Fade Sag Crumble book launch

I contributed an essay to the book Fade Sag Crumble: Ten Las Vegas Writers Confront Decay. My essay, “The Sky’s the Limit,” tries to make some sense of the section of Las Vegas Boulevard between Sahara and Fremont, which I’ve long been fascinated with and where I’ve lived since the beginning of the year. The opening of the piece is posted below.

To launch the book, the editor (Scott Dickensheets) and contributors (Andrew Kiraly, Jarret Keene, Stacy Willis and others) are participating in a panel discussion at 7 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 27, at the Clark County Library Theater (on Flamingo Road just east of Maryland Parkway). The event is free and open to the public and will be followed by a book signing and reception.

See you there!

“The Sky’s the Limit”

1.

On this stretch of Las Vegas Boulevard, a pawnshop is the star. Many of the buildings are “Available”—and so are many of the men and women. People, typically supported by cables, throw themselves off the Stratosphere tower. Heirlooms are passed down not to a son or daughter, but a silhouette at the night window.

For a few years, Helldorado was held on this stretch of the Boulevard; now, a much more somber parade marches up and down it. The procession has some baggage, literally and figuratively. It’s tough to tell who’s talking to their headsets and who’s talking to themselves. There’s crazy … and then there’s downtown crazy.

This street is “unique as a peacock,” said the EZPAWN salesman—and at least as colorful. It’s an outstretched arm reaching for modern Las Vegas, said journalist John L. Smith, but can’t quite touch it. It’s a reality check, said a man renting scooters to tourists just north of Sahara Avenue (the line of demarcation).

It’s the wrong side of Sahara. Our Land That Time Forgot. A blind spot of local historians. Terra incognita. This is where the 9/11 terrorists stayed. This is where underground gambling dens become dry cleaners, and wedding chapels become art galleries run by the disabled. This is where 100-year-old men marry 32-year-old women.

Here, you can meet the love of your life (Downtown Cocktail Room), buy a wedding ring (Ace Jewelers), propose (top of the Stratosphere), get a prenup (John Peter Lee Ltd.), marry (Little White Wedding Chapel), get his-and-her tattoos (Precious Slut), consummate the marriage (Oasis Motel), spice up your sex life (Talk of the Town) and, if all else fails, file for divorce (Callister + Associates).

Elvis scored drugs here (of course, that can be said of a lot of places in town). If there’s a Homeless Elvis—and I’m betting there is—he hustles on these swastika-scarred sidewalks. He wakes at 9:30 a.m. on a newspaper bed in a lot formerly occupied by an hourly motel, blue suede shoes tucked under a soiled pillow. He runs a comb through his hair, cracks a crooked smile, then falls back asleep.

Books and a guitar follow-up

We got the books to Mike awhile back. Finally got him the guitar. Special thanks to Alison in Kansas City for paying for the guitar, which Mike and I picked out at a pawnshop.

Thanks, Rich!

For two and a half years, Rich Penksa, a case manager and director of homeless services at HELP of Southern Nevada, has been an integral part of the Shine a Light community project. He braved the underground flood channels, offering housing, medical attention, mental-health care and other services to the people he encountered. He case-managed clients who used to live in the tunnels. And for the last year and a half or so, he oversaw the program that housed or helped (IDs, bus passes, etc.) hundreds of tunnel dwellers and former tunnel dwellers.
On several occasions, I saw Rich encounter someone in the drains, help them pack their stuff and then drive them directly to a group home or apartment—their lives changed in an instant. (It’s one of the most heroic things I’ve seen in person.) Many of these people are now clean, healthy, reunited with family and working or looking for work.
Rich’s last day at HELP was Sept. 15. (I won’t go into the details of his departure.) And while he’s no longer with the charity organization, and is unsure of what he’s going to do next, the work he did aboveground and underground will reverberate for years to come.
Thanks, Rich!

On Twitter

So, I recently discovered this nifty networking site. Think  it’s got potential. Follow me @beneaththeneon. 

Silver Pen Award

I was recently told I won a Silver Pen Award from the Nevada Writers Hall of Fame. Established in 1996, the award recognizes mid-career writers who’ve “already shown substantial achievement.” (I’m flattered!)
The Silver Pen will be awarded Nov. 17 on the campus of the University of Nevada, Reno. Congrats to Hall of Fame inductee Waddie Mitchell, a nationally known cowboy poet (how Nevada is that?), and fellow Silver Pen awardee David Mullins, a short story writer who grew up in Vegas.
For more info on the Nevada Writers Hall of Fame and the Silver Pen Award, visit:

My books in French

French publisher Inculte (www.inculte.fr), which specializes in contemporary literature, sociology and philosophy, bought the rights to Beneath the Neon and My Week at the Blue Angel and is in the process of translating the books. They’re both scheduled to be published in late January.
As part of the deal, I’ll travel to Paris for a week to help promote the books when they’re released. I’d love to venture into the catacombs/quarries. If you know someone who could serve as my guide, please pass along their contact info. I’d gladly return the favor with a tour of the Vegas drains.

Thanks!

Dear, Decatur Book Fest attendees: Thanks for making my homecoming and birthday weekend a very special one! Nice turnout at the talk, sold some books and drank some beer and caught up with friends and family. Good times! Much love!