Tales of John Wayne: 48 Hours in Reno

We needed a vacation from the vacation, and what better place to relax than Reno?  I wanted to stay in the ritziest, glitziest place in town, so I chose the Peppermill, a faux Italianate wonder of a resort with half a dozen restaurants, nightclubs, pools, a 33,000 square foot spa, and of course a large casino.  We drove through the strangely small and quiet downtown area a couple of times, but I guess Reno is becoming less popular for gambling and nightlife than it used to be, partially because of the Indian Gaming Acts, which mean that people from California no longer have to drive all the way here to gamble. We gambled at the casino,  had a luxurious "Coconut Dreams" spa experience and a "La-licious" pedicure, listened to the lounge singer at the piano bar, and basically did all the things you are supposed to do in Reno.  The hotel was strangely empty, except for the Western States Livestock Inspectors convention, which was taking place, and of course that was fun to see them all in their big Stetson hats and boots and Wrangler jeans with large stomachs sticking out over their silver belt buckles.   The Reno crowd is a lot older than the Vegas crowd; there were many retired couples enjoying the 55+ menu at the cafe and lounging in the jaccuzzi at 9 AM.  Read more about the Peppermill in Reno, where even the private offices have signs that say "privato," and all the buildings are "Tuscany," "Florence," "Roma," etc.  Suzanne asked me why it was called the Peppermill, what with all the Italian themes, and I had no idea.

The highlight of our visit to Reno was meeting my dad's old college roommate, Stan Burroway, and his wife, Liz.

 They gave us lunch at their lovely home on the outskirts of town, and we talked for several hours about politics, love, writing, the history of Reno, and all manner of topics.  Of course I had to catch Stan up on my dad's doings, and he told me a couple of stories about my dad's Bahai days, when his Jewish friends would come over to the room and say, "Et tu, Hillel," as they pretended to stab themselves.  Liz told me tales of working at the Reno hotel where the cast of The Misfits stayed, the time she met John Wayne, and the way she and Stan met over 15 years ago.  

This morning we headed out to Virginia City, a rootin' tootin' old west town where Mark Twain worked, and which he wrote about in the hilarious memoir Roughing It.  If you haven't read that book, you are missing out on an amazing experience. We got to see the desk where Mark Twain worked, the printing press where his newspaper was produced, and even the bathtub and toilet that he used!  We saw the "Bucket of Blood" saloon where there were so many fights they had to mop up the blood daily (hence the name). I wore my fringed jacket so I could blend in with the locals.

We had a very Mark Twain-esque encounter with this fellow, who was all in black, complete with silver spurs on his boots.  "Ya need a hat, young feller," he said to Matt.  He pulled one off the rack.  "How ya like this one?" he asked.  It was too small. Matt said he felt like he was wearing a toy hat.  "Fifty bucks," said the man from behind his curly mustache.  "No thanks," says Matt.  "It's too small and I have enough hats."  

     "Okay, I'll give it to ya for thirty bucks."

     "No, really.  It's much too small."

     "How 'bout twenty five? Twenty five cash.  Firm."

     "No, I really don't want a hat."   I then tried to change the subject, and ask if I could get a picture with him.  "No, no, I'm sick of takin' photos with people," he answered.  "I hate it."

     "Well, why do you dress like that if you don't want your photo taken?" I asked him.  He had no answer for that, but paused and thought for a minute.

     "I'll take a photo with ya, if ya buy that hat for twenty dollars."

We didn't end up buying the hat, but he finally agreed to get his photo taken with me.  

read more about Virginia City and the Gold Hill Hotel

We ended up at the Gold Hill Hotel, the oldest hotel in Nevada.  We had dinner in the restaurant here, and the waiter told us he had been John Wayne's butler earlier in his life. Now retiring for the evening, awaiting a visit from Rosie, the friendly ghost who is supposed to haunt our room.  I will be sure to report if she appears in any form.