There's that funny part of the movie Night Shift where Michael Keaton is trying to explain to the working girls the etymology of the word "Prostitution": "pros-, doesn't really mean anything; -tit-tu-, which makes sense of course, because there are two; and -tion (pronouced 'shun') which is Latin for go away, or I don't want any....doesn't really belong in this word". The scene is brilliant.
Of course, that movie was not released yet when Dad and I decided to go deer hunting in Northern Nevada. Being my first hunting trip with Dad, and the added bonus of having brother Mark stay at home with Mom, it was a chance for us to bond as father-son, share campfire stories, perhaps bag a deer or two, and visit a whorehouse.
Being raised in Vegas, I was, of course, familiar with what a working girl was. The misunderstood concept is that prostitution is legal in Vegas. It isn't, and hasn't been since 1951, when the state declared that there could not be a brothel within so many miles of a city who population was over 100,000. However, seeing as how there is a lot of open space between the three largest cities in Nevada: Vegas, Reno and Carson City, there was room for plenty of "cathouses" where an industrious young lady could ply her wares.
Being with my Dad on the trip was great. We had also brought along a friend of the family's, Curtis Herrera, whose younger sister Beth was a classmate of mine for many years. The three of us had a lot of fun on that trip, and I was sorry to see it come to a close.
As we made our way southward towards home, we were on two-lane road that took us past tiny towns and more often, desert and scrubbrush. Eventually that road gave way to an interstate that would carry us back to Vegas, but we were still many hours from getting there. Ahead in the distance, in the slowly darkening sky, I saw a light from a huge neon sign. I wasn't sure what it was, but know now that it was the famous Sherry's ranch, one of Nevada's most popular brothel's at the time. As we got closer, I could make out the red-pink sign with a giant "S" smack dab in the middle. I had heard of Sherry's in whispered tales from school-age friend's older brothers, who had either visited the place or made sure to tell everyone the giant lie that they indeed HAD been there.
We approached the establishment, quickly coming up on our right side. About 200 feet from the dirt entrance that would take you into the charms of what was inside, my father turned his blinker on.
....what?
My father slowed the truck while at the same time Curtis blurted out "well, its about time". The truck got down to 20 mph, then 10... I spun my head wildly back and forth, looking at my father for understanding and Curtis for the same. All of a sudden, my Dad burst out laughing with Curtis following right behind. He clicked off the blinker and sped up past the turnoff. As my heart pounded out of my chest, I looked to the right and took a last look at the neon sign, the central house with many a car, truck and 18-wheeler parked in front, and a row of trailers off to the West of all of these, where surely the girls and their "guests" must be spending their time.
I looked again at my Dad, who was still chuckling softly to himself. He looked at me, as if to say he was sorry for playing the joke, then burst out laughing again. This started all of us laughing out loud and I felt a part of the group of men.
David
p.s. read Brothel-The Mustang Ranch and its Women. Its a well-written history of prostitution in Nevada.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Skinny-Dipping in Yosemite
On one of our family's many road trips across the American Southwest, we found ourselves for a week or so in Yosemite National Park. Yosemite is considered by some to be the paragon of the National Park system; originally established in California as a State Park, it was given back to the Federal government around the time of the formation of the NPS in 1916. Little did they know that 60+ years later, our family would go skinny-dipping in Yosemite.
My parents. Boomers who came of age in the 1960's, they brought a little of the counter-culture into raising their kids. Ok. When I say counter-culture, I don't mean fighting for the revolution. I mean, smoking pot when a friend of dad's from the Vietnam days came over. Or, walking around the house completely naked, to the chagrin, but eventual acceptance of their children. That was about as hippie as they got.
So, on the road. We were tooling around the Park, when my Dad noticed a small waterfall off in the brush on the right side of the road. Many were the time Dad would notice a small animal, a roadside attraction, a whathaveyou and screech to a halt with a resounding "C'mon guys, lets check it out!" This we felt was no exception and were not in any hurry to see the 873th badger or other woodland creature of the trip. My father, of course, adamant about squeezing every cent out of his vacation dollar, instructed us to get out of the car.
A little background here. Our shelter on these trips was a 23-foot travel trailer that my Dad found through one of his work-buddies. After several years of camping in an old Army-green tent that smelled perpetually of wet canvas, the trailer was a nice change. The only downfall was having to, as the oldest son, assist my father in securing the trailer to his truck. Many were the days that he would be behind the wheel, cursing at the top of his lungs for having to pull forward YET AGAIN, then back up at the behest of my poor instructions. I was probably 2 for 20 that summer in lining up the trailer's towbar with the ball on the back of his truck....good times.
Unfortunately, despite the many comforts afforded us with the travel trailer, we never could get the shower to work. Either that or Dad didn't want to waste the water. So we found ourselves at times searching for the facilities at the Park which included, for a nominal fee, the opportunity to shower and clean up.
As we got out of the truck at Dad's urging, he motioned for us all to meet him by the side of the road. There we noticed, about 10 feet from the road, a small waterfall that descended down into the brush and terminated into a tiny stream.
C'mon, lets see where it comes from, Dad said. A groan escaped from my brother and I as we had been deep into a game of name all the counties in Nevada, our home state. Hey, we didn't have GameBoys back then! Dad took off into the brush, which scaled vertically up the side of the embankment. We all followed, Mom and her boys, and wondered what it was Dad was looking for. After 25 feet or so, we noticed another waterfall, this one much larger, that was feeding into a small, round pool, approximately 6-feet in diameter. The pool then fed into the smaller waterfall that we noticed from the road. Created by boulders that had fallen precisely into the right spot, the pool was about 3 feet deep and completely clear, visible all of the way to the bottom. Looking back down the hill, you could see the road, but was obscured by the tangle of trees and brush.
Very cool, I thought.
Awesome, said my brother.
That's pretty, remarked Mom.
Let's take a bath! exclaimed my father.
....what?
It'll be great, he said. We can wash up here and not have to go all of the way back to the compound to take showers. Before we could speak, he descended back down the to the truck and retrieved towels and soap. Instructing my brother and I to disrobe, he then started to undress himself, as if to say, hey I'm doing this too, nothing to worry about!
What about people seeing us? Mom asked.
Oh, we're fine, Cathy. No one can see us from way down there.
My sainted mother, still reluctant to believe that we wouldn't get caught by passing Park Ranger or tourist, slowly started to peel off her clothes, looking doubtfully upon the entire scene. She then, in order to show her sons that their father, while crazy, was trying to have fun and therefore volunteered to be the first in the water. Mom stepped into the water with her leg, then yanked it out with a resounding JESUS CHRIST, DAVE LORY, THAT WATER IS FREEZING!! So much for being the role model for calm and cool for us kids...
Mom then tried again, getting more of her body into the water. She quickly grabbed the soap and began scrubbing furiously in order to be done and into a warm towel. Next was my brother, then me and finally Dad, who I felt should have gone first for concocting this crazy scheme. All the while, the rest of us not washing kept an eye on the road in hopes that we would not be spotted and spend the rest of our vacation explaining to the Park Rangers what EXACTLY we were doing up there.
As I stood there shivering in my towel, glancing furtively at the road below, I heard a car approaching and then slowing. All of a sudden a brown sedan pulls up next to our truck....oh shit.
One of the funny moments in a National Park is when you are driving down the road and all of a sudden see a tangle of cars that have pulled over to the side of the road. Someone, of course, saw something: a deer, an elk, naked people swimming, so of course everyone else has to see it too. The occupants of the brown sedan obviously felt that there was something to behold as we listened breathlessly for the sound of car doors opening, of voices questioning and of felonies witnessed. That we were probably too far up to be seen without their climbing up the hill was of little to no comfort in my 10-year old mind. My father slowly got out the pool and grabbed a towel..
All of a sudden the sedan started up again and sped off. We all breathed a sigh of relief, quickly dressed and made our way back down the hill. I look back at that moment as an "us-against-the-world" example, secure in the fact that we didn't get caught, but shivering nonetheless from cold, fear and possible incarceration for skinny-dipping in Yosemite.
My parents. Boomers who came of age in the 1960's, they brought a little of the counter-culture into raising their kids. Ok. When I say counter-culture, I don't mean fighting for the revolution. I mean, smoking pot when a friend of dad's from the Vietnam days came over. Or, walking around the house completely naked, to the chagrin, but eventual acceptance of their children. That was about as hippie as they got.
So, on the road. We were tooling around the Park, when my Dad noticed a small waterfall off in the brush on the right side of the road. Many were the time Dad would notice a small animal, a roadside attraction, a whathaveyou and screech to a halt with a resounding "C'mon guys, lets check it out!" This we felt was no exception and were not in any hurry to see the 873th badger or other woodland creature of the trip. My father, of course, adamant about squeezing every cent out of his vacation dollar, instructed us to get out of the car.
A little background here. Our shelter on these trips was a 23-foot travel trailer that my Dad found through one of his work-buddies. After several years of camping in an old Army-green tent that smelled perpetually of wet canvas, the trailer was a nice change. The only downfall was having to, as the oldest son, assist my father in securing the trailer to his truck. Many were the days that he would be behind the wheel, cursing at the top of his lungs for having to pull forward YET AGAIN, then back up at the behest of my poor instructions. I was probably 2 for 20 that summer in lining up the trailer's towbar with the ball on the back of his truck....good times.
Unfortunately, despite the many comforts afforded us with the travel trailer, we never could get the shower to work. Either that or Dad didn't want to waste the water. So we found ourselves at times searching for the facilities at the Park which included, for a nominal fee, the opportunity to shower and clean up.
As we got out of the truck at Dad's urging, he motioned for us all to meet him by the side of the road. There we noticed, about 10 feet from the road, a small waterfall that descended down into the brush and terminated into a tiny stream.
C'mon, lets see where it comes from, Dad said. A groan escaped from my brother and I as we had been deep into a game of name all the counties in Nevada, our home state. Hey, we didn't have GameBoys back then! Dad took off into the brush, which scaled vertically up the side of the embankment. We all followed, Mom and her boys, and wondered what it was Dad was looking for. After 25 feet or so, we noticed another waterfall, this one much larger, that was feeding into a small, round pool, approximately 6-feet in diameter. The pool then fed into the smaller waterfall that we noticed from the road. Created by boulders that had fallen precisely into the right spot, the pool was about 3 feet deep and completely clear, visible all of the way to the bottom. Looking back down the hill, you could see the road, but was obscured by the tangle of trees and brush.
Very cool, I thought.
Awesome, said my brother.
That's pretty, remarked Mom.
Let's take a bath! exclaimed my father.
....what?
It'll be great, he said. We can wash up here and not have to go all of the way back to the compound to take showers. Before we could speak, he descended back down the to the truck and retrieved towels and soap. Instructing my brother and I to disrobe, he then started to undress himself, as if to say, hey I'm doing this too, nothing to worry about!
What about people seeing us? Mom asked.
Oh, we're fine, Cathy. No one can see us from way down there.
My sainted mother, still reluctant to believe that we wouldn't get caught by passing Park Ranger or tourist, slowly started to peel off her clothes, looking doubtfully upon the entire scene. She then, in order to show her sons that their father, while crazy, was trying to have fun and therefore volunteered to be the first in the water. Mom stepped into the water with her leg, then yanked it out with a resounding JESUS CHRIST, DAVE LORY, THAT WATER IS FREEZING!! So much for being the role model for calm and cool for us kids...
Mom then tried again, getting more of her body into the water. She quickly grabbed the soap and began scrubbing furiously in order to be done and into a warm towel. Next was my brother, then me and finally Dad, who I felt should have gone first for concocting this crazy scheme. All the while, the rest of us not washing kept an eye on the road in hopes that we would not be spotted and spend the rest of our vacation explaining to the Park Rangers what EXACTLY we were doing up there.
As I stood there shivering in my towel, glancing furtively at the road below, I heard a car approaching and then slowing. All of a sudden a brown sedan pulls up next to our truck....oh shit.
One of the funny moments in a National Park is when you are driving down the road and all of a sudden see a tangle of cars that have pulled over to the side of the road. Someone, of course, saw something: a deer, an elk, naked people swimming, so of course everyone else has to see it too. The occupants of the brown sedan obviously felt that there was something to behold as we listened breathlessly for the sound of car doors opening, of voices questioning and of felonies witnessed. That we were probably too far up to be seen without their climbing up the hill was of little to no comfort in my 10-year old mind. My father slowly got out the pool and grabbed a towel..
All of a sudden the sedan started up again and sped off. We all breathed a sigh of relief, quickly dressed and made our way back down the hill. I look back at that moment as an "us-against-the-world" example, secure in the fact that we didn't get caught, but shivering nonetheless from cold, fear and possible incarceration for skinny-dipping in Yosemite.
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