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Sometimes I get so wound up in my own self interests, that I forget about the people in my life. This includes family and friends.

This comes to mind after going to the mall with a friend and helping her look for a new dress to wear to her company’s Christmas party.

Believe it or not — I had fun. It has been ages since I’ve done something, anything out of the ‘norm,’ that I had forgotten what it was like.

While we were unable to find a suitable dress, I did realize the simple act of helping her, made me feel happy, energetic and creative. Who knew that a so-called ‘he-man,’ and ‘hard-ass’ male could enjoy himself in the women’s department.

Some may call it ironic — but I’ll simply say — it’s been a great day.

Born in Dublin, Ireland, November 28th, 1831 and while still a child John MacKay was brought to New York City by his parents. He lived with them in Park Row, working in the ship-building trade as an apprentice, until early in 1852, when he went to New Orleans and from there sailed for Chagris, crossed the Isthmus of Panama, and from Panama he went by steamer to San Francisco.

In the summer of that year he went up the Sacramento River, landed at Marysville and started to walk to Nevada City. While on the road, “Curley Bill,” the stage driver, gave him a free ride for a part of the way, something Mackay never forgot.

In fact, the Mackay family took care of “Curley Bill,” whose name was actually William Garhart, until his death at 76 on August 2nd, 1904.

From 1852 up to the fall of 1859 Mr. Mackay mined at Downieville, Forest City, Sierra City and on the American River, making a specialty of placer and drift mining with varied fortune. In December, 1859, he and “Jack” O’Brien went over the Sierra Nevada Mountains from Downieville to Virginia City, Carson County, Utah.

Carson County was made a Territory in 1863, called Nevada Territory, becoming the State of Nevada in 1864. On his arrival in Virginia City he went to work in Cook Tunnel, at first as a miner at $4 a day, but he soon became most expert in timbering a mine to sustain the roof, and because “of his efficiency received $6 per day.

He gradually accumulated money, and in 1861, with John Henning, he went to Aurora and bought the Esmeralda Claim. This venture proving a failure, he returned to Virginia City and joined with J. M. Walker in building the Petaluma Mill at Gold Hill, which turned out to be a profitable enterprise.

Walker introduced Mackay to James C. Flood and William S. O’Brien, of San Francisco. The four carried on operations for several years, and then James G. Fair became a member of the group, each having a one-fifth interest.

Walker finally said that he was rich enough, so he sold his one-fifth interest to Mackay and, went back to the State of Virginia, where his brother was Governor. This gave Mackay a two-fifths interest in the business.

Mackay, Fair, Flood and O’Brien obtained control of the Gould and Curry, Best and Belcher, Consolidated Virginia and California mines. Mackay and Fair studied the characteristic features of the great lode to ascertain if the indications might lead to valuable ore bodies.

Neither Mackay nor Fair had any previous experience with ledges or schooling as geologists. What they acquired in the way of mining lore was in the hard school of experience.

It was the theory of Mackay and Fair that the old workings in the Consolidated Virginia and California, if explored, would reveal a good deal of low grade ore which had been passed, but which might be profitably worked with reduced cost in transportation and reduction. After six months’ exploration very little had been realized, and it was determined that they should go to the bottom of the Curry shaft, 1,200 feet deep, and drift north, on the theory that it would be through virgin ground.

Then, if the Ophir and Mexican surface-ores had any counterpart in the depths, by the strike of the vein, it would probably be on the line of such drift. This was done and the drift passed from the Curry shaft 150 feet north through the Curry ground, the 700 feet of the Best and Belcher, and 150 feet into the Consolidated Virginia (all the way through blasting rock), where the “big Bonanza” was struck about 30 feet below its apex.

Had the drift been 40 feet higher, the Bonanza might have remained undisturbed to this day. From that single ore body $119,000,000 in gold and silver was taken, and $67,000,000 paid in dividends.

Mackay married Marie Louise Bryant (daughter of Colonel Daniel E. Hungerford, a Mexican war veteran), in 1867 at Virginia City. They continued to live there until 1874, when they went to San Francisco, but Mackay himself passed most of his time in Virginia City.

In 1876 they went abroad and lived in London and Paris. Mackay frequently returned to Virginia City and later to New York City to take charge of his cable and telegraph interests, but he was often in London where Mrs. Mackay resided and still resides at No. 6 Carlton House Terrace.
She was a widow when Mackay married her, and by her former husband had one daughter, the Princess di Stiglianno Colonna. The Mackay’s had two sons.

The oldest, John William, was thrown from a horse and killed on October 18th, 1895. The younger son, Clarence, survived; devoting himself to carrying on the enterprises he inherited from his father.

During the six months after the great fire in Virginia City, by the express desire of Mackay, Bishop Monogue drew upon him for the poor of the city checks to the amount of $150,000, and every one was honored. For years he met the expenses of the Sisters’ Orphan Hospital at Virginia City at about $5,000 a month.

In politics Mackay was a Republican. he was twice offered the United States Senator seat from Nevada once in 1874 and again in 1880 but he declined.

At one time he seriously contemplated the building of a line of great transatlantic steamers. However, he turned to submarine cables and land telegraph lines.

He found in 1884 a strongly entrenched monopoly the Western Union Telegraph Company with no opposition on the Atlantic Ocean and only a few scattering, badly organized and insolvent competitors on land. That year he laid two submarine cables from America to Europe, through The Commercial Cable Company which he had organized in 1883.

Two years later, in 1886, Mackay organized the Postal Telegraph-Cable Company, and commenced the construction of land telegraph lines throughout the United States. It had been the boast of the Western Union that no telegraph company in competition with them had ever paid a dividend.

And that was true up to that date. The trouble was that no competitive company had ever been able to cover the whole United States, and the public would not patronize a telegraph line that did not reach all important points.

The third step in building up the Postal Telegraph-Commercial Cable System was in laying a cable from San Francisco across the Pacific Ocean to Honolulu, Manila, China and Japan 10,000 miles. Mackay was engaged in this at the time of his death and the work was completed by his son Clarence.

In 1902 Mr. Mackay was spending the summer in London with his wife and looking after the European side of his telegraph and cable interests. While there he died suddenly, July 20th, 1902, at the age of 72.

Hundreds of people turned out for the George E. Tryon Bridge dedication on Big Flat Road in July of 1957. Mrs. Tryon received the dedication to her late husband and flowers from Bailey Steward, former Board Chairman.

The existing historic 206-foot long, two-lane, steel, spandrel deck arch bridge, built-in 1948, crosses the South Fork of the Smith River. The main arch span is 140-foot long.

Members of state, county, and local government, and members of Del Norte County’s pioneer families were present for the occasion. They honored Tyron for his efforts at constructing roads and bridges in the county.

Senator Randolph Collier spoke of the improvements and modernization of the road system and dedicated a plaque placed on the bridge bearing Tyron’s name. Assemblyman Frank Bellotti also spoke as did Supervisor Austin Hunter, City Councilman Bernard McClendon, and Harold Del Ponte, Vic Meedom, Fred Haight, and future U. S. Congressman Don Clausen.

In September 2013, a $34,700 contract to replace the old structure went to Flatiron West Inc. Estimated construction costs range from $7 to $11 million, with work slated to begin in 2015.

Known as “Trinidad” or the “Klamath River” station, Radar Station B-71 was built between 1942 and 1943 in response to Japanese attacks on U.S. soil during World War II.

In total, the Army built 65 stations spanning from the Canadian border and into Mexico. But this particular one, located in the coastal bluffs south of Klamath, is different from all the others – it looked like a barn.

However, there were no tractors or cows on this farm, jus’ 50-caliber machine guns, armed soldiers and military police with guard dogs to protect the property. It took 35 Army Air Corps men working in shifts to cover 24 hours.

Many people believe the U.S. was attacked by the Japanese in World War only once, on December 7th, 1941 at Pearl Harbor. The fact is the West Coast was attacked a number of times and even invaded once in the Alaskan Aleutian Islands.

The Japanese struck oil refineries and tankers – including the S.S. Emidio off the coast of Del Norte County. Many of the attacks came from torpedoes shot by Japanese submarines, but other attacks came from above, including an incendiary bomb dropped from a plane between Smith River, California and Brookings, Oregon.

The Aircraft Warning Service oversaw the network of radar stations, including B-71. According to the 1942 Signal Corp Field Manual, Aircraft Warning Service, its mission was to “observe the movement of aircraft and to collect and exhibit the information obtained” in order to protect the nation’s coasts and adjacent territories and bases against enemy attack by land or by sea.

Its functions included: organizing and training military observation posts and non military observers; installing, operating and maintaining observation posts; providing “suitable signal communications equipment for the transmission of information and orders”; providing information centers; and coordinating the activities of the Aircraft Warning Service with other military agencies.

In addition to its general defensive mission, the defense command had to coordinate with the adjacent country’s military, such as in the West where the defense command had liaisons with the Canadian military and naval authorities as well as Mexican commanders of military areas and garrisons. In December 1941, the Western Defense Command was established with headquarters in San Francisco.

It oversaw nine western states as well as Alaska and the Aleutians. There were also three associated Air Forces: Fourth Air Force, Second Air Force, and the Alaskan Air Force.

The best descriptive information about the station comes from the recollections of First Lieutenant Dale Birdsall, who was Station Commander for a time during World War II. He commanded the radar station until September 1943 when he left for the 653rd Signal, AW Company, Hamilton Field, California and spoke to National Park representatives in 1988 about his time at the station.

Birdsall recounted, “I took command of the unit which was transferred from Santa Rosa Island very shortly after they arrived at Klamath. The exact dates I do not make available but I assumed command early in June 1943.”

At the time of Birdsall’s command, the radar crew consisted of forty-one enlisted men from the Army Air Corps and two officers, with a National Guard unit attached to the station for security. Although the local residents knew the purpose of the station, “a real effort was made to keep station activities and mission as secret as possible.

Personnel “originally lived in the old Klamath Grange hall in the center of the town of Klamath,” located to the east of the station, but by personnel lived in newly constructed barracks located to the south of town. During their off duty hours, the men frequented Klamath’s bars, gambled, fished, and attended movies at the local movie theater.

Several structures and features that were once vital parts of Radar Station B-71’s operation have since disappeared. There was a guard post at the entrance located near what is now the Coastal Drive and the trail that leads down to the terrace on which the station is located, whose task “was mainly to verify a person’s authority to enter.”

A National Guard unit, consisting of eight to twenty personnel and one officer, not only manned the post, but also filled the roving guard position. For protection, there were also three machine gun emplacements described as measuring 12′ in diameter and holding 50 caliber machine guns on anti-aircraft mounts which contradicts Birdsall’s recollection.

Birdsall said there were two 50-caliber water-cooled anti-aircraft machine guns and 45 caliber Thompson sub-machine guns. The enlisted men also provided security since they were armed with one M-l or Enfield 30-06, while each officer had one 45-caliber automatic pistol.

While B-71 did not see action, one event does stand out. During mid-July 1943, around 2 a.m., the station received a call from the San Francisco Information Center from a Radar Officer saying they had just been notified by the Coast Guard their patrol in Crescent City had reported that the ‘enemy’ was landing in large numbers on Crescent Beach and they should take any steps necessary to protect their situation.

Jus’ the day before, the station had received it’s 50 caliber machine guns, shipped in boxes and covered with Cosmoline, a very heavy protective grease that could only be removed in boiling water.” The station was in an uproar as personnel tried to arm themselves and work out a ‘defense’ plan because they only had plans for cases of sabotage.

Two hours later, the San Francisco Information Center called again stating “the Coast Guard patrol had sent the wrong coded message.” Instead of an imminent enemy landing, the Coast Guard had meant to report “lights had been sighted at sea.”

In July of 1944, Radar Station B-71 no longer searched for enemy crafts and was instead used as an emergency rescue station through the end of the war. At first, the detachment to the radar station was assigned to Company 653rd Signal Aircraft Warning to 4th Air Force and later to Squadron 411th AAF Base Unit of the 4th Air Force.

Following the war’s end, the station was abandoned and ownership reverted back to E.H. & A. Chapman, from whom the War Department had leased the land. On April 14, 1978, Station B-71 was registered on the National Register of Historic Places.

“We figure that anybody who would do a thing like this must be insane,” Crescent City Police Sgt. Douglas Premo told the Associated Press, following the brutal slaying of a girl found Saturday, February 12th, 1966, between Pacific Avenue and A Street.

Myra Sue Gerling, described as a pretty long-haired brunette, was naked, her throat slashed and her body pierced 40 times with a knife. The 11-year-old had been sent to the nearby Kacy’s Pacific Market to get some ice cream for a party.

Failing to return home by 2:30 that afternoon, her mother telephoned the police. A search was initiated beginning in the parking lot of the store.

Three hours later her body was discovered by three boys. All about 12 years old, they were returning from a horseback riding trip when they cut through the lot and found her.

Detectives combed the lot the next day, looking for the murder weapon and her missing clothes. Meanwhile, other officers, looking for leads, questioned nearly 100 people.

They soon zeroed in on a suspect: a shoeless, blond, shaggy-haired man, seen around the area shortly before Myra’s murder. Later that same day, detectives picked up a man fitting that description.

However, Chief Danny Nations refused to identify him or say where and how he was arrested. He read from a prepared statement, “At the present time a suspect is in custody and his activities are the subject of our intense investigation. Meanwhile, all city and county law enforcement agencies are following through on the many leads we have.”

The suspect turned out to be 16-year-old Fred Yeomans. Since the majority of the records remain sealed by the court, it is unknown how long Yeomans was imprisoned or if he was certified as ‘mentally ill.’

Other questions remain unanswered and were the subject of an editorial in the March 2nd issue of the Humboldt Standard, entitled “Murder in Crescent City.” The first thing Margaret Delaney asked is why wasn’t the Del Norte County Coroner, who also happens to be the Sheriff, notified until several hours after the body was found?

She also pointed out that the California Highway Patrol in Eureka had been asked to run a check on two automobile license numbers in connection with the case after the prime suspect was supposedly in custody. Delaney added, that no roadblocks, all-points bulletins, or assistance were requested by Crescent City authorities either.

Also, when the Highway Patrol asked Del Norte authorities about the slaying, they were refused any information. Along with that, a Humboldt County sheriff’s detective, himself a former member of the Crescent City police, was refused any background about the crime.

The Eureka police were asked by Crescent City police to check out a parolee in connection with the murder, leading Delaney to wonder if there was one suspect or more. She also asks why the hearing of the youth was moved ahead one week secretly?

And finally, without naming names, she claims a “deliberate falsehood by one Del Norte official was involved,” adding, “if there was one falsehood, were there more?” Delaney’s wasn’t the only criticism of the handling of the case.

In a March 5th, editorial titled ‘Murder Case Secrecy is Unjust and Absurd,’ the Fresno Bee complained about authorities “raising a cloak of anonymity around the boy,” claiming “a terrible sense of incompletion, if not of justice gone deaf, mute and arrogant, surrounds the brutal stabbing murder…last month.” It goes on to name Yeomans.

An unidentified obituary states Myra lived at 217 W. Indra, was born September 2nd, 1954 in Fort Bragg, California, and attended St. Joseph’s Catholic School. Her family included her parents, Zita and Herman, and sisters Karen and Sherill, and brothers, Carl and Mark.

She is resting in the ‘Whispering Pine Green’ section of St. Joseph’s Catholic Cemetery in Crescent City. She was joined by her father in 1997 and her mother in 2010.

Following Myra’s death, the city leveled the two-block-long, overgrown lot. Several homes have been built on the land since her young body was discovered.

The blaze started around three, the morning of February 16th, 1958, gutting the 67-year-old Crescent Bay Hotel at Second and H Streets. Nine other businesses on the ground floor and next to the hotel were also damaged, causing an estimated loss of $300,000.

Four fire companies responded to the alarm, two from Crescent City and two from Klamath, including the Yurok Volunteer Fire Department, captained by Fire Chief Maynard Sanders. Strong winds carried burning debris to nearby buildings, making suppression more difficult for the fire teams.

The Surf Hotel Coffee Shop at Front and H streets, a block away, prepared that morning for a major March of Dimes breakfast event and the fire caused serious damage to the place. To protect it from flying embers, the Bank of America building, opposite the hotel, had to be hosed it down.

A man was seriously cut while inching himself down the outside from the second floor without dropping to the ground. Another escaped from a third floor window by dangling from his window, dropping down and grabbing the sill on the second floor window, pulling himself inside, and then racing down the stairs and out the door.

“I still don’t know how I did it,” he told rescuers.

Crews pulled three bodies from the rubble, while another remained missing. After examining the hotel’s register and the names of rescued guests checked off, the identified fire investigators identified the victims.

One man’s identity came to light after his parked car was found in the street. He was the boyfriend of one of the other victims.

Four others had to be taken Seaside Hospital for burns and injuries suffered from jumping from windows. A total of 14 people were in the hotel at the time including the manager, his wife, and his 15-year-old daughter.

Hundreds of spectators crowded the area while windows blew out from the intense heat. None of the rain that had poured on the county for days showed up to help with the emergency.

It was dawn before crews had the fire under control. The Red Cross came to the aid of the hospitalized, who lost all their belongings, and the business owners who suffered losses from flames, smoke and water damage.

A lack of water pressure received the blame for the first fire crews on scene to stop the spread of the blaze. Although fire investigators discovered the blaze started in Room 22, and a person smoking in bed suspected, a cause was never fully determined.

The telephone rang and I answered. It was my friend from Oregon, Hank, inviting me on a fly-fishing trip to northwestern Montana. I declines as I had promised my wife I would to go look for work this week.

Good thing, too.

Hank had purchased a new RV and was setting out for ‘Big Sky’ country. He had found a little lake he had visited a few years earlier and had always told himself, once retired, he’d go fishing in it.

The closest parking spot to the lake was about two-and-a-half miles away, so Hank, being no stranger to hiking decided he’d do jus’ that. The following morning found him with his hip waders over one shoulder and a fishing pole in his hand.

Within the hour Hank was ankle-deep in the cold lake water, flicking the end of his pole back and forth waiting for that first strike. As he stood looking out over the expanse of water, he heard a crashing sound behind him.

As he turned to his left, he saw the largest bear he’d ever seen exploded from the bank at him. And before he could react, the beast knocked him several feet backwards into the lake.

Hank struggled to get his feet underneath himself as the bear continued to charge. By this time his waders were water-filled and there was no place for him to go but deeper into the lake.

Soon gravity took hold and Hank sunk into the vegetation line below the lakes surface. Above him he could see the bear, paddling about, looking down on him.

As fast as he could he stripped the waders off and using the vegetation as cover, edged father away from the animal. By this time his lungs were burning and he rapidly surfaced, gulping as much air as possible.

The bear saw him pop up and immediately turned towards Hank. The speed and agility of the bear surprised Hank, who thought he might be able to out pace the bear across the surface of the lake.

Thinking better of it though, Hank dropped below the surface again and headed for the vegetation. By this time he was thanking his lucky-star this particular bear had not learned to dive for a meal from it’s’ mother.

Had that been the case, Hank knew he would’ve been done and there would be no one around to find him for several days or weeks, if at all.

Knowing he’d have to surface soon, Hank clawed his way parallel to the bank and slowly surfaced. He stayed in the water, watching as the bear as it circled around and around looking for his would-be prey.

It was about this time, Hank decided to slip onto the bank. He belly crawled from the gravel lake bed to the sandy shoreline, then quietly and slowly made his way into a thicket of brush on the bank.

Hank sat there, shivering from both the fear of the attack and the chill of the water. He watched as the bear also made its way to shore and up the bank.

The bruin stood up on his massive hind-legs to see if he could find the man. Satisfied the man was gone, the bear huffed, dropped to all fours, turned and wandered across the meadow.

Hank, still using the brush as cover, watched as the bear disappeared into the tree line. Then and only then, did he leave his ‘hiding spot.’

He retrieved his fishing pole and half-ran, half-sprinted up the trail in the opposite direction of the bear and towards his RV. Once inside the vehicle, Hank looked himself over in the mirror.

The bear’s massive claw had swiped him, tearing through his shirt, from his upper left shoulder to below the right side of his stomach and leaving a two-inch scratch mark jus’ below his left collar-bone. Other than that and being shook up, Hank decided he was fine.

Last night, Hank called me from his Oregon home to say he was having trouble sleeping because of nightmares. All I could do was listen and selfishly think, “I’m glad I said ‘no’ to his offer to go fishing.”

The first couple of months after moving to the Reno area, I was lonely.  All I did is work, writing Keno tickets at the Cal-Neva, then go home.

One afternoon, I wrote a ticket for a woman from Canada, named Carol. She was visiting, having traveled with a gambling junket, as they were commonly known.

It was clear she wasn’t having a very good time. So engaged her in conversation as I wrote her what I ‘promised’ was a winning ticket.

She laughed as she paid her fee and wandered away. After the game posted to the number board, she returned having actually won some money.

We were talking about the downtown area as she waited for her pay-out. I told her I was new to town and had not really explored the area, save for the Woolworth and post office down the street.

Carol asked if when I got off work, if I’d walk to the Woolworth with her. I told her that I would be happy too.

Once I clocked out, I raced upstairs and met her near the Keno bar. We wandered outside into the chilly night-time air and towards the Woolworth located jus’ down the street at the end of the block.

Unfortunately, it had jus’ closed for the night. So I apologized and suggested walking over to the post office, which was another block down from the store.

As we walked, we talked about our significant others. Married, Carol had separated from her husband the week before, while I had a girlfriend, who was still living in Arcata, California some 400 miles away at the time.

After checking my mail box, and pointing out some of the interesting designs inside the old post office, we headed back towards the Cal Neva. As we crossed the Virginia Street Bridge, we stopped to chat some more.

Looking down onto the Truckee River, we could see our shadows dancing in the ripple of the fast-moving stream. It was a pair of mercury vapor lamps that helped cast our shadows over the water.

While we talked, people passed by us, en route to who knows where. One sight I had grown accustom to, was seeing the random cowboy, half-loaded on booze, moseying along the sidewalk.

Looking up I saw such a man, attired in older looking cowboy garb, walking our way. His hat, mangled and pants, torn, I recall thinking, “He’s has a good time painting the old town red.”

He stopped about 10 feet from us and peered over the side of the bridge into the water. Carol and I continued to talk, until she stopped and appeared to be focused on something in or perhaps on the water.

“What?” I asked.

Carol looked at me, her eyes wide and frightened, “Do you see his shadow?”

Quickly, I looked, and answered, “No.”

As I studied the water, I slowly turned my head to look at the man standing near us. He stood directly under one the lamps lining the bridge.

My gaze returned to the river, and then to the man – who in the blink of an eye — had vanished. I jumped slightly when I’d seen he had disappeared, and Carol noticed this.

She turned, looked in the direction where the man had been, then took off running in towards the Cal-Neva. Feeling her panic, I joined her.

Safely inside, she explained only ‘vampires’ are unable to cast a shadow. While I didn’t laugh at her outright, I did think she was being a bit foolish.

By this time, her bus was preparing to load and head for another casino. We hugged as thanked her for the visit and apologized for the scare on the bridge.

As I watched the bus pull away, I turned and started walking up town the several blocks to the Circus-Circus parking structure to get my car. All along the way, I kept my coat pulled high around my neck, wondering if Carol could be right.

The old joke goes: “Your Mama wears combat boots.” For my wife, Mary — it was true.

Her mother, and my mother-in-law, Helen Conklin did wear combat boots during World War II. She was a nurse and 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Army from 01 May 1945 to 06 December 1946.

Boot camp for Helen was at Fort Lewis, Washington, where she was assigned to the 51st Evacuation Hospital, which was by them seeing action in the European Theatre. Upon graduation, 02 June 1945, she was reassigned to Birmingham General Hospital in Van Nuys, California.

The hospital specialized in general medicine, central nervous system syphilis, rheumatic fever and psychiatry. It also had a small prisoner of war compound.

Due to its nearness to Hollywood, many radio and movie stars visited patients at the hospital. Jack Benny even broadcast his annual Christmas Party from the hospital in 1944.

On 31 March 1946 the hospital was transferred to the Veterans Administration, which closed it in 1950. Official Army records points to a study of an antibiotic ointment used on patients with chronically infected compound fractures, which was one of the first topical uses of penicillin.

Helen Conklin, born Helen Elizabeth Gleeson, 05 January 1923, in Bisbee, Arizona, passed away peacefully at her home in Ramona, California, 29 October 2002. She was laid to rest with full military honors.

A 1875 lithograph of Carson City and a 1907 Sanborn Fire Insurance map places Chinatown between East Second and East Fourth streets, and from Fall Street to Valley Street. The main street was East Third, with Chinatown spread out on both sides of the Virginia & Truckee Railroad tracks.

Population estimates for Chinatown have ranged from as low as 800 to as many as 2,000. In 1870, 697 Chinese lived in the state capital and by 1880, that number had grown by 105.

Ten years later most of Nevada was in decline and Carson City was no exception. The city’s Chinese population fell to 670. By the turn of the century that population had shrunk to 152.

Despite a mining boom in 1910, the Chinese population of Carson City saw an even further decline to 118 souls. By 1920, the number was down to 73, and by 1930 it had dropped even further to 31.

By the time 1940 rolled in, Carson City was seeing a small growth in its over-all population; however this did nothing for the Chinese residents whose numbers hovered at 20. By this time, only a handful of buildings, including the Chinese Masonic Hall on East Third Street, were all that was left of Chinatown.

By 1950, only six Chinese people resided in the county. And by 1960, there were 10 Chinese living in the county and none of them lived in what was left of Chinatown.

The state of Nevada bought what was left of Chinatown in the 50s for future capitol complex expansion. The state razed the last of Chinatown in the 1960s, making way for the Supreme Court, the Legislative Parking Garage, the State Printing Office, the Employment, Training and Rehabilitation and a parking lot.