In 1931 work began on the engineering modern marvel of its day, Boulder Dam. Engineers had never built a dam of this size. Skeptics said it would never work.

But in the depths of the Depression, construction workers and average joes heard the siren call of good wages and responded. Despite the backbreaking work, they came in droves hoping to get one of the coveted jobs on the project.

In spite of the sweltering heat and primitive conditions, men packed up their wives and children and brought them to a canyon on the Colorado River where the temperatures reached 120 degrees in the shade. Down there, on the canyon floor, there was no electricity, no running water, no air conditioning. Women set up little tent and box homes and made do with ingenuity and courage. The men went to work and the families endured the hottest summer on record because there was no alternative.

In the small town of Las Vegas, men arrived by train, hoping to get find work.  George Foley,Sr remembers that "for every job on the Dam, ten men came here to get it".  Those that could not find work, Gail Andress remembers, "lived under the mesquite bushes and in a 'Hooverville' down by the cemetery".

One of those fortunate to find a job was Lee Tilman.  Now almost 94 years old, Lee remembers that "the most important thing was to have a job and to keep that job no matter what."  Herb Jones was a college student who managed to find work in Anderson's Mess Hall his first summer home from college.  Men gathered every day at the Employment Office in Las Vegas hoping against hope that work might be available.  Jones recalls that "you had to wait for someone to get fired or injured" in order to be able to take their place.  Jones went back to college in the fall.  When he returned the next summer, he was able to find work as a puddler,  whose job was to wade in the freshly poured concrete and stamp out all the air bubbles.

Las Vegas was a small town back then but on Friday and Saturday nights, the men working on the Dam would drive down the unpaved two lane road now known as Boulder Highway, to wet their whistles, do a little gambling and visit the Red Light District, Block 16.

The river had to be diverted so that construction of the face of the Dam could begin, concrete was poured 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  A cooling system had to be invented to cure the concrete so that it wouldn't develop cracks.  High scalers, hanging from ropes and jumping from side to side, placed dynamite in the crevices of the canyon walls, lit the fuses and then swung out of the way as the dynamite exploded.

It was back-breaking, dangerous work.  The Wobblies and others tried to unionize the workers and work shut down for days.  When the men went back to work, there was no union but they did have slightly better working conditions.

The Federal Government realized that the families of the working men had to have a place to live and so construction of Boulder City, a federal reservation with no gambling and no liquor allowed, was started.

 Families from Las Vegas made the long drive out Boulder Highway frequently to watch the construction and watch the Dam being built.  On the way home, they often stopped off at Jimmie Jones' (no relation to Herb) restaurant, The Green Shack, for fried chicken dinners.

Many who lived in Las Vegas back then were poor.  George Foley Sr remembers big family Sunday dinners every week but it was only years later that he realized that his father was sitting there "wondering where next week's meal would come from".  The construction of the Dam helped Las Vegas weather the Great Depression better than many other cities.

Four years later and two years ahead of schedule, work was completed on the Dam.  Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt came to town to officially dedicate the Dam.  They were driven in an open air Dusenberg out to the site.  People lined Fremont Street to wave at the passing couple.  As the car approached the Dam, George Foley Sr, who had hitch-hiked from town, stood on the side of the road and waved.  Wendell Tobler remembers the enclosed Dedication platform where FDR delivered his speech.  But what struck Wendall most of all was the small platform that was built for the photographers.  That platform was open air and constructed in front of the main FDR dedication site.   It seemed to Wendell to be suspended in air and, as a young boy, remembers thinking that one wrong move might send all the photographers over the side.  

The Dam did more than just transform the Southwest forever.  It transformed the small town of Las Vegas into a tourist destination. 

Join us at our historic Event this month:

Saturday, Oct. 21st

Clark County Museum

1830 S. Boulder Highway

Henderson

This once-in-a-lifetime panel includes:

Dam Construction worker Lee Tilman,

Violet Oppedyk Tracht whose family owned one of the first dairies in the Valley,

Laura Godbey Kelly Smith who as a small child lived in Ragtown that infamous summer,

Gail Andress, George Foley and Emmett Sullivan were all young boys who witnessed first hand the impact on the small town of Las Vegas.

Moderated by Dr. Michael Green

Reception begins at 5:30

Event begins at 6:30

You won't want to miss it! 

I had the fortunate opportunity last Saturday to attend the Las Vegas High School All Class Reunion.  Now, I know, you're thinking "What's the big deal about that?"

The original Las Vegas High School was built in 1917 and was a Mission-style structure that was located on Fifth Street (now Las Vegas Blvd).  In 1930, a new high school was built.  This beautiful Art Deco landmark still stands at Seventh and Bridger.  In 1930, the population of Las Vegas was still quite small.  The town was only twenty five years old and many people thought the new High School was too expensive, too big, too far out of town and there would never be enough students to fill it.  By 1932, School Supervisor Maude Frazier had filled filled the school with students.  The burgeoning town of Boulder City was filled with families of the Dam workers and those students rode the bus into Las Vegas to attend high school until a school could be built in Boulder Ctiy.

 Las Vegas High School was the only high school in town until the 1950s when Rancho High School, in North Las Vegas, opened its doors.

Some of the men and women who attended the Reunion last weekend graduated from the Original High School in the 1920s and they were busy busy sharing their stories and memories with other alumni.  I sat and talked to John Feetam (Class of '21) and learned more about St. Thomas and forgotten places.  Violet Tracht (Class of '25) was there talking with friends and talking about her car that she had to wind up to start.

The Class of 1941 was there and they were celebrating their 65th Reunion.  Bonnie Rams, John Pinjuv and Emmett Sullivan were there along with many of their classmates.  They described themselves as the War Year class as Pearl Harbor was attacked later that year and America went to war.

Gail Andress and others were there from the class of '44.  Gail, Bud Kennedy and others dropped out of High School in their senior year to join the War effort.  After the war, they completed their tests and received their graduation dipolmas.  But the class of '44 treats them as their own.

It was a wonderful evening listening to these men and women talk about the town that they had grown up in.  In some ways, it reminded me of Whitman Samplers and Currier and Ives.  They had gone to grade school and middle school together, went on to High School and through it all friendships that had been forged over sixty years ago were still going strong.

Patty Hack had put together a slide show of postcards and photographs from local hangouts and landmarks from the era.  These men and women sat at the tables and would see a familiar place like the Biltmore Hotel and start talking about how Sen. Richard Bryan had learned to swim there.

They were a little grayer, a little slower perhaps, but the amount of history in that ballroom at Sam's Town was undeniable.  They were there to see old friends, share some memories and remember those that passed on.  Sitting there listening to them. I was reminded that many of them went to college and then came back to help make their hometown a better place.

At the end of the evening, I felt very honored to have been invited. 

It was to be a long journey from Battle Creek, Michigan. 

It was 1961 and my mother had made a life changing decision.  She had grown up in Battle Creek, her family was there, her job at Schlure's Diner was there.  But the cold winters, the snow, the sameness had begun to take their toll.  I was four years old and often spent the winter months battling pneumonia or bronchitis.  The doctor told my mother that a warmer climate would help.

A letter arrived from my biological father, my mother's ex-husband.  He had left Battle Creek during the winter and was writing her from a place out west, Las Vegas.  The streets were paved in gold there, money was to be made if you were willing to work hard, the weather was hot, sunny, rarely rained and snow- no one could remember the last time it had actually snowed in town- he wrote.

 I remember my mother got out the Atlas and looked up where Las Vegas was located.  She must have done some long term  thinking.  By August, we were packing up everything we owned.  If it didn't fit in the U-Haul trailer or the trunk of the 1956 Ford, it wasn't going.  I was allowed to take only a few of my toys.  Top on the list was my Tiny Tears doll.  Tiny had been a gift from Santa in 1959 and I loved that doll.  When I had my tonsils out, they had to put Tiny on a gurney so she could have her tonsils out at the same time.  The only thing I remember taking is that doll.

My grandfather, I'm sure, must have had some qualms and long talks with my mother.  After all, she was about to embark on driving across the country, alone (except for me and Tiny), pulling a U-Haul trailer.  My mother was barely 21 years old.  She overcame all my grandfather's reasons for staying.  A new life awaited out there in the West and she sensed that if she did not go now, the opportunity would be forever lost.

So, we loaded up that Ford, hugged my grandfather through our tears and started out on the journey that would forever change our lives.

We drove west, stopping to eat in small diners and sleeping in cheap auto court motels.  I don't remember much about the trip until we got into New Mexico.  I was fascinated by the alligator and snake farms that seemed to dot the highway.  I begged my mother to stop every time we saw a sign for one.  The trading posts filled with turquoise jewelry, kachina dolls and petrified wood intrigued me.  The giant arrows in the ground, the giant jackalope, all the roadside attractions, I soaked that part of the trip in.  We left Santa Fe one morning, determined to get well into Arizona before stopping for the night.

We were on Arizona side when, my mother says, I let out a wail to raise the dead.  She thought I had been bitten or something worse.  I was crying.  I could not find Tiny anywhere in the car.  She had to be there, my mother said.  I whimpered "No, she's not.  She's lost."  My mother finally found a place to pull off the road and we took the car apart looking for Tiny.  She was not in the car.  I was inconsolable.  Finally, my mother found a pay phone.  She called the motel in Santa Fe where we had stayed the night before.  Yes, they said, they had found Tiny and she was safe and sound. 

I'm sure my mother must have cursed, if only in her head.  I was adamant, I was not going on without Tiny.  Finally, my mother knew there was but  one thing to do.  We got back in the car and drove back to Santa Fe.  I was reunited with Tiny and we stayed another night at the motel.  The next morning, Tiny safely in my arms, we began the final leg of our journey.

I don't remember where we stayed in Flagstaff.  We could continue on, my mother said and go all the way to the beach.  I had no idea what a beach was.  I had been to Mackinaw Island and I had seen Lake Michigan but I had no idea how big the ocean was.   Too tired, we decided that we would keep with our original plan and go to Las Vegas.

The next morning, a Friday, we packed up the car and got directions.  It was a long drive.  As we approached Hoover Dam, night was falling.  The highway traffic slowed, all we could see was a long line of red tail lights.  The highway narrowed to two lanes.  The canyon walls loomed above us with boulders perched on them, somewhat precariously to my way of thinking.  My mother told me to get in the backseat and be quiet.  I obeyed.  We had not seen traffic like this the entire trip and my mother wondered where the hell all these people could be going.  By the time we crossed the Dam it was dark.  She skillfully maneuvered the Ford and the U-Haul trailer along the windy road with its hair-raising turns towards Boulder City.

As we made our way out of Boulder City and down to Boulder Highway, there was a glow in the sky.  The traffic was still with us.  As we got closer to Las Vegas we realized that the glow in the sky was coming from all the neon lights of Las Vegas.  All the cars we had wondered about were going to Las Vegas as well.

 We turned up East Fremont Street and passed motel after motel.  The Sky Ranch, the Sky View, the Peter Pan, the Blue Angel. 

It was Friday night, Labor Day weekend, 1961.  No Vacancy signs were lit on every motel.  My mother and I had never seen so much neon in one place before.  I was mesmerized by the moving signs, the colors, the western motifs.

We had arrived in the town without much fanfare.  But for a four-year-old kid and a 21 year-old mother, it felt good and we knew we would not be going back to Battle Creek. 

Las Vegas would be our home from that day on. 

Home movies.  Those wonderful 8mm and Super 8 celluloid treasures that we have from our childhoods.  Christmas morning, Easter Sunday, vacations at Disneyland.  It's fun to look back at the fads, the clothing, the hairstyles.  But most importantly, they capture a time and place that have faded into history.

It's one reason that I am excited about Las Vegas participating in Home Movie Day this week.  Las Vegas has long held out the lure of second chances and the possibility of re-inventing self.  But, few other cities in the world, re-invent themselves on the scale of Las Vegas.

 Twenty five years ago there were still motels and gas stations on the Strip.  A lot of them.  Places like the Lone Palm, the Desert Rose, the Kit Carson, the Gaslight.   Now the buildings are gone but luckily some of the signs have been saved by the Neon Museum.

 I've been putting together some of the footage that I have bought on ebay.  Other people's home movies.  People, at first, ask why are you buying other peoples' movies?  But then I explain that most people traveling west stopped in Las Vegas.  In between seeing shows, dining out and gambling, they often took a drive Downtown and then back to the Strip.  And, quite often, they took their handy movie camera with them.

Because of that, I have spent the last day looking at the Las Vegas I remember.  The City of Neon.  Places that are long gone and some that are still around.

Helldorado Parades when Helldorado was as big as the Tournament of Roses Parade.  The Hotel floats were elaborate.  Everything from sailing ships to ice rinks, all topped by beautiful showgirls.  Marching bands from around the country.  And crowds so deep you can't see the sidewalks.  But looking east on Fremont Street with the floats coming towards you is to capture the essence of what Downtown used to mean to all of us of a certain age when it was the only place to go to shop, cruise or grab a burger. 

I have seen the wonderful old Aladdin sign.  The team of designers from Yesco, included Brian "Buzz" Leming.  They dubbed the sign the "Ice Cream Sundae" and spent an afternoon at Wonderworld looking for material they could cut up to make the mock up of the sign.

The original front of Caesars Palace with the soldiers on the bottom of the marquee sign.  Buzz and the other designers spent an afternoon at a store buying toy soldiers as a gag for the sign.  When Jay Sarno saw the mock up he wanted to keep the soldiers.  Just wanted them to look Roman.

The magnificent Dunes sign pushing neon into the night sky.  It was always supposed to be there.

The Sands, the Bonanza Hotel, the Stardust (with its planetary front) and the Mori statue advertising the Aku Aku, the La Concha and the Algiers, the camels that used to be near the original Sahara sign.  The Flamingo Capri motel with its very similar sign to its next door neighbor, the Flamingo Hotel.  The old Frontier Village.

Jack Dennison's Copper Cart Restaurant.  Looking at footage of Downtown, there was the Lucky Strike, the Monte Carlo, the Fremont Theatre.  5th Street Liquor.  Before the Union Plaza was built at 1 Main Street it was the Union Pacific Depot and in some of the home movies you can see the Union Paciific sign glowing neon at the end of the street.

It's all there.  In color and in black and white.  The way Las Vegas was.  The Las Vegas of our collective memory.  The City of Neon. 

Join us for Home Movie Day, Saturday Aug. 12th.

Three convenient locations (all air conditioned).

Bring your home movies to share or just come watch them.

It's a trip down Memory Lane you won't soon forget.

Home Movie Day is from 10:00 am - 5:00 pm at the following locations:

Nevada State Museum

700 Twin Lakes Dr

Lorenzi Park (Twin Lakes to us old timers)

Winchester Cultural Center

3101 McLeod

Las Vegas 

Clark County Museum

1830 S Boulder Highway

Henderson, NV

You'll be glad you did. 

Forty-five years ago, Las Vegas was a much smaller town. When my family moved there in 1961, it was a valley of 50,000 people. Today, there are 1.7 million and most of those newcomers have arrived in the last ten years. The small city of my childhood grew up to be the first metropolis of the 21st Century.

Yet, when people think of Las Vegas they usually think of the town that has all but vanished from the landscape. Those too young to have experienced it first hand visit it through films, books and visits to the Neon Museum's sign boneyard. The casinos and hotels market themselves using that "vintage" appeal. And yet, beyond the glitz and glamour, there is that yearning to experience it one last time as it used to be.

Having grown up with that small city, I always thought that the Dunes sign would be pushing neon into the night sky and that the front of Caesars would always be turquoise. It was only when those things were gone did I realize how much they meant not only to me but to countless others as well.

In that Lost City of our collective memory, The Treniers are performing at the The Last Frontier and the Mary Kaye Trio is cutting it up at the El Rancho. Louie, Keely and Sam are packing the room at the Casbar. Liberace is wowing the crowds at the Riviera.

A drive down the Strip will take you past not only the hotels, but also huge empty lots of land. Gas stations, such as Gulf-Western and Econo, seem to be everywhere. Motels, such as The Lone Palm and the Desert Rose, dot the highway in amongst the larger hotels. The Hacienda is considered out of town, located just south of the Tropicana. The Tiffany of the Strip and its giant pineapple evoke Miami Beach without the humidity.

A giant sultan sits atop the Dunes. When the Dunes is renovated to keep up with the times, he will be taken down and put at the back of the property welcoming tourists off the new freeway.

The Riviera is taking a gamble by building the first high rise. When it's complete it will be nine stories tall! The Sands has motel wings named after famous racing tracks. They will literally move those buildings to make room for their new tower when the high rise becomes the way of the future. The Copa Room is the hottest showroom in town. Catch Frank, Dean and Sammy for less than $20.00 and that includes dinner and two drinks! The Flamingo has giant neon champagne bubbling into the night sky. Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington and Sarah Vaughan are performing in the lounge.

There are giant Tiki gods out front of the Stardust to advertise the Aku-Aku Restaurant where you can sip your frosty island drink from a ceramic coconut. In the back of the Stardust property is the drive-in where you can take the family on a Saturday night to see Elvis and Ann-Margaret in "Viva Las Vegas". The Frontier Village is Frontierland before Disney built the one in Anaheim. There are staged shoot-outs, shops, a blacksmith and you can ride either the train or the stagecoach.

If you're lucky, you'll catch a glimpse of a young Elvis and his entourage checking it out. Wilbur Clark's Desert Inn has the Sky Room, located on the third floor, where you can dance to the tunes of the Sam Melchionne Quartet and have a view of the town from the bar. Foxy's is open and you can sit at the counter and take in the crowd: Don Rickles, Pete Barbutti, Shecky Greene and countless others cracking wise and enjoying the best deli in the west.

President Kennedy is giving a speech at the Convention Center, the old one with the Rotunda shaped like a flying saucer. Stan Irwin will bring The Beatles to Las Vegas and they will perform in that Rotunda because the Congo Room at the Sahara is too small to hold all those screaming girls.

Cassius Clay, on his way to becoming Muhammad Ali, will fight Floyd Patterson in that arena. Christmas programs, Mahalia Jackson and countless high school graduations will grace its stage before it is gone. In a strange turn of events, The Doors will play the Ice Palace (yes, an ice rink) located in the back of Commercial Center.

Fremont Street still has a few homes on it. The Ice House and Train Depot still stand to remind us of our railroad roots. All shopping is done downtown just a block away from the gambling halls. Getting ready to go back to school? Mom will take you to Ronzone's for new shoes and have your feet x-rayed to be sure the shoes are the proper size. Sears and J. C. Penney's have small department stores with pick up counters for those that ordered by mail. C.H Baker offers glamorous footwear for women. You can stare in the window and see beautiful showgirls trying on beautiful shoes. Coronet is the best five and dime in the world.

Over at the Horseshoe, Benny Binion is sharing a chili lunch with Doby Doc and Florence Murphy. You can have your picture taken with Chill Wills and a million dollars. Johnny Cash is at the Mint with a two-drink minimum, a beer costs a quarter. Vegas Vic looks down on all that is his domain, swings his arm back and forth and says, "Howdy, Pardner".

Thanks to Anderson Diary, the milkman comes around and delivers milk and cream to your door. Every Saturday at noon, the air raid signal atop Rose Warren Elementary in Charleston Heights is tested. Cruising Fremont Street is a must. At the far end of Fremont, the Blue Angel watches over the neighborhood, wand in hand, rotating around keeping an watchful eye on diners at the Green Shack.

K-LAS is still showing the advertised Saturday late-night movie, which means Howard Hughes must still be asleep. On Channel 5, Jim Parker, The Vegas Vampire, is hosting the late night horror flicks.

K-ENO Radio has Sam Cougar spinning rock and roll, K-RAM has Paul Harvey commentaries, Buck Owens and real country music. You can see movies downtown at the El Portal (which has a balcony!), the Guild or the Fremont. There's the Huntridge on Charleston. It even has a cry room upstairs for noisy tots. For the price of a movie you get a double feature. It's a great way to spend a hot Saturday afternoon in the summer time.

Boulder Highway is the only way to get to the Dam. There is only one tour offered. You have to stand in line outside (even in the summer!) and wait to be whisked down the elevator into the deco splendor that is the dam. Parking is limited and you dodge traffic to get to the ticket window. There is only one snack bar/gift shop in a small hut but it offers Viewmasters, 8mm movies of the building of the Dam and scorpions encased in lucite. But then, as now, the beauty and the majesty are what you remember.

You can drive by the Holsum Bakery on Charleston day or night and always get a whiff of freshly baked bread.

It is a city of neon and at night the skyline is aglow in different colors. The skyscrapers that define other cities have nothing on this Lost City. The skyline of Las Vegas stands all that conformity on its ear. With its hot pink neon of the Mint, Vegas Vic with a moving arm and the bullnose of the Golden Nugget awash in gold, Fremont Street is the most photographed streets in the world. The country is optimistic and the spirit of the nation is one possibilities. Las Vegas epitomizes that spirit in a raucous blend of architecture, neon and visionaries. Every night is a party and it is never supposed to end.

It is a city where myths and the truth collide and, like in "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence", the myths get printed and past down to the next generation. There are folks who fervently believe that Tommy Hull's car broke down on the old L.A. Highway and while waiting for a tow truck, he counted cars and dreamed up the original El Rancho Vegas.

Locals tell the story of how local businessman and civic booster, James Cashman, Sr. wanted a well-known hotelier to build in Las Vegas. He met with Tommy Hull and over drinks on the patio of the old Hotel Apache (now Binions) they agreed that Hull would build a hotel in Las Vegas. Hull came to Las Vegas and built his hotel on the corner of the old L.A. Highway (now Las Vegas Blvd. South) and a dirt road called Francisco Street (now Sahara Avenue). It was 1940.

The Strip was born and Las Vegas would never be the same.