Where it All Began

Even though I consider myself a native Portlander, I have a little secret. For the first nine months of my cluttered existence, I dwelled in a land where kitsch and neon refuse to die a graceful death.

Yes, thirty-one years ago, on August 21st, in Reno, Nevada, I was born. The "Biggest Little City in the World" got a little bigger. And we don't need to make any "hitting the jackpot jokes..."

This picture postcard was from my Grandparents' collection of images from their travels before the War and Camps. My guess is that this is Reno circa 1930-35.

Of course Circus Circus isn't around during this time period. And well, neither was I. But that doesn't matter. After nine months, my folks pulled up stakes and relocated to Portland. Mount St. Helens had just erupted and, from what people tell, Portland was stuck in a bad post-apocalyptic movie scenario for a few days as ash fell all around. The neon that lit my existence was gone. Now all I knew was gray and pumice. HAH!

Sounds trite, but hell, it was great growing up in Portland. Don't know if I would have had the same experience in Reno. Maybe I would have been a pawn broker, or a blackjack dealer, or a hustler? Who knows?  Although I never got to know the city, I do hold a place in my heart for that town.