Brothel Days

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.