Columns

Vicente Silva came to  Las Vegas in 1875 from Bernalillo, in Sandoval County. He soon opened, on the south plaza, a saloon and gambling house known as the Imperial Saloon. Silva’s wife Telésfora and her brother Gabriel Sandoval helped run the raucous saloon, which was open round-the-clock.

Late last week, as soon as I read that more “Occupy” protests were being organized in New Mexico, including one each in Taos and Santa Fe, I immediately wondered why one has yet to take place here in Las Vegas.

After all, we’re about as left-wing a town as you’ll find in this state, so why are protests being staged elsewhere but not here?

My mommy told me a hundred million times not to exaggerate. But I continue to do so. When something is outrageously expressed, we can always say, “Well, you ought to know I was exaggerating, deliberately.”
For example, when we say, “We’ve been waiting for hours for Amtrak to arrive ...“ (Well, that would be accurate.) Let’s say instead, “We’ve been waiting for hours for the Rail Runner.” That’s an exaggeration.

Was his name Giovanni Maria Augustini or Juan Maria de Agostini, or one of several other variations that have been used in the 150 years the Hermit has been part of Las Vegas history?  And what of his likeness?
Which of the two photographs appearing with this column was the real Hermit? Perhaps neither. Such is the lore and legend surrounding the Italian recluse for whom Hermit’s Peak is known.  (One source even identifies the Hermit as Matteo Boccalini, born on the Isle of Capri in 1808, and ordained in 1829 as Father Francesco.)