The six-year-old kid’s ass is in a sling…

LittleKarlDateline 1949 – Sunnyside Drive and Peavine Row: My dad has sent me to my room for the rest of the weekeend and several of my friends have chewed me out for telling a small number of people to stick their comments about our town where the sun don’ shine – and telling them that if they don’t like Reno, the Lincoln Highway and the Purdy Highway go both ways and they’re free to find a town that suits them better. If they want to save a few old decrepit motels that should have been bulldozed years ago, or turn Reno into a haven for those who require subsidized housing, that’s their business. Just start their ki-yi-ing before the wrecking ball arrives – the City can’t do much on 24-hour notice to accomodate their squawking. Find an area today, as Mark Taxer identified, and work toward saving it. Right now the town is beautiful, all those motels down by Virginia and the Lincoln Highway are new, and gambling controls Reno. But it won’t always be that way – there’s already talk of a “freeway” going from the blue Pacific to the broad Atlantic’s shores, and whether to put Reno’s link down the center of town and take all those pretty old buildings and homes along Sixth and Seventh Street out so the “freeway” can go closer to Harolds Club. (It’s OK, Mom; Mr. Smith doesn’t want a possessive apostrophe in his club’s name.) And the University of Nevada – what a beautiful campus! It’s full of old mature trees, and open. Other universities have jammed their campuses full of building with no open area or parking. (OK, Mom: ” …nor parking.”) Thank God we have some intelligent management on The Hill. And others with sense enough to put the “freeway” north of the University campus and the town – and let all those beautiful houses on Sixth and Seventh Streets survive. Can you imagine putting a six-lane highway right through our town?

The worst part of being sent to my room is that I’m also without a radio and now it’s Saturday morning and I’m without “No School Today” to listen to, from Buster Brown and his dog Tige and his squeeze Mary Jane and Gilhooley Mahoney and his Leprechaun Marching Band. Rats.

I’ll see if there’s anything left to write about. Come back later Saturday or Sunday and maybe I can get myself loose. I hate being grounded.