It was supposed to be a practical joke, but it certainly didn’t turn out to be very funny at the time. And Kyle’s reaction left me feeling terrible.

There were several mannequin faces needing to be washed after the CPR class I had jus’ taught a couple of hours before. So I filled up the bathtub, added some bleach, prepared the latex faces to soak.

To understand how this all started I have to explain that when I sneeze – I sneeze very hard.  I used to tell Kyle that one day my face would fall off after sneezing so hard.

Anyway, I had one of the mannequin faces in my hand as Kyle stood behind me, curious as to what I was doing. That’s when I decided to fake a sneeze.

As I did, I half-tossed, half-dropped the latex face on the floor. I had my hands covering my face and I cried out, “I sneezed my face-off!”

Kyle’s eyes popped open wide and he screamed. As he did this, he also turned and took off running for the front room.

It took me at least 15-minutes to convince him that it was jus’ a rubber face from a CPR dummy and not really my face. He told me he didn’t want to see me without my skin, so he kept his eyes covered during that time.

Later, he would scold me, “Bad Daddy!”

While traveling towards Muskogee, I decided to stop along the highway in Arizona to stretch my legs and take care of other business. I had been driving all day and living off one cup of coffee after another from various gas stations and truck stops along the way.

It was very dark as I placed my truck in park and walked up the slight embankment to find a private spot that I could be certain that a passing big rig couldn’t illuminate as I emptied my bladder. The embankment eventually gave way to a flat surface and then another slope that took me down behind the embankment.

I felt well enough hidden as not to be concerned about being seen.

As I stood there relieving myself, I noticed shining headlights from a long haul truck as it headed eastbound.  I looked around to make sure I had selected a secluded place as I had hoped.

I was well out of the sight line of any passing motorist — however the headlights showed me I was not alone.

It took me a few minutes to slow my heart rate down after I had looked up and saw a mouth full of teeth only a few feet from my face. Then the big rig zoomed by and I found myself in the dark again.

I didn’t wait to finish peeing as I raced back over the berm to my truck.

Once there I pulled out the large spot light I had stored in my vehicle and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. Then I shined the light towards the area I had jus’ been and saw what had put the scare in me.

At that moment I wanted to kick the crud out of the person who put those stupid dinosaur statues out in the middle of that field without proper lighting. It took about an hour before the front of my pants finally dried out.

Dirty bastard!

With the Internet, Facebook, MySpace, texting and cellphones, it’s been a very long time since I had actually received a handwritten letter. It’s a nice surprise to find one in the mailbox along with the assorted bills and ads.

Lyn is a friend, who knows I collect postcards, especially older cards dealing with Nevada — so she sent me two that she found at her Grandpa’s home in San Jose’ shortly after he passed away.

Her grandpa Angelo Casti was born December 17, 1919 and passed away May 18, 2011 at the age of 91. He was preceded in death by his wife, Lois and is survived by his children, Rosalind Santora, Gene Casti, Debra Fodge, Andrea Casti; 6 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren.

As for the postcards, Lyn included in her letter:

Milton Prell’s Aladdin Hotel, 1961. On the back it reads, “The alluring new Aladdin Hotel, rich in luster of the Arabian Nights, now casts its magnificent glow over the Las Vegas Strip. Spread like a jeweled cluster over 35 acres of desert oasis, the Aladdin unveils its magic carpet to a multitude of luxurious rooms, sparking entertainment in the Bagdad room and dancing and gourmet dining-pleasures in the elegant Sabre Room. Complete convention facilities, four swimming pools and the finest par-3 golf course in the West complete this myriad of unmatched Las Vegas splendor.

The Aladdin Hotel was the first major casino to open on the Las Vegas Strip in the 1960s, eight years after the area’s 1950s boom period ended with the Stardust’s debut in 1958. The original site of the Aladdin, between the Flamingo  and Tropicana hotels on the Strip’s eastern side, had been undeveloped desert land until 1963.

By 2003, the Aladdin was in bankruptcy and eventually was purchased by a group with plans to remove the hotel’s Aladdin theme and replace it with one based on Hollywood films. The hotel officially became Planet Hollywood Resort and Casino in April 2007, with a grand opening later that year.

From the back of the Dunes Hotel and Country Club postcard, also dated 1961, it reads:  “The new 24-story ‘Diamond of the Dunes’ dominates the Las Vegas sky line. This magnificant resort features 1,000 deluxe rooms and suites (all with TV.)

The Dunes is renowned for the 18-hole “Emerald Green Championship Golf Course and Country Club; The Sultan’s Table, Dome of the Sea and Top O’ the Strip; two giant pools, acres of free parking plus the direct-from-Paris spectacular Casino De Paris and Fredric Apcar’s Vive Les Girls. Incomparable convention facilities. Alice in Wonderland Nursery.”

The Dunes opened May 23, 1955 as a low-rise resort. When the North Tower was added in 1961 it was one of the finest and largest hotels on the strip, with the South Tower being added in 1979.

On January 26, 1993, the Dunes closed its doors for good and was imploded on October 27, 1993 starting with the North Tower. The South Tower was obliterated in July 1994 and the Bellagio now stands in its place.

As for Frederic Apcar, he first made his mark on the Strip in late 1961 with “Vive Les Girls,” which continued into the 1970s. “Casino de Paris” opened in 1963 and ran until 1982. He also continued produce shows in Reno and Tahoe until 1992.

Apcar was born Stember 16, 1914 in Parisand passed away August 2, 2008 from a heart attack. He was 93.

I hold the letter, the postcards and Lyn’s friendship in high-regard.

Kay arrived home from the store with a couple of bags of groceries and a few personal items for the bathroom. After putting the food away, she went into the bathroom, where I heard the shower come on.

She was in there for around 20 minutes, which is unlike her, especially since the water had been off for nearly a quarter-hour. When she came out, I discovered why.

“So what do you think?” she asked as she held her arm out for me.

It was obvious she wanted me to smell her skin. So I took in a deep breath.

“Very nice,” I told her.

Then she showed me a bottle filled with a whitish lotion. It was a skin creme.

What I found most interesting about the bottle was its label. It had a large marijuana leaf on it.

I asked to read the ingredient on the back of the bottle, where I found it contained cannabis sativa seed oil.

Laughing, I commented, “You know that stuff will give you the munchies.”

“No it won’t!” Kay shot back.

A few minutes later she came out of her room and sat down on the couch to watch whatever I had on the television. She had yet to get completely comfortable when she jumped back up and headed across the room.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I’m getting some potato chips. Want some?”

I couldn’t answer her because I was laughing to hard.

Jus’ across Pyramid Highway from our home is a very well-known Nevada landmark — or at least it should be. At one time it was ranch owned by one of the most powerful men in state during the early years of the 20th century.

The ranch is now subdivided and filled with single-family homes, an 18-hole golf course with sand-traps and water hazards and miles and miles of asphalt. Today, it’s known as Wingfield Springs.

When George Wingfield came to Northern Nevada in the late 1896 no one knew what kind of impact he would have on the state. Eventually with the 1906 formation of Goldfield Consolidated Mines Company, he became a multi-millionaire,  owned at least 12 banks and was a political powerhouse.

But as Nevada legend has it — George Wingfield also had a dark side. The way the story goes Wingfield took a liking to prostitute named Elizabeth, and was furious when he found out that she was carrying another mans child.

In his anger he allegedly chained Elizabeth to the radiator-heater inside room 109 of the Goldfield Hotel, which he built. There she is supposed to have stayed until she gave birth in the 30’s.

Old timers claim Wingfield took the baby and threw the it down an abandoned mine located under the hotel. As for Elizabeth, she vanished, never to be seen or heard from again.

There is no evidence supporting these allegations however. And what few facts remain, they do not support the story. 

First, while Wingfield owned the hotel from 1908 to 1923, he kept his distance. It was Casey McDannell that actually ran the hotel. 

Next, the hotel remained open until 1946 and I can’t imagine a woman being held hostage in a room without someone knowing this and reporting it. Either an employee or a guest would have heard her cries for help. 

Third, the mine beneath the hotel was built by Newton Crumley, who purchased the hotel from Wingfield in 1923. That mine wasn’t constructed until about ten years later.

Lastly, Wingfield no longer owned the hotel by the time this incident is alleged to have happened. If it did happen, perhaps the culprit would be Crumley — not Wingfield.

Then again the legend does make for some pretty good fodder around the card table and bar room.

As I prepared to shave my face I suddenly realized I was no longer part of the age group Schick is marketing their products towards. I say Schick because at this moment I’m using Edge™ Sensitive Skin.

I am surprised — but I don’t know why.

As I held the can — I took a few seconds to look at what was printed on it. The can has a menacing image from the PlayStation® game KZ3 — something that my teenage son might play and which I have no idea about.

It had to happen sooner or later. That’s the nature of product marketing.

But it leaves me wondering — did Dad or Grandpa ever have the same realization?

Much history has been written about the Reno Elks Lodge and its home. The Lodge has served the community for more than a century and at one time included members from Goldfield and Tonopah.

Tonopah eventually organized and chartered Mizpah Club, while Goldfield opened the Montezuma Club. The Goldfield Lodge burned down on September 29, 1923.

One of the most notable documents regarding the Reno Elks was published by Edward H. Mitchell of San Francisco. Post cards bearing Mitchell’s name as publisher have been used, collected and studied since the end of the nineteenth century.

Mitchell, who died in 1932, published very early cards, known as colored vignettes, which were printed in Germany. One of the earliest is card #143 — The Elks Home, Reno Nevada.

I have a number 143 colored vignette.

Reno Lodge No. 597 was chartered June 30, 1900. The July 1 issue of the Reno Gazette from that same year reports the Lodge consisted of 45 men, “among the best citizens of the State of Nevada.”

Nearly four years later members dedicated their new Home at 50 North Sierra Street on April 23, 1904. It was located across the street from the present day Riverside Movie Theater in downtown.

Between the years of 1904 and 1957, the Home was flooded twice by the Truckee River and survived a small fire. But on February 5, 1957, the building burned down.

Lodge Secretary Cliff Kumle is credited with evacuating 74 members, with only minor injuries being reported. Mr. Kumle, who was born in California on June 6, 1895, passed away in Yuba County in September 16, 1973 and is buried in the B.P.O.E section of the Brownville Cemetery of the county.

From March 1957 until the current Home was completed in 1960, the Lodge met at the Mapes Hotel and the Holiday Hotel Casino, now the Sienna. The current Lodge can be found on Kumle Lane across the street from the Reno-Sparks Convention Center

Returning to postcard #143, the backside holds a note from a woman named Mrs. Cuyler in Reno to a Hattie or Hallie Simpson (or Simfson) in Los Angeles. Complete with mistakes, it reads: “Miss Hattie (or Hallie,) Meney thanks fore  the flowers and I am so proud of them and they all look as if they will grow. I will write you a good, long letter real soon  and tell you all the news. Ther may be a young man call on you soon. I gave him your address and asked him to call and see you. By-by Love for now this time as ever. Mrs. Cuyler”

The relationship between the two women remains unknown as the card was mailed on October 26, 1910 at 8:30 a.m. from Reno. As for the address of 636 South Griffin Avenue, Los Angeles,California — it no longer exists.

It all comes back to one of my most important beliefs: No scrap of paper is too small to hold a piece of valuable historical information.

My shift had jus’ ended at the radio station and I was getting ready to head home. I was standing by my pick-up when I saw movement from the corner of my eye.

Looking to my left, I observed a medium-sized dog walking across the parking lot. It appeared to be hairless under the street lamp that lights up the parking lot.

 Undeterred and always willing to pet any old dog, I whistled to the animal. The four-legged critter made a course correction, ambling towards me as I called out, “Come here.”

Jus’ as it came within range for me to pet it, the damned thing growled. It was a noise I had never heard come from a dog before and I retracted my hand before it did something to my fingers. 

As quickly as I could, I unlocked my truck, got in and slammed the door closed behind me. That’s also when I realized my night vision wasn’t a good as it had been.

What I thought was a dog, was really a mangy, hairless raccoon.

As I recall, my bride came by the station to bring me a sub sandwich from her store. I was already having a bad night as I had stumbled over my words several times as I opened up the microphone.

Eventually, the missus left, royally pissed off at me. When I got home after midnight, I had to apologize to her for my poor behavior.

There were three things I learned that evening: visiting in the studio should be kept to a minimum; flubbing a word or two doesn’t break anything; and I’m not really all that important even if my ego says otherwise.

Yup, I said it…

A bill to stop paying higher salaries to Nevada teachers with advanced degrees and to switch to a pay-for-performance model is raising concerns among many teachers. Governor Brian Sandoval has proposed doing away with advanced degree increases, and establishing a pay scale entirely based on performance.

The measure reflects a growing nationwide movement toward performance pay, and is based on research that shows an advanced degree seldom leads to increased student achievement at the elementary school level, and only sometimes increases it in high school classrooms. But many teachers describe the measure as part of a ploy to replace more expensive teachers with cheaper ones, and say the proposed change discredits the value of lifelong learning.

Nevada’s teacher pay scales, like most, place a premium on higher education. The idea of merit pay — it’s a foreign concept — to the elitist.