calendar notifications to the victim and their family—a modern twist on the old-fashioned practice of haunting one’s accuser. The day after his release, a Temporary Protective Order was issued. However, it was not until yesterday that the court decided to discuss the more traditional restrictions typically placed on such defendants.

The prosecution, perhaps belatedly realizing that the barn door had been left open, petitioned for an increase in bail and additional conditions, including GPS monitoring, weapon restrictions, and random searches. In its infinite wisdom, the court rejected the request to raise bail but did acknowledge that since Mr. Woodrum is currently in Northern Nevada, a tracking device might be advisable to ensure attendance at his trial.

Mr. Woodrum’s counsel, the indignant Mr. Orrin Johnson, took to the defendant’s defense with great flourish, declaring that his client was a most upstanding citizen whose life had been tragically “shattered” by these charges.

The criminal complaint, laid out in the plainest of legalese, accuses Mr. Woodrum of the despicable act of lewdness with a child under 16, a crime which, if proven, carries with it the promise of hard time rather than courtly pity. The court further learned that the victim was a relative of Mr. Woodrum and that he had been residing with the victim’s family at the time of the alleged crime—an arrangement since altered.

Standing before the court, the victim’s mother made it clear that she would not abide attempts to downplay the nature of the offense. She insisted that this was no mere misunderstanding nor a single, isolated lapse in judgment but rather something graver—though whether the justice system will treat it as such remains to be seen.

As Carson City awaits the next chapter of this grim tale, one cannot help but marvel at the peculiarities of our legal system—wherein an accused man’s comfort gets deliberated with greater urgency than a victim’s safety and where a lawyer, once esteemed, may find himself navigating the very machinery of justice he once operated, albeit from the wrong side of the bench.

A Gold Medal in Losing

It takes dedication to hold onto last place for years, but Nevada has done it. According to the latest figures from the federal Bureau of Labor Statistics, the Silver State spent all of 2024 as the nation’s unemployment champion, boasting a jobless rate of 5.6 percent—the worst in the country. South Dakota, by contrast, was positively overflowing with gainful employment, posting a mere 1.8 percent rate.

For those keeping track, the national unemployment rate in 2024 settled at four percent, proving that while the rest of the country was doing passably well, Nevada preferred to blaze a trail—straight into economic uncertainty.

A separate report for December 2024 confirmed the trend, ranking Nevada dead last with a rate of 5.8 percent. Close behind in this race to the bottom was California at 5.5 percent, followed by Kentucky and the District of Columbia at 5.3 percent.

To prove that consistency is key, the Nevada Department of Employment, Training, and Rehabilitation reported that the January unemployment rate remained at 5.8 percent. The Reno-Sparks metro area, now generously expanded to include Lyon County, shed 600 jobs between December and January, while the Las Vegas area waved goodbye to 7,500.

Perhaps they all left to find work in South Dakota.

Looking at the rest of the West, Nevada still managed to be the dimmest bulb in the chandelier. California followed close behind, while states like Utah at 3.3 percent and Montana with 2.9 percent left little doubt that gainful employment was, in fact, possible west of the Mississippi.

The best five states in the nation were South Dakota, North Dakota, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Montana, where joblessness is a mere rumor. For those in Nevada still seeking work, take heart—at least the state is winning at something.

Ladies and gentlemen, gather ’round and hearken to the latest yarn spun from the bustling workshops and gilded ledgers of Comstock Inc., the enterprising outfit that has turned refuse into riches, waste into wealth, and, if we are to believe their grand proclamations, has a mind to set the very laws of nature on their head.

Mr. Corrado De Gasperis, the esteemed Executive Chairman and Chief Executive Officer, has emerged to deliver a sermon of prosperity so grand that one might suspect he had just struck oil in his backyard.

“We have done it all,” he declares, waving a mighty hand over his kingdom of scrap metal and sun-baked silver mines. “The metals are thriving, the fuels are burning bright, and by George, we’ve even figured out how to squeeze gold from the guts of old solar panels.”

Among the latest marvels: a highfalutin photovoltaic recycling operation that promises to leave not a speck for the landfill; a biofuel scheme so grand it makes old King Midas look like a pauper; and a mining venture that, if the tea leaves are correct, aims to wring every last ounce of treasure from the Comstock hills before the sun itself burns out.

One must admire the audacity. Take, for instance, the claim to have birthed an “endless oil well” from common weeds and twigs of this fine land. Why, it seems that by 2035, the firm plans to be pumping out enough fuel to drown a hundred fleets of steamships—a proposition so ambitious that even the specter of old John D. Rockefeller himself might tip his hat in begrudging respect.

And let us not forget the mines! The company has peered deep into the crust of Nevada and found that there remains yet more silver. With the air of a man who has never met a rock he couldn’t monetize, Mr. De Gasperis assures us that the Comstock district is poised for a revival, no doubt to the joy of every pickaxe-wielding optimist still roaming the sagebrush.

But perhaps the grandest trick of them all is the reverse stock split, that old alchemist’s maneuver by which ten things become one without a single soul growing a penny richer.

“Fear not,” they tell their eager investors, “for this is all part of a magnificent plan to enable our boldest aspirations.”

And what grander aspiration could there be than to cleave Comstock Inc. in twain, birthing one company of metals and another of fuels, each destined, so they say, for unbounded glory?

It is a fine tale of ingenuity and ambition, grand visions, and even grander fortunes—provided that the sun continues to shine, the investors continue to believe, and the mines yield just enough silver to keep the wheels of progress well-oiled. And if, perchance, the stars align just so, then perhaps, just perhaps, Comstock Inc. shall indeed carve its name into the annals of industry, somewhere between the Gilded Age tycoons and the dreamers who dared to bottle the wind.

Well, here we go again, folks. Attorney General Aaron Ford, a man who presumably collects paychecks from the fine people of Nevada, has once more saddled up with a posse of Democratic attorneys general to do battle—not for his constituents, mind you, but for the cause of keeping Uncle Sam’s payroll fat and happy.

This time, Ford and nineteen like-minded colleagues have filed a motion in Maryland to stop the Trump administration’s so-called “mass layoffs” of federal probationary employees. In what has been melodramatically dubbed the “Valentine’s Day Massacre,” the administration bade farewell to some 24,000 probationary workers, leaving Ford and his compatriots in righteous indignation.

According to Ford, Nevada is in a crisis, with state resources stretched thin to care for these newly unemployed workers. The fact that these folks were federal employees and thus not Nevada’s responsibility appears to be a mere technicality in Ford’s mind. He insists that Washington should have given states a heads-up before downsizing—because if there’s one thing bureaucracy needs, it’s more paperwork and delays.

But let’s not kid ourselves. It isn’t really about layoffs or struggling workers. No, this is just the latest skirmish in Ford’s ongoing war against the Trump administration—a war that conveniently aligns with his ambition to be Nevada’s next governor. He’s already made a name for himself by battling over government efficiency, birthright citizenship, and medical research funding. The man loves a lawsuit the way a prospector loves a gold strike.

Ford assures Nevadans that the state will take care of the laid-off employees—offering taxpayer dollars to do what the federal government will not. But he wants Washington to foot the bill, warning that Nevada will not be left “on the hook” for mass firings.

Meanwhile, his coalition of legal crusaders hails from the usual roll call of blue states, from California to New York, Vermont to Hawaii. They are advocating for government employees to remain in their positions, regardless of the need for their services.

Nevadans might reasonably wonder when their attorney general will have time to focus on Nevada itself. But fear not—he’ll be back soon enough, just in time to ask for your vote.

The morning started like any other—coffee thick as tar, dust in my teeth, and the same Mustang that had carried me across more miles than I cared to count. She was a fine little horse, as firm as a rancher’s handshake and twice as honest. Never spooked, never faltered, never let me down.

Then, in a heartbeat, she turned into a demon from some deep and unholy place. One second, I was in the saddle. The next, I saw sky, dirt, then sky again, my boots barely holding the line between me and a full-fledged obituary.

She bucked like she was trying to break every bone in my body, and it damn near succeeded—until she hit the ground, folding over backward with me under the pile, and didn’t get back up. The boys had themselves a hearty laugh—until they saw me pull a long tack from her hide right where the cinch cut tight.

The laughter died like a rattler under a bootheel. Someone had ‘burred’ my mount and done it with intent.

It took two days of quiet questions and hard stares before I got the truth. And when I did, I didn’t waste time with words.

Found that son of a bitch leaning against the corral, chewing his cud like he had no concept of justice or retribution. He smiled. I swung. His knees buckled before he even knew he was falling. Then I hit him again.

Teeth rained into the dust like chips off a busted beer bottle. The rest got swallowed—an unfortunate digestion problem, as unpleasant coming out as going down.

My Mustang got better with some doctoring. The bastard who’d put that tack under my saddle wasn’t so lucky. They hauled him off to the hospital, and by the time he returned, he was out of a job and out of the game.

They said he’d been kicked in the face by a horse. I never said otherwise.

Some things a man ought to know better than to do. And if he doesn’t? Well, life has a way of teaching lessons that last.