One Person’s Treasures

Lonnie Hammargren has operated on thousands of brains. He's attended to dozens of world-class boxers. He helped run the state's college system and once was a heartbeat away from taking the governor's seat.

Yet for all his accomplishments in the past 30-plus years, Hammargren is best known for one thing around Las Vegas -- his oddball home and the eclectic collections housed within its bowels.

"People say, 'Oh, you're the guy with the house,'" Hammargren said. "They don't remember that I got up in the middle of the night at least 5,000 times to go to the emergency room. ... If it means I will go down in history as a historian, that's OK."

Less than a year since open heart surgery reminded him of his mortality, the 69-year-old is searching for someone or some organization to preserve his home and his legacy after he shuffles off this mortal coil.

"I want to leave something worthwhile," he said.

Ideally, Hammargren said, he wants his home, which is actually two houses linked together, preserved as is and turned into a museum after he dies.

But such a plan would likely face several roadblocks, starting with whether any one entity would be interested in the entire Hammargren diverse collection, which includes an Apollo space capsule, a Liberace piano, an underwater replica of the Lincoln Memorial and countless artifacts and memorabilia from his lifetime of collecting.

"Arguably, there's nothing like it in Nevada," state archivist Guy Rocha said. "It is unique. I don't know what it means beyond that. ... I'm hard pressed to see who would buy it and keep it as is."

Any plans for a permanent museum would also face strong opposition from some neighbors who are fed up with the constant flow of curiosity seekers on their street and what they call the neighborhood eyesore.

"It looks like a junk yard, and we're not zoned for a junk yard," said one longtime neighbor who asked for anonymity. "We want our neighborhood back."

During a recent tour of his home on Ridgecrest Drive, near Sandhill and Flamingo roads, Hammargren admitted he's lost track of all the items he's collected for decades.

"People ask me when did I start collecting. I guess when I started breathing," he said.

As best he can remember, he started collecting as a child when he captured a bunch of butterflies near his home in Minnesota. He hasn't stopped collecting since, and his house has grown bit by bit to accommodate all the stuff.

The Hammargren home started as a single house in the early 1970s. He built a second-floor planetarium in 1975 and expanded from there. The original now has several floors and is topped with a pyramid that once housed the largest telescope in Southern Nevada.

The collection eventually outgrew the first house, so Hammargren bought the one next door in 1986. Three years later, he bought the house next to that one. The third house remains architecturally untouched and is the primary living quarters for Hammargren and his wife.

The first two houses, however, loom over their single-story neighbors, and one house is fronted by a 90-foot-long replica of a Mayan palace.

The house has hosted political fundraisers, parties and school tours through the years, and Hammargren opens it for public tours on Nevada Day, Oct. 31. In March, it played host to Hammargren's "awake wake" to celebrate his life. When he dies, the former lieutenant governor wants to be placed in an Egyptian sarcophagus and entombed in a vault under his house.

Before that happens, he hopes to have a solid plan for the future of his home, which he calls the Hammargren Home of Nevada History. He's not sure who would take on the sprawling complex, but he mentioned Clark County, the state and the Smithsonian as possibilities.

"I want to leave it all behind," Hammargren said.

Dan Kulin, a county spokesman, said Hammargren hadn't contacted the county about making his home a museum, but the county would be open to looking through his collections for historical items.

Dave Millman, director of the Nevada State Museum in Las Vegas, said Hammargren's collection might include some pieces relevant to state history, but most of it wouldn't have a place in his museum.

"The collection is fun. I'm glad he did it. It's not something we could take over," Millman said.

Anyone hoping to make the home a museum would have to deal with zoning changes and figure out plans for parking, administration, maintenance and other issues that come with running a museum, he said.

Millman praised Hammargren for collecting pieces of local history, such as old hotel signs, when no one else wanted them.

"I think it's really a great piece of Las Vegas life. It really adds some color to the city," Millman said. "It's one of those must-see things."

Las Vegas historian Michael Green said Hammargren's collection holds some historical value despite its outward appearance.

"Unfortunately for some it's a kitschy joke," he said. "I think there's a lot of interesting things there, but all they notice is a lunar module hanging in the backyard."

Some neighbors who must see the home every day are fed up. They've grown weary of tourists and locals who stop in the middle of the street most days to gawk at the house. They're tired of people parking in their driveways during parties. They're fed up with seeing the clutter of stuff rising over the backyard wall of the home voted the valley's worst eyesore in 1997's Best of Las Vegas poll.

"They should tear it all down. I'd rather have an empty lot there," the anonymous neighbor said.

County code enforcement officers have been at Hammargren's home in recent weeks. Kulin wouldn't comment on what neighborhood complaint prompted the inspection, but he said the complaint was the first in at least seven years.

Neighbors who moved in more recently, such as Steve Rohlfing, don't mind their eccentric neighbor.

"It's part of Las Vegas. It's one of those things we do," said Rohlfing, who bought a house across the street about a year ago.

Hammargren has recently scaled back some possessions, including his "Stairway to the Stars" float that appeared in local parades for two decades.

He retired as a neurosurgeon last year, and the cost of maintaining and storing some of his collection has gotten too expensive, he said.

Hammargren hopes his house -- and his legacy -- will be preserved after he's gone, but he accepts the possibility that it could be torn down. And he doesn't seem to mind.

"If you're dead, you're not going to know it anyway."