Astute readers have noticed that at the end of every column, I point out that I am a fifth-generation Nevadan. Some people want to know why I bring this up on a weekly basis. The answer: It brings in the chicks by the truckload.
No, I am just kidding, on several different levels. You should be able to guess that just from looking at my mug shot.
Seriously, I point it out for several different reasons. The first is that being a fifth-generation Nevadan is very, very rare these days. It means that my great-great grandfather lived here. Heck, these days, even being a second-generation Nevadan is fairly rare, considering the state is growing faster than certain parts of President Clinton when the Budweiser girls are around.
The main reason I point it out is that I feel it gives me a sort of special connection to and understanding of the state -- at least the Northwestern part, which much of my family has called home for decades.
For example, on my Dad's side of the family, my great-grandfather and my grandfather (along with several of his brothers) worked in Virginia City, when it was really a city. One of my great uncles was a book publisher, giving me the only real publishing/writing link that I know of in my family. My grandfather, who is still going strong at 88, has only a fourth-grade education; he had to drop out of school to help support his family by working in the mines. Keeping all this in mind, I have a much greater appreciation for Virginia City.
A lot closer to Sparks, three generations of Boegles can say they worked in the Helms Pit, before it became the Sparks Marina Park (read: big hole full of water). My grandfather is a friend of Robert L. Helms, and was around when Helms was starting the now defunct construction company. Between my grandfather, my father and my uncles, people with the last name of Boegle dug a fairly large portion of that pit. Even I took a turn working at the pit, as a gravel tester for several months at the age of 16; it was my first job. Thus, I hope Sparks city officials will forgive me if I refer to the marina park occasionally as the Helms Pit. I have a good reason.
(I just realized something: My dad's side of the family has a rather odd obsession with digging holes, with the whole Virginia City/Helms Pit thing. How odd.)
Anyway, on my mom's side of the family, things are just as interesting (though without so much hole digging). My grandmother, who passed away long ago, came to the United States and Nevada as an indentured servant. She was forced to work for a rancher for several years; he paid her way over here, and she had to work off the debt.
She then married my grandfather, and Emma Haase became Mrs. August Schacht. (By the way, Schacht means "shaft" in German. One of my dad's favorite jokes is to say that when he married my mom, "he got the shaft." Whenever he says this, my mom tells him to go "dig a hole." Or something like that.) My grandparents used to live on a ranch outside Genoa (Nevada's first or second permanent settlement, depending on who you talk to), but moved to Gardnerville, where they lived most of their lives.
I could go on and on, but I think I've made my point.
One of my biggest concerns is that with Nevada growing so fast, some of this rich history is getting lost in the shuffle. In 15 years, there is a good chance that people will be having a blast wandering around the Sparks Marina Park, yet have no idea what in the world the Helms Pit was.
Already, many area residents don't know there was a time when McCarran Boulevard actually stopped. Some don't remember a time when you could stop in at the Riverside or the Mapes. Even fewer remember a time when downtown Sparks was kind of dumpy and downtown Reno was looking good -- not the other way around.
I find this fact kind of sad. After all, how can people understand what is going on in Nevada if they don't know how things used to be?
Having connections to and knowledge of the past is very valuable. I'm lucky that I came with these connections and this knowledge somewhat built-in. I just hope those that are newer to the area will take the time to learn about the Silver State. Nevada can only benefit if they do.
Jimmy Boegle, a fifth-generation Nevadan, apologizes for the any nausea that last week's mug shot may have caused. He promises to go dig a hole and bury it. His column -- including the new and improved mug shot -- appears here Tuesdays.