Columnists
Few things in civilized life are more exciting than a county road repair, particularly when the road contains a railroad crossing, and the repair involves something called a slot drain. A slot drain sounds harmless enough, like a place where someone might lose a spoon, but in Storey County it
Columnists
I had intended to take a lighthearted jaunt through the dictionary, stopping now and then to admire a word, kick a few grammatical tires, and eventually arrive at the story of Nevada weather and my recent evacuation. It was going to be a pleasant little excursion, the literary equivalent of
Columnists
I have long maintained that if you give the elements enough time and mischief, they will organize themselves into a spectacle that no committee of men could hope to equal, and though many have tried and billed the public handsomely for the attempt. Such a spectacle befell New York City
Columnists
Virginia City, being a place where the mountains have been examined, prospected, blasted, tunneled, drilled, staked, claimed, disputed, and otherwise meddled with for more than a century and a half, was naturally alarmed when somebody noticed a drone flying about the neighborhood on Saturday. There are few things more suspicious
Columnists
There are few things more democratic than a Nevada highway at five o’clock in the morning. Rich man, poor man, sober man, intoxicated man—all are permitted to occupy the same strip of pavement, provided they can persuade their automobiles to remain on their own side of it. Geiger
Columnists
Every summer, the Comstock produces a fresh crop of reminders that the Almighty possesses a curious sense of humor. The sagebrush bakes, the jackrabbits conduct their affairs before breakfast, and the tarantula hawk takes to the air dressed as though it had borrowed its wardrobe from royalty and its disposition
Columnists
Storey County is not a large place, which is one of its more charming qualities. It is the sort of county where a man can drive for ten minutes without seeing another automobile, a house, or any evidence that civilization has made a serious commitment to the neighborhood. Nevertheless, the
Columnists
There is a tidy little schoolhouse in Dayton, where the paint is fresh, the flag flies proudly, and every public official delivers a speech about children being "our greatest treasure" without blushing. The speeches gleamed brighter than the waxed floors, and the certificates on the walls look so
Columnists
Few things in this world are more democratic than a house fire. It does not inquire whether a man votes wisely, pays his taxes promptly, or waves cheerfully at the neighbors. It arrives without invitation, helps itself to the furniture, and leaves the homeowner holding little more than a collection
Columnists
Some stories arrive upon a newspaper columnist's desk looking as though they have already written themselves. A sensible writer knows to leave them alone, for they are liable to bite. Yet every so often one appears that hangs so low upon the branch that even a fellow of
Columnists
So few institutions in government are more devoted to efficiency than two counties sharing one inmate. It is a fine arrangement, rather like neighbors borrowing each other's lawn mower, except this particular piece of borrowed property possessed the inconvenient habit of walking away. Storey County had been entrusted
Columnists
There are few institutions in America more dependable than a Nevada highway, where the desert stretches to eternity, the sagebrush minds its own affairs, and people periodically interrupt the peace by discovering fresh and inventive methods of rolling an automobile onto its roof. Such was the thing provided on Friday,