Friday, June 17, 2005
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

JOHN L. SMITH: Hank Greenspun's Las Vegas Sun never escaped from his shadow

Hank Greenspun's Las Vegas Sun hit on our doorstep every morning when I was a kid.

Its official name was the Las Vegas Sun, but if Hank had practiced full disclosure, the masthead would have had his name on it, just like Wilbur Clark's Desert Inn and Bob Stupak's Vegas World.

The Sun was different. From its corny winking solar mascot to its endless lineup of column-writing Greenspun family relatives. They were like the Von Trapps of journalism around these parts.

In its day, it was a hoot, and I was excited to work there.

As a boy, we read the Sun because we liked Hank. He was a firebrand who was sometimes wrong but never in doubt. Vegas would run short of nickel slot machines before Hank would run out of editorial ideas.

We read the Review-Journal because my folks felt they needed to know the other side of the story and thought the rush of angry adrenaline was good for their systems.

We also subscribed to the Valley Times because my parents liked its publisher, Bob Brown, and knew that if we didn't pay our few bucks a month, his reporters wouldn't be able to pay their bar tabs.

When I first learned that the Sun had dropped another rung and in a few weeks would cease to be the anemic afternoon paper it's become, I immediately remembered all those times I sat at the kitchen table when my mom or dad would shove a folded section between my nose and the Cheerios bowl and say, "Here, read this." I was 8 or 10 and was forced to read one of Hank's broadsides against the power-mad federal government or the latest odor wafting from the local judiciary.

There was a nervous energy about the Sun that was irresistible, but that was a long time ago.

Like an underdressed bounder who slips into the crowd at a wedding party, the Sun will soon appear as a section inside the Review-Journal. Your canaries will be thrilled.

More than 30 years ago, Southern Nevada was small enough to support the Review-Journal and about one and a half personality-driven newspapers. Now that we've grown into a valley that approaches 2 million population, I'm told the era of the independent publisher is finished. Reading habits have changed. Younger people turn to television for their news morsels. It's all over but the shouting, blah, blah, blah.

Sure, television and radio are faster and flashier. But it wasn't television that drove the Sun out of business. Nor was it simply its status as an afternoon paper, the equivalent of the village blacksmith of daily journalism.

The Sun faltered because it wasn't run well. Hank was a remarkable man in many ways, but he wasn't exactly detail oriented. And his ego was such that he never stopped believing that he was the main reason people bought his newspaper.

The deal is, he was right. And that was the problem. The Sun's circulation dwindled with each Greenspun supporter who appeared in the obituaries. There weren't enough new subscribers, because newcomers looked at Hank as a sort of eccentric vaudevillian. They never quite understood what all the shouting and arm waving was about.

I don't know if the news-reading public has changed that much. I do know that newspapers have changed.

And I know that most of the personalities have changed, and we'll not see the likes of Hank Greenspun's Las Vegas Sun again. But, come to think of it, it's been gone for years.

Maybe it was just an ink smudge, but I'd swear I saw the Sun's winking mascot with a tear in his eye.

ON THE BOULEVARD: John Huntington remembers longtime bar owner and sports referee Jim Holcombe best for his hilarious basketball traveling call. Jim, the Pogo's Tavern owner who died last week at 76, was one of a kind. Other friends of Holcombe ask, "How many hundreds of kids did he help keep out of trouble by reminding them that actions have consequences and rules matter?" ... While we're on that subject, Percy Watts proved that you meet big men in all walks of life. Percy was a longtime maintenance man at the Review-Journal. ... Just Out: Atria books is circulating the first copies of "One of a Kind: The Rise and Fall of Stuey 'The Kid' Ungar, the World's Greatest Poker Player" by Nolan Dalla and Peter Alson. Stuey would be pleased.

Have an item for the Bard of the Boulevard? E-mail comments and contributions to Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.