I don’t know how many times back then I heard the tired phrase, “Teaching is its own reward.” This phrase is most often uttered by those who are underpaying teachers. Or if the aforementioned skinflints wanted to rationalize why teachers are so poorly paid, they might pull out this ancient George Bernard Shaw slight: “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.”
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We all have our good reasons for settling in Las Vegas. Most are better than mine.
Seeing as most Las Vegans have lived here less than 15 years, it’s time to conduct a history tutorial. One way of doing this is to compile a top-10 list of the most important people over the past 50 or so years.
I’m starting this month’s column with a story and then offering an opinion. As you might know if you’ve read this column on occasion, I prefer stories to opinions, because everyone will give you an opinion and not everyone will give you a story. But I received an email recently from a reader who said that while she enjoyed my stories, she was interested in hearing more of my opinions.
Several million people migrate to Las Vegas each year for a long weekend in search of it. We certainly have more than our share, and there’s no question our local economy has endured through the decades in large part because of it. We brag about it, we sell it, and we’re famous for it.
Does it seem like once a week we see in the news that another pedestrian has been killed on the streets of Las Vegas?
I remember the day clearly. It’s the first day of school, 1959, fifth-grade classroom, St. Augustine Catholic School, Spokane, Wash., Sister Grace Marie in charge.
A smart friend of mine once said, “There has to be a Las Vegas somewhere, even if it exists only in people’s minds.”
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that tired old line, “Las Vegas was better when the Mob ran the town.”
Like most of you reading this today, I live in a neighborhood full of people who came here from someplace else.
Awhile back I was having a beer with my friend, longtime journalist George Knapp, and we fell on the topic of whether there were any truly iconic figures in the history of Las Vegas.
I am often asked how one makes a living as a freelance writer. My knee-jerk response: Get real good at starvation.
Flying back to Las Vegas recently, I was seated next to a woman who asked me a basic question we've all been asked: Which hotel are you staying at?
In 1960, when Jackson T. Stephens was 36 years old and running the investment banking company Stephens Inc., out of Little Rock, Ark., he was invited to a cocktail party at Augusta National Golf Club.
The other day a parent at our daughter's school asked me what I did for a living.
As the mesmerizing scene in the men's locker room of an ultra-exclusive Los Angeles country club was slowly unraveling before my eyes, I couldn't help but think of the television special that had aired eight years before. Many of you might remember the night when Geraldo Rivera opened Al Capone's secret vault to a live audience of some 30 million viewers. But do you recall what he found inside? Only clouds of dirt and a few empty bottles.
I'm seated across from a darkly handsome man in his early 60s. We are on the patio of a municipal golf course in Mesa, Ariz. It's late June, and the temperature is 114. We are outside because I don't want innocent golfers settling their $2 bets at the sandwich bar to overhear our conversation.