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A Tale of Schoolboard Shenanigans

It was a fine morning in Douglas County when the good people awoke to find that their hard-earned tax dollars—intended for the noble pursuit of educating their young—had instead been repurposed for a more scholastic endeavor: the instruction of public officials in the art of obeying the law. The lesson, however, came at the princely sum of $166,081.16, a tuition fee extracted not from the pockets of the errant trustees but from the taxpayers who believed their funds might purchase books, desks, and the occasional qualified instructor.

District Judge Tom Gregory delivered the final ruling in this tale of bureaucratic hide-and-seek, finding that the Douglas County School District and four trustees—Susan Jansen, David Burns, Katherine Dickerson, and former trustee Doug Englekirk—had, through a series of mystifying maneuvers, misplaced, misremembered, or otherwise failed to disclose thousands of public records. The petitioners, Messrs. Miller, Swisher, Girdner, and Lehmann, armed with little more than an inquiring mind and a suspicion that the requests had something less than forthrightness, sought to unearth these elusive documents.

The saga began in 2023 when the petitioners filed requests for public records—requests which ought to have met with swift and cheerful compliance. Instead, the school district and its trustees responded in the time-honored fashion of government functionaries everywhere: they denied the existence of any such records.

But as with all good mysteries, the truth had a habit of clawing its way to the surface, and after much legal wrangling, a trove of 6,136 pages got miraculously unearthed—having been previously concealed on the personal devices of the trustees, perhaps to see if records, like fine wine, improve with age.

Judge Gregory, who seemed to possess little patience for bureaucratic conjuring tricks, observed that “one page is sufficient” to warrant attorney’s fees in such cases. Having produced 6,636 pages after a year of staunch denial, the trustees could hardly claim to have misplaced a scrap of paper. The judge, evidently unmoved by their newfound contrition, determined that responsibility for this “unacceptable and unreasonable delay” fell squarely on the shoulders of the district and its trustees.

Having exhausted every argument save for the ever-popular “Can’t we just forget this ever happened?” the defendants suggested a previously rejected settlement should suffice as their financial obligations. Judge Gregory, not given to such easy absolutions, dismissed this plea with a flourish, noting that the petitioners could hardly accept the assurance that “No other responsive documents exist, we really mean it this time, believe us.”

Thus, the school district—charged with shaping the young minds of Douglas County—now finds itself in the unenviable position of teaching a different kind of lesson–that transparency, though occasionally inconvenient, is less expensive when embraced at the outset. Whether the taxpayers, having footed the bill for this unintentional civics course, will find solace in the wisdom gained remains to be seen.

But one thing is for sure—somewhere in Douglas County, a schoolteacher is explaining to their students the value of honesty, perhaps without the faintest trace of irony.

The Art of Doing Next to Nothing with Great Fanfare

The Nevada Legislature, that noble body of men and women who gather biennially to solve problems nobody has, has turned its mighty intellect toward smog checks. Senate Bill 230, an act of bipartisan genius, would spare the good citizens of Clark and Washoe counties the arduous task of an annual emissions test, reducing the burden to once every two years. The bill, co-sponsored by Democrat James Ohrenschall and Republican John Steinbeck, will no doubt be remembered as one of the great legislative triumphs of our time—at least by those who enjoy the fine sport of avoiding the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Under current law, rural Nevadans already enjoy the luxury of biennial smog checks, as hybrids remain blissfully exempt until their sixth model year, and vehicles older than 1967 are free to smoke like a chimney with the state’s blessing. The bill, in short, corrects the great inequity of some citizens having to endure more bureaucratic tedium than others—a cause as worthy as any ever taken up in Carson City.

But lest you think the esteemed legislators of Nevada are resting on their laurels, be assured that more works are in the pipeline. Senate Bill 228 proposes a Pediatric Stem Cell and Bone Marrow Transplant Program, with the state generously offering up $7 million in taxpayer funding to launch the effort and another $2.5 million to cover the first handful of transplants.

A noble cause, to be sure, though one suspects that by the time the money trickles through the various agencies, committees, and well-fed consultants, a sick child might be better off buying a raffle ticket.

Meanwhile, in the hallowed halls of the Assembly, AB41 seeks to rectify a matter of utmost urgency—the appointment of a deputy adjutant general for the Nevada Guard. Since no funding or additional personnel are needed, there is no apparent reason why it ain’t already happened. But in the fine tradition of government, what could be accomplished with a handshake and a memo will instead be legislated with all the pomp and circumstance that taxpayers have come to expect from their diligent representatives.

Thus, the gears of democracy grind on, ensuring that life in Nevada is ever so slightly altered, but never in a way that might inconvenience a legislator.

The good folks of Somerset Park recently awoke to find their neighborhood transformed into a scenic wetland, a real-life Everglades experience right in the heart of Henderson, courtesy of a water system in its final death throes. As residents waded through their driveways and watched air bubbles belch ominously from the asphalt, they turned to their homeowner’s association, that noble institution dedicated to collecting their hard-earned money in exchange for the privilege of being told what color they could paint their front doors.

The HOA piggy bank, expected to hold a respectable sum for emergencies, contained little more than pocket lint and good intentions. With $62,000 in reserve—about enough to buy a nice used sedan but not nearly enough to fix a failing water system—the association found itself in dire straits.

Naturally, one might ask: Where had all the money gone? Had it been spirited away to fund a vast underground tunnel system for the neighborhood’s gophers? Spent on gold-plated pool skimmers? Or had it vanished into the void, like meeting minutes and accountability tend to do?

With 85 families at risk of their homes becoming houseboats, the City of Henderson graciously stepped in with nearly $700,000 to keep the neighborhood from becoming Nevada’s first planned amphibious community. Meanwhile, Somerset Park residents were left scratching their heads and wondering why, after decades of dutifully paying their dues, their “savings” amounted to little more than three times the price of a moderately enthusiastic wedding.

The saga of Somerset Park is but one chapter in the ongoing epic of Nevada’s HOA system, a bureaucratic wonderland in which 600,000 residents pay their dues with the expectation of order, only to find themselves starring in an unfolding financial mystery. Recent reports have detailed nightmarish assessment hikes of up to 160 percent, leading many to conclude that while death and taxes may be definite, HOA fees remain the greater enigma.

One of the many delightful quirks of this system is that while HOAs are legally required to conduct and submit reserve studies to the Nevada Real Estate Division (NRED), the agency overseeing them boasts a total of one auditor for the entire state. Yes, one lonely soul wading through the financial muck of 3,800 associations, no doubt equipped with a magnifying glass, a quill pen, and a deep sense of existential dread.

Will Bradley, a retired Army officer and self-described whistleblower, learned that asking too many questions about reserve funds is a great way to get yourself uninvited from HOA meetings—or, in his case, forcibly removed from the board. His concern? HOA reserves are about as well-funded as a lemonade stand in January.

“I want to see it in writing,” he said, demanding proof that his neighborhood’s reserve funds weren’t just a collection of IOUs and wishful thinking.

The experts—those weary souls who study the arcane rituals of HOA governance—suggest that homeowners attend meetings, review budgets, and ask about reserve balances. Sage advice–though equivalent to suggesting that passengers on a sinking ship take a greater interest in the allocation of lifeboats.

Meanwhile, Heritage Management Group, the company tasked with overseeing Somerset Park’s finances, is now facing accusations of embezzlement in multiple communities. It’s shocking for anyone unfamiliar with the rich tradition of HOA mismanagement.

In the end, if you live in an HOA, your financial future may well be in the hands of people who think “fiduciary responsibility” is bottled water. And if you’re wondering whether your association is on the verge of financial collapse, you might consider investing in a good pair of waders—just in case.

The Great Nevada Film Tax Fantasy

It is a truth universally acknowledged—by lobbyists, legislators, and the occasional man of common sense—that no grand scheme involving taxpayer-funde

d money can proceed without a proper parade of confusion, division, and theatrical enthusiasm. And so, nearly two years after Nevada’s last attempt at expanding film tax credits perished from this world, two fresh and shining new bills have appeared, each carried aloft by its own set of champions and each determined to bask in the glow of the legislative limelight.

The principal actors in this production are Sen. Roberta Lange and Assemblywoman Sandra Jauregui, who’ve introduced separate bills with the understanding that they must eventually stitch them together into a single, serviceable garment—provided that their respective allies and benefactors agree upon the cut of the fabric.

Jauregui’s proposal, AB238, is set to make its grand debut before the Assembly Committee on Revenue at 4 p.m. this Thursday. Lange’s bill, meanwhile, lingers in the wings, waiting for its cue.

The stage comes crowded with an ensemble cast of corporations, each whispering sweet nothings into the ears of lawmakers. Sony Pictures Entertainment and Howard Hughes Holdings Inc. are arm-in-arm with Jaurequi, while Birtcher Development and Manhattan Beach Studios escort Lange. Warner Bros. Discovery, ever the elusive suitor, has yet to declare its allegiance but lingers on the periphery, perhaps waiting for an opportune moment to step into the fray.

Naturally, where money flows, lobbyists follow. And so, as of Monday, the halls of the Legislature became the stomping grounds of nine lobbyists representing Howard Hughes, two for Sony, three for Birtcher—including the ever-dutiful Brandon Birtcher himself—and two for a shadowy entity known as Warner Media, whose precise affiliation remains one of life’s great mysteries. Birtcher, never one to miss a well-timed appearance, was even spotted at the Legislature on Friday, reinforcing that a well-placed handshake is worth a thousand well-crafted emails.

Meanwhile, the industry’s heavyweights are not above a little soirée to grease the wheels of legislative goodwill. Tonight promises an event in Carson City, hosted by Sony and Howard Hughes, where guests get to witness “an evening where innovation meets imagination”—which, translated from the language of industry pleasantries, means there will be much talk of jobs, economic growth, and the boundless virtues of tax incentives, all accompanied by an open bar.

As for Nevada’s governor, Joe Lombardo, he remains as noncommittal as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, neither embracing nor rejecting the proposals, instead waiting, one suspects, for the numbers to tell him whether it is better to be remembered as a patron of the arts or as a fiscal watchdog.

The whole affair has one lingering question: If the bills need merging–why not introduce them as one? The answer, as always, lies in money—specifically, in the amount of money each faction believes it ought to receive.

The ghosts of 2023 loom large over Howard Hughes and Birtcher, who joined hands with Sony as a silent partner to seek up to $190 million in annual tax credits over a decade for two studio projects. The proposal collapsed beneath the weight of its own cost, sending the partners scattering in different directions, each now seeking separate deals with differing studio allies and revised financial aspirations.

Adding another plot twist, the Southern Nevada Building Trades Unions announced earlier this month that it had formed a labor agreement with Summerlin Studios—an announcement so conveniently timed that one couldn’t suspect it was to nudge lawmakers in Jauregui’s direction. While some labor groups support the deal, others remain cynical, as Sony and Warner Bros. have not always been friendly toward unions.

And hanging over this entire production like the shadow of a better-funded rival, California has announced plans to more than double its film tax credits, reaching a staggering $750 million annually. In the grand game of cinematic bribery, it appears that the Golden State intends to keep its crown, leaving Nevada to decide whether it can afford to compete—or whether it ought to bow out, acknowledge the carpet-bagger, and invest its dollars in more practical pursuits, like paving roads or ensuring the local constabulary has enough hats.

One way or another, the show must go on. The only question is whether it ends in triumph, farce, or an extended intermission until the next legislative session.

Elon Musk’s Revenge

If there is one sending shivers down the spines of men in top hats and polished boots, it is the prospect of losing a dollar they believe to be rightfully theirs. And if there is one man who has made it his business to see that Delaware’s coffers grow a little lighter, it is that most peculiar and irascible billionaire, Mr. Elon Musk.

Yesterday, the good people at Aerovate Therapeutics, Inc., decided they had paid quite enough for the privilege of calling Delaware home and made arrangements to pack their corporate valises for a journey westward—to the promised land of Nevada. In a filing so thick with legalese that one could mistake it for a lawyer’s lullaby, they declared their intent to swap the oppressive clutches of the Delaware franchise tax for the warm embrace of Nevada’s business-friendly statutes.

A sensible man might say, “Why, that’s just one company—surely, Delaware will not weep over such a trifling loss?”

But one must remember that Aerovate is only the latest in a growing caravan of corporate emigrants, all heading for the land where state fees are low–and lawsuits are a distant concern. And what should be the common thread binding these weary travelers? None other than the specter of Mr. Musk himself, who, upon having his affairs trifled with by the Delaware Chancery Court, declared with all the certainty of a frontier prophet that he would see the state suffer for its insolence.

Indeed, Aerovate’s so-called “Redomestication Proposal” is neither red nor domestic—it’s an act of corporate secession, a rebellion against the tyranny of Delaware taxation. And what a rebellion it is!

By the very count of their legal scribes, they have called this act of defection “redomestication” no fewer than 174 times while mentioning the actual mechanism—conversion—a mere 31 times, as though hesitant to call the thing by its proper name. The reasons for this westward march are as predictable as a banker’s appetite for interest.

Aerovate’s board believes that Nevada’s laws will afford them greater protections from lawsuits and that its tax policies will keep more gold in their pockets. And, as any seasoned observer might note, they are not alone in these sentiments.

It remains unknown whether the halls of Delaware will soon echo with the sound of retreating footfalls or if this exodus is a temporary fit of corporate wanderlust. Remember that when you slight the world’s richest man, you had best prepare for the consequence, and those may well take the shape of an emptying treasury and a sudden affection for the Nevada sun.

A Comedy of Errors in Immigration Policy

It has come to my attention that our good and magnanimous Republic—so long known as a beacon of hope, charity, and common sense—has once again set itself upon fixing what’s not broken and breaking what was working just fine. The latest chapter in our grand national comedy concerns the halting of services to so-called refugees, or rather, illegal aliens, who had been arriving in these United States with a frequency unseen in three decades, encouraged by do-gooders of every political stripe who took it upon themselves to rehome foreign wanderers as though they were stray housecats in need of a warm hearth.

More than 160,000 well-meaning but woefully misguided Americans signed up to resettle these newcomers through the Welcome Corps, a venture that appears to be equal parts charity and hobby. Over 800,000 arrivals from distant lands—Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, Venezuela, Ukraine, and Afghanistan—were admitted under a scheme called humanitarian parole, suggesting a favor done rather than a right earned.

Such was the state of things until President Donald Trump, with a characteristic absence of patience for bureaucratic flimflammery, promptly slammed the door on the whole affair, suspending the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program for ninety days—an event that sent nonprofit organizations into a fit of distress, much like a shopkeeper realizing he has been handing out goods on credit with no hope of repayment.

In Nevada, where more than 8,000 such persons found placement in the last fiscal year, agencies like the Northern Nevada International Center (NNIC) found themselves suddenly instructed to cease operations for over 100 illegal aliens who had already arrived in the Silver State. Once flush with taxpayer money, the organizations are looking to private charity, an arrangement that might have been advisable at the start.

Catholic Charities of Southern Nevada suffered under this new reality, though it’s difficult to discern whether they were more concerned for the so-called refugees or their payroll. Their employees, formerly occupied in resettlement services, have now been reassigned to related tasks, ensuring that at least the business of providing for the non-taxpaying populace continues in some capacity.

Meanwhile, the Department of Homeland Security, perhaps in a rare moment of self-awareness, admitted that the previous administration had rather abused the humanitarian parole system. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, taking the novel approach of asking whether government actions serve the interests of actual American citizens, issued a statement suggesting that every dollar spent must justify itself by making America safer, stronger, or more prosperous—criteria which, one assumes, disqualify quite a few of the programs currently siphoning taxpayer funds.

NNIC officials, however, lament the predicament of their clients, insisting that illegal aliens contribute some $20 million annually to the Northern Nevada economy, though one must assume that such calculations do not include the cost of housing, feeding, and providing medical care for them.

Private citizens who had taken it upon themselves to usher in foreign newcomers are disappointed.

Sponsors are left scrambling to explain to their sponsees that the great welcome wagon derailed. Some, like Clydie Wakefield, a retired teacher from Utah, took it upon himself to lobby lawmakers to reinstate the program, clinging to the hope that their moral righteousness will outweigh the realities of national security and fiscal responsibility.

One such sponsor, Chuck Pugh of Pennsylvania, gathered a bipartisan group—including, he assures us, even a Trump supporter—to bring an Afghan family to Philadelphia. He now finds himself with money raised and no one to spend it on, much like a man throwing a party to realize the guests are getting sent away.

Thus, the great machinery of government rolls on—sometimes forward, often backward, and occasionally in circles—while the American taxpayer foots the bill, and the grand question remains unanswered: What, precisely, is the duty of a nation? To its citizens first, or to the great mass of the world that would pour in if given the chance?

The latest developments suggest that, at least for now, common sense has won a round. But as history shows, it is always a temporary victory.

The Fernley Vaqueros had a score to settle, and with a 61-50 victory over the North Valleys Panthers on Friday, they proved that payback is best in the postseason. The last time these two squads met, in January, the Panthers snatched a 51-48 win. But when it mattered most, the Vaqueros turned the tables.

The night belonged to Taylor Tollestrup, who put up a performance of 28 points and 13 rebounds, a career-high for the rising star. Jaelece Wasson added 13 more to the tally, while Fernley’s relentless work on the offensive glass ensured that North Valleys never got too comfortable. The Vaqueros pulled down ten offensive rebounds, marking their eighth straight game with at least eight second-chance opportunities.

On the other side of the scoreboard, Ivy Williams did everything in her power to keep North Valleys afloat, nearly logging a double-double with 22 points and nine boards. She also extended her streak of two or more steals per game to 21 contests. Annika Hester chipped in with 14 points and seven rebounds, but their efforts weren’t enough to hold off the surging Vaqueros.

North Valleys may have dominated the offensive boards with 14 rebounds, but their postseason dreams came crashing down anyway. With the loss, they dropped to 22-5 and have no more games scheduled.

As for Fernley, it was their fifth win in their last six games, boosting their record to 21-6. However, their playoff run hit a wall shortly after, as they fell 63-31 to Churchill County on February 15.

For now, the Vaqueros can take pride in knowing they got their revenge when it counted most.

The Unpardonable Sin of Doing Both

The esteemed members of the Nevada press corps, those tireless scribes who keep a watchful eye on the machinations of the Legislature, awoke on the morning of February 4 to a most curious communication from the Legislative Counsel Bureau (LCB). With the solemnity of a royal decree, the email informed them that, owing to the recent passage of Assembly Concurrent Resolution 1, they must now register themselves with the LCB if they wished to enjoy the “privilege” of wandering the sacred floors and chambers of the Senate and Assembly

.

The notion of registration itself was no novelty, but the idea of codifying such a thing raised the inevitable question: Why now?

Why had the great minds of the Legislature taken it upon themselves to inscribe into law what had previously been a mere matter of custom? The answer lay in the actions of one Drew Ribar, an unsuccessful Assembly candidate, businessman, and, by all accounts, a man who does not take rejection lightly.

It appears that Mr. Ribar, undeterred by his failure at the ballot box, had set his sights on another means of influence. Having been denied the honor of serving as a legislator, he now wished to assume the twin mantles of journalist and lobbyist—one to report the news and the other to shape it.

When the rules of ACR1 informed him that he could not be both the fox and the hound in the political hunt, he took his grievance to the courts, seeking a federal order that would force the Legislature to grant him both credentials.

To understand the full measure of this man’s indignation, one must know a little of his past. A self-proclaimed “staunch conservative,” Ribar had previously found himself in the news for an unsuccessful primary challenge against Assemblyman P.K. O’Neill of Carson City.

When not campaigning, he had also made headlines for his opposition to drag queen story hours, a pastime that ultimately led to his temporary expulsion from the Washoe County libraries—an exile one imagines he bore with the stoic dignity of an Old Testament prophet cast out by a wicked king.

Finding himself barred from claiming both a lobbyist’s influence and a journalist’s access, Ribar has cried foul, claiming this denial of credentials tramples upon his right to free speech.

“Historical precedent is obviously there,” he declared, reasoning that if a man should wish to push a bill while simultaneously documenting his efforts, then surely no reasonable person could object.

The press is generally expected to observe the doings of government rather than participate in them, in his estimation, a distinction too trivial to merit concern.

The LCB’s general counsel, Kevin Powers, had a different interpretation. In an email exchange shared by Ribar, Powers explained that under Nevada’s Lobbying Act, a man could not be an unpaid lobbyist and the press.

The Legislature, it seemed, held the quaint belief that journalism and lobbying, much like fire and gunpowder, were best kept separate. Powers, perhaps wisely, declined to comment further on the matter, as the letter from the LCB’s legal division made its position clear: allowing a man to claim both exemptions would be “unreasonable and absurd.”

And so, the matter stands. Whether the courts shall grant Mr. Ribar the dual role he so ardently desires remains to be seen. For now, the Legislature appears set in its ways, unwilling to let a man both whisper into the ears of lawmakers and then report on his persuasions as though he were a neutral observer.

There are rules to these things even in Nevada, where the wild Mustang roams free, and the line between a lobbyist and a reporter is not to be crossed.

Man Arrested in Methamphetamine Case

It’s mournful when a man sets his sights on fortune and, finding the honest roads too dull or the hills too steep, takes the downward path instead. Such is the case of one Matthew Stuart, a resident of Yerington, who now finds himself a guest of the Lyon County Sheriff’s Office, courtesy of his alleged ventures in the trade of illicit substances.

The Lyon County Sheriff’s Office, in concert with the Yerington Police Department, had been keeping a keen eye on certain unsavory activities in the area. During the fine month of February, they took it upon themselves to investigate a flourishing enterprise in methamphetamine trafficking. Their inquiries led them, on the 24th, to Bridge Street, where they executed a search warrant with all the vigor and resolve of men determined to rid their fair town of vice and villainy.

They found an embarrassment of riches, though of the sort that leads not to prosperity but to penitentiary accommodations. The haul included no less than 431 grams of methamphetamine, three pounds of marijuana, 95 grams of concentrated THC, and—just to round out the inventory—an illegal firearm because no enterprise of this nature is complete without one.

As a consequence of this ill-advised venture, Mr. Stuart now enjoys the dubious distinction of facing a remarkable array of charges, including, but not limited to, being an ex-felon in possession of a firearm, trafficking in methamphetamine at an impressive level, possession of said methamphetamine with the entrepreneurial spirit of sales in mind, and similar ambitions regarding marijuana. He’s also accused of dabbling in the production of concentrated cannabis and, in a particularly grievous misstep, endangering a child in the process.

For these alleged offenses, Mr. Stuart’s bail is at the eye-watering sum of $142,500, a sum that might have served him better had it been accumulated through honest toil rather than through enterprises so contrary to the good order of society.