Columns

It seems as if every town in the good ol’ U.S.A. has some sort of festival. I’ve been to a number of them.

In Conway, Ark., where I lived and worked for several years, there was Toad Suck Daze, named after a rural area on the banks of the Arkansas River where, legend has it, people would go to suck on bottles of booze “until they swelled up like toads.” The festival has nothing to do with Toad Suck — the closest it comes to the name itself are the toad races — but the name itself has drawn national attention to the festival.

“A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.”
— Edward Abbey

When the American Revolution took place, a large group of people declared war on their home country, their own government, and their fellow countrymen. All those who took up arms against Britain were not called traitors or rebels; they were called “patriots.” This act set the historical bar for what it means to be a patriot.

One of the first things I did when I came to Las Vegas was to read up on the area’s history. I boned up on the gloriously rowdy history of Las Vegas, from the conflicts that the Spaniards had with the local natives, to the assimilation of Jewish families who migrated in on the Santa Fe Trail, to the intrusion of those who came in on the railroad that landed about a mile east of the original settlement. I learned that this town has Spanish, Mexican, European and American roots that created both an embattled and a diverse people.

In September 1874, five years after the arrival of the Sisters of Loretto, an order of Italian Jesuits from Naples came to  Las Vegas and established a private school for boys.