The Old Blog in the Desert

Nevada’s Next Governor?

Hilary Schieve—Reno’s self-declared champion of business, a maestro of municipal maneuvering, and a potential future contender for the governor’s seat. But before we all start dusting off our campaign signs and practicing our best “I voted” selfies, let us take a moment to ponder the legacy of this fine steward of public trust.

In 2012, Schieve took her first steps into the political arena, stepping into the City Council after a brief career in the resale clothing business. Some might say there’s no better preparation for public office than swapping out second-hand Levi’s, but it seems the business of running a city is quite different from running a Plato’s Closet.

She ascended to the mayor’s office in 2014, and what a ride it has been!

Three election victories, one term-limit loophole, and enough developer, casino, and PAC money to make a Vegas bookie blush. Naturally, none of this came without the help of well-placed friends, including Jessica Sferrazza—the daughter of a former mayor, top lobbyist, and occasional political Houdini who attempted and failed to eliminate term limits before slipping into a lucrative gig with a developer she once helped.

Schieve’s political reach extends across more committees and boards than a seasoned poker player’s winning streak. Whether it’s tourism, transportation, housing, or stadiums, she’s had a hand in them all—regardless of whether or not she’s had a clue what she was doing. But governing, like poker, is not always about knowing the game—it’s about knowing who’s at the table.

Now, like any ambitious politician, Schieve has had dreams of expanding her powers. In 2017, she sought to elevate herself from mere mayor to a “strong mayor” with veto authority—backed by her good friend, career political fixture Tic Segerblom. The state Senate approved, but alas, the Assembly did not. A setback that did not stop her from declaring her unshakable support for term limits–provided they did not apply to her.

Her hiring practices have raised more eyebrows than a prospector who found fool’s gold in a casino. When the time came to appoint a police chief, she overlooked qualifications in favor of a union leader who had—coincidentally, I’m sure—donated $10,000 to her campaign. Later, when Reno needed a city manager, Schieve dispensed with the formalities of applications and interviews, bestowing the role upon Jackie Bryant, an act of executive efficiency.

Then there’s the question of money—both the city’s and hers. In 2017, she boasted of saving Reno taxpayers $10,000, which was quite a feat considering she also spent $10,000 on a State of the City party. This particular brand of math has left many wondering if Reno’s finances are handled with the same meticulous care as a gambler’s last nickel in a slot machine.

Schieve has also shown an enthusiasm for the digital frontier, backing blockchain initiatives and attempting to turn Reno’s beloved Space Whale sculpture into an NFT—because nothing says “civic duty” quite like speculative digital art investments. Unfortunately, like many who jumped on the NFT and Bitcoin bandwagon, she rode the market straight into the ground, only to find herself securing a mortgage modification right before the 2022 election.

Coincidence? Perhaps.

A stroke of financial genius? Unlikely.

Her leadership during times of crisis has been equally remarkable. When riots broke out in 2020, causing $600,000 in damage, Schieve’s response was having police stand down—because nothing discourages criminal activity quite like a hands-off approach. Then came COVID-19, during which she arbitrarily decided which businesses were “essential” and which were not, ordering shutdowns without legal basis, bankrupting small businesses, and sending out secret observers to impose fines.

There’s no word yet on whether those same observers were available to check in on the rising cases of alcoholism, depression, and suicide that followed.

And now, with talk of a gubernatorial run on the horizon, one must ask—does the state of Nevada need more of this brand of leadership? With a track record of fiscal mismanagement, political favors, and economic misadventures, Schieve has left her mark on Reno. Whether that mark is a badge of honor or a warning sign depends on whom you ask.

So, as we reflect on the legacy of Mayor Hilary Schieve, let us remember that the road to higher office is paved not with good intentions but with well-connected allies, generous donors, and a steadfast belief that the rules apply to everyone—except, of course, those writing them.

Now, With Extra Red Tape

The Silver State, known for its glittering casinos and vast desert landscapes, has decided it needs fewer psychologists. While the rest of the country has recognized that mental health services are in crisis, Nevada has taken the bold step of adding an extra, pricey, and now mostly discredited test to keep potential psychologists from helping its struggling citizens.

Nevada ranks dead last in the nation for youth mental health services, which seems fitting for a state that prides itself on high-stakes gambling—except here, the stakes are people’s well-being. The controversial test, the EPPP-2, was supposed to be a nationwide requirement in 2026, but after backlash, the national board that created it decided to back down. In a stroke of regulatory genius, Nevada stubbornly refuses to drop the requirement, making it the last holdout, clinging to a test criticized as racially biased and lacking scientific validity.

For those keeping score at home, here’s how the system works: First, you shell out $800 for the standard psychology exam (EPPP). If you pass that, Nevada demands you fork over another $450 to $500 for the EPPP-2.

And if you fail? That’s another few hundred bucks each time you try again.

No wonder prospective psychologists are opting to get licensed anywhere else.

Adding to the absurdity, Nevada already has a statewide mental health provider shortage. According to UNLV and Brookings Mountain West, the state needs 235 more mental health professionals to meet the bare minimum. And yet, rather than making the path to licensure easier, Nevada is making it more difficult—a move that would make sense if the goal were to ensure people stay mentally unwell enough to keep gambling away their rent money.

Nevada’s stance on this exam is backward from the national push for uniform licensure standards. But then again, why should Nevada follow a logical path when it can instead charge its already underpaid, overworked mental health professionals extra fees for a test that does nothing but create bureaucratic headaches?

Governor Joe Lombardo, to his credit, has issued an order to streamline licensing. However, Nevada’s Board of Psychological Examiners seems determined to prove that unnecessary regulations are as much a part of the state as slot machines and overpriced buffets.

Studies show that minority applicants face significantly higher failure rates for the EPPP-2, which has raised concerns about increasing racial disparities in the profession. If Nevada was hoping to create a psychological workforce that looks nothing like the people it serves, mission accomplished.

In short, Nevada’s approach to mental health policy is like trying to fix a leaky boat by drilling more holes in it. If the goal is to remain at the bottom of mental health rankings, the state is succeeding spectacularly.

Meanwhile, Nevadans seeking help will have to settle for slot machines and self-diagnosis—because–at this rate, licensed psychologists might become as rare in the state as an honest game of three-card monte.

In yet another triumph of modern law enforcement, officers in South Lake Tahoe have courageously apprehended a most heinous criminal—a man wearing body armor. That’s right, not robbing a bank, not brandishing a weapon, not assaulting an innocent bystander—just the unspeakable act of trying not to get shot.

The villain in question, one Gabriel Evans, is no stranger to crime, having dabbled in such pastimes as bank robbery, domestic violence, and assault with deadly weapons. Now, however, the authorities have finally nailed him for the gravest offense of all–possessing level 3 body armor, an item so dangerous that it can stop bullets but, apparently, not the long arm of California’s bureaucratic justice.

The South Lake Tahoe Police Department, in a display of investigative prowess rarely seen outside a detective novel, suspected Evans might have body armor and launched an immediate investigation—because nothing threatens public safety like a felon choosing not to be riddled with holes. After an exhaustive search of his storage unit, their suspicions were confirmed.

Shortly thereafter, Evans was at Lake Tahoe Community College, where he attempted to make a daring escape—by getting on a bus. Yes, when confronted by officers, this career criminal resorted to the most cunning of getaway plans–public transportation.

To think of the mayhem that might have ensued had he successfully reached his destination—a library, perhaps, or a local coffee shop. Fortunately, the ever-vigilant officers of the SLTPD foiled this nefarious scheme, and Evans was in custody before he could commit the unthinkable crime of sitting on a bus.

One must applaud the priorities of the modern justice system. In an era where the streets teem with unpunished looters, repeat offenders get let off with a slap on the wrist, and certain officials seem more concerned with plastic straws than violent crime, we can all rest easy knowing that the state has devoted its resources to ensuring that convicted felons remain perfectly defenseless.

The Nevada Office of Traffic Safety has delivered some uplifting news, provided your definition of “uplifting” includes a 7.14 percent decrease in people meeting their maker on the state’s highways. January 2025 saw a mere 39 souls depart this world via Nevada’s roadways, compared to last year’s 42, which means, in government math, we are all but immortal now.

Naturally, the bureaucrats are not content with this minor triumph over the Grim Reaper. No, they are aiming for what they call “Zero Fatalities,” a noble goal if ever there was one, though history suggests that as long as there are automobiles, there will be those who insist on using them in ways neither God nor Henry Ford intended.

Still, they press on, urging citizens to avoid such novel methods of self-destruction as drunkenly careening down the highway, texting, and launching themselves into oncoming traffic with the reckless abandon of a caffeinated squirrel.

Of course, the state acknowledges that its 2025 data is “preliminary,” meaning that some forms and reports still await the magic of bureaucracy for proper tabulation. It seems even in death, one cannot escape paperwork.

For those who believe in personal responsibility—a rare and endangered species these days—the message is this–Buckle up, keep your wits about you, and resist the urge to conduct physics experiments at 80 miles per hour. The government, after all, cannot save you from yourself, even though it will try, with slogans, pamphlets, and very sternly worded reminders that “zero is the only acceptable number” when it comes to highway fatalities.

Now, if only they applied that philosophy to government waste.

It seems the city of Reno is on a growth spurt and not the kind you see when your toddler eats an entire cake for breakfast. No, this is a grown-up growth, the sort you might expect from a place that’s somehow managed to sneak a few extra folks under the radar while the rest of us were busy minding our business.

According to some freshly minted data from the Economic Development Authority of Western Nevada (EDAWN)—which sounds official enough to make even a politician blush—Reno’s population has shot up by a whopping 90,280 since 2013. And hold onto your hats because another 61,500 are expected by 2033, meaning Reno will be as packed as a Vegas buffet line on New Year’s Eve.

Now, one might wonder where all these new folks are coming from. Maybe they’re fleeing California, or it’s just the siren call of Reno’s economy—after all, they say it’s a “no state income tax” sort of place, and who to turn down a little extra pocket change?

If you’re wondering what the good people of Reno are doing to keep the wheels of this busy city turning, look no further than the booming trade, transportation, and utilities sector. Since 1990, the share of Nevadans employed in this area has nearly doubled, jumping from 34.5 percent to 58.9 percent.

That’s a lot of folks hauling stuff around—whether it’s goods, services, or just the occasional casino buffet truck. If Reno’s economy were a vehicle, that sector would be the engine—and folks, it’s running like a finely tuned car, or at least like a pickup truck with good brakes.

Leisure and hospitality are also alive and well, which is no surprise to anyone who’s been to a Reno casino, hotel, or any establishment where you can throw dice at a table and hope for a little good fortune. Government jobs are growing because who wouldn’t want a cushy job where you can justify sitting in an office and calling it “economic development”?

Meanwhile, mining—the backbone of the state for many years—has taken a backseat. Since 1990, it’s been shrinking like a pair of jeans after an unfortunate encounter with the dryer.

The silver rush may have turned to dust, but don’t worry, Reno’s economy is still running full steam ahead. It looks like we’re trading mines for gigabytes—and the only thing harder than finding blue mud these days is finding someone who knows what a “silver rush” even is.

So, as Reno’s population grows and industries evolve, the city’s future looks brighter than a neon sign on Virginia Stree. Just don’t forget to bring your wallet because growth doesn’t come cheap.

Well, it seems the good folks over at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals have decided to protect us from the horrors of prematurely viewing mugshots — as if seeing the face of an alleged wrongdoer before their conviction is akin to waterboarding them in public. The court has ruled that releasing mugshots could be “punishing” individuals not yet convicted, which, they say, violates the 8th Amendment’s prohibition of cruel and unusual punishment.

Quite the stretch, if you ask me. But, as I say, we live in an age of sensitivity.

As a result of this judicial wisdom, both Washoe and Lyon counties here in Nevada have taken up the new cause of fairness. The Lyon County Sheriff’s Office, known for their weekly “Mugshot Monday” feature on Facebook — the local equivalent of a reality TV show, without the plot or the drama — has decided to scrap the tradition in favor of a more mundane “arrest statistics” report. Yes, that’s right: no more mugshots, just dry numbers.

Who needs a face when you can have a statistic?

Washoe County, not one to get behind in the race for justice and fairness, has decided to follow suit — somewhat. Their District Attorney’s office will still release mugshots after the accused gets convicted.

We can all rest easier knowing that, once convicted, they’ll be happy to share those pictures. After all, there’s nothing quite as freeing as knowing you’ve been convicted of something before your face makes it into the public eye.

And yet, not every sheriff in Nevada is buying into this “don’t judge a criminal by their mugshot” philosophy. Some counties will keep things as they’ve always been, insisting that the Ninth Circuit’s ruling is the latest trend for overruling in an appeal.

After all, why should we stop showing mugshots when so many of us rely on them for entertainment and the occasional gossip? It’s almost as if these mugshots are part of our collective community spirit.

Now, if you’re wondering if this will make a difference, let me assure you, it’s all a bit like rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. Some will insist it’s a noble step toward fairness and justice, while others will keep right on posting mugshots.

The Ninth Circuit’s ruling might be as influential as a Nevada dust storm, but it’s bound to stir up a little more than a breeze.

In a matter of tragic consequence, a Carson City man is now behind bars, charged with the murder of a Minden resident following a deadly shooting in Gardnerville Thursday night.

At approximately 10:40 p.m., a flurry of gunfire echoed through the otherwise quiet streets of Kingslane Court, prompting a swift response from the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office. Upon their arrival, deputies found 27-year-old Charles Edward Wilkinson lying dead from apparent gunshot wounds.

Authorities have identified 25-year-old Gary Allen Dillishaw as the suspect in the shooting, alleging that he was the one responsible for Wilkinson’s untimely death. Dillishaw, following the incident, fled the scene and was believed to be armed and a serious threat to public safety.

Not wasting a moment, law enforcement across the region swung into action.

By Friday morning, around 6:15 a.m., officers with the Mineral County Sheriff’s Office apprehended Dillishaw after a brief vehicle chase. He was quickly transported and booked into the Mineral County Jail, where he now faces murder charges.

The community waits as the justice system prepares to take its course, with many left wondering about the circumstances that led to such a senseless act.

It seems the fine city of Henderson has found itself in a bit of a pickle, and at the center of this briny affair is none other than Chief of Police Hollie Chadwick. According to a proclamation—delivered, one imagines, with all the solemnity of a judge at a hanging—Chadwick has been placed on administrative leave and given an option that is hardly an option at all–resign within 21 days or be forcibly escorted from the premises.

In its infinite wisdom, the city has declined to elaborate on the precise nature of Chadwick’s sudden predicament, leaving the public to speculate with all the enthusiasm of old-timers at a general store. Meanwhile, Deputy Chief Itzhak Henn has been installed as the acting chief, though he, too, has been struck with a curious affliction that renders him unable to comment on the matter.

Chadwick, who first took the reins as chief in May of 2023, had been a fixture of the Henderson Police Department for 21 years, working her way through various leadership roles, including overseeing SWAT operations—a fact that makes her current predicament all the more ironic. Yet, despite her apparent fall from grace, her photograph still beamed down from the city’s official website as of Thursday.

When pressed for comment, the Henderson Police Department proved as talkative as a clam, deferring all inquiries to the City of Henderson’s communications office. It seems the city’s manager, Stephanie Garcia-Vause, holds the keys to the administrative kingdom, wielding the power to hire and fire as she pleases.

And if history is any guide, Chadwick is not the first to find herself at odds with city hall. Two of her predecessors, LaTesha Watson and Patrick Moers, each found cause to file lawsuits after their untimely departures in 2023 and 2018, respectively.

Whether Chadwick will follow in their litigious footsteps remains to be seen. Henderson has a habit of showing its chiefs the door–and seldom does it swing back the other way.

The Headless Elk and the Pursuit of Justice

It is a rare and dismal occasion when a man must set down his morning coffee and reflect upon the peculiar brand of scoundrel loose upon the land. Yet here we are, faced with the sad affair of two noble elk, cut down in their prime, not by hunters—who at least carry the dignity of lawful sport—but by villains of the lowest sort, whose sense of decency appears to be as absent as the heads they removed.

According to the Nevada Department of Wildlife, the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation has now put up a bounty—a $2,000 reward—for any information leading to the apprehension of these midnight butchers. One might assume such a sum would be enough to loosen the tongue of a witness or, at the very least, set an honest man to thinking whether he has seen anything of consequence.

The first of these ignoble deeds occurred over Labor Day weekend when a bull elk was found near the railroad tracks in Uvada, just a stone’s throw from Utah. Game wardens suspect a spotlight was used—an old and underhanded trick—and the head was carried away like a trophy while the rest of the animal was left to rot, serving no man, beast, or table.

It is worth noting that a short distance away, an archery hunt was in progress, where they engaged in the legal and time-honored pursuit of game. Whether our poachers were drawn to the thrill of unfair advantage or lacked the patience for lawful endeavor remains unknown.

The second case, no less egregious, saw another bull elk gunned down near Reed Cabin Summit in early December, likewise left to waste with only its antlers missing. It seems these miscreants possess no particular appetite for meat, only the grim satisfaction of destruction.

A proper hunter, if they have even a scrap of honor, will tell you that such acts are not merely illegal—but an insult to the very tradition of the chase. It is one thing to hunt for food, for conservation, or even for sport, but it is quite another to lay waste to a creature of the wild and then abandon it as though it were an old pair of boots. Even those who have never spent a day in the wilderness can surely recognize the sheer wastefulness of such an act.

As it stands, the Nevada Department of Wildlife has little in the way of clues, save for the fact that these crimes took place suspiciously close to the Utah border, raising the notion that the perpetrators may have slunk back across state lines, hoping to avoid the long arm of Nevada’s game wardens. But, as history has shown, men who steal what belongs to the public seldom escape justice forever.

For those inclined toward civic duty—or perhaps just a few extra dollars in their pocket—the state has set up a hotline and a modern invention called the NDOW Tip app, where concerned citizens may submit anonymous tips, photos, or videos. With any luck and perhaps a nudge from a guilty conscience somewhere, the culprits will get found, and Nevada extended grace.

Until then, let it be known far and wide: there is little respect for a man who slays an animal for nothing but vanity and less still for one who lacks the courage to answer for it.

In Clark County, where the air is hot, the land is dry, and the rent is always too high, a curious phenomenon took hold: landlords discovered that it was far more convenient to let their buildings rot into the ground than to lift so much as a finger to repair them.

This week, county officials made the arduous trek to the statehouse, where they regaled lawmakers with tales of substandard living conditions so harrowing that even the most indifferent property owner might feel a twinge of shame—if, of course, shame were still in stock at the general store.

The trouble, it seems, is that the law allows landlords to pay a fine instead of making repairs, which is like giving a burglar the option of paying a small toll rather than ceasing his trade. Assembly Bill 211, now under consideration, proposes a novel approach: instead of shutting down the buildings and sending hundreds of tenants into the desert to find shelter under sagebrush and discarded mattresses, a third party could step in and force the repairs.

Assemblymember Venicia Considine, the bill’s sponsor, painted a picture that would tug at even the hardest of hearts. There were seniors trapped in their homes due to months-long elevator failures, apartment complexes crawling with health code violations, and, in one particularly grisly case, a pool so neglected that it became the final resting place for untold numbers of unfortunate feral cats.

Clark County Chair Tick Segerblom described the maddening process of trying to persuade a landlord—presumably through pleading, cajoling, and sternly worded letters—to fix a 200-unit building, only to be met with the landlord’s steadfast refusal. “I have 200 people in a building that actually can be fixed,” he lamented, “and the landlord refuses to fix it and refuses to do anything.”

Opposition to the bill, naturally, came from the Nevada State Apartment Association, whose representatives cautioned that property owners must have “due process” and a “reasonable opportunity” to correct violations. One might suppose that multiple notices, months of inaction, and desperate pleas from tenants qualify as “reasonable opportunity,” but the reason is often a scarce commodity in the landlord trade.

For now, the committee has taken no action, leaving the fate of AB 211—and the residents of these crumbling tenements—in limbo. Whether the law will shift in favor of human decency or continue to bend toward the comfort of absentee landlords remains to be seen.