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Grownups have asked me why last Super Bowl Sunday when I started writing, or for that matter a decade ago when I ‘posted’ all these stories, why I didn’t do a better job of cataloguing and indexing my ramblings.
The simple answer is that I’m only six years old and didn’t know any better, plus I didn’t expect it to last very long anyway.
And who owned the house – in 1946 most homes were owned by ‘John Doe et ux’, for the wives’ names were seldom on the homes’ titles (nor the loans!
The painting of the Q-ne-Q is by Hilda (Hildegard) Herz, of the Herz Jewelers family, who was quite an accomplished artist in her day.
I’ve written about her before, and am proud to include her art in this column. Soon I’ll write of the ladies with the fur coats, feather boas and hatchets gathering at the Troc to show the men whose boss!
His problem was that there were so few Polaroid cameras in existence this one stood out to the cops in San Francisco so they caught the thief and Dad got his camera back.
I made a lot of friends at these ‘multiple listing’ meetings, the children of the real estate men – John and Jimmy Gibbons’ mom was a real estate lady, one of the few in Reno or Sparks, and had to change her name from Matilda to Mat Gibbons so people wouldn’t know that they were calling a woman broker. In the same token Marilyn Harvout, who drove here big sedan by Braille, used ‘Merlyn’ on her signs. In about 60 more years I’d give that old phone to my friend Emerson Marcus.
Emerson sent me a picture of that phone taken in 2017 with an old typewriter I got in a hock shop in Oakland.
(Emerson, of course, wouldn’t even be born for about 50 more years!
One of their problem was making enough copies of the information, because there were probably 25 real estate men in town and a good typewriter would only make about six or seven carbon copies, so they had to type these ‘listings’ two or three times.
Dad’s new Polaroid camera was stolen in 1948, but the guy who stole it wasn’t too smart and hocked it in San Francisco.
We all used to play together while our fathers met at the Q-ne-Q, on the front lawn of the Kit Carson Hotel across Virginia Street, which I understand later became the parking lot for a hotel called the Ponderosa, and even later a strip shopping center.
This might be more than anyone wants to read about the real estate business, but unless somebody objects too much I’ll write on another day about all the lady real estate agents in Reno and Sparks getting together in the ‘Trocadero Room’ of a new hotel downtown called the El Cortez, the tallest hotel in Nevada right now.
If you’re looking for something I’ve written about in the Gazoo or here or any other site email me and I’ll see if I can find anything to help you. Anyhow, this morning I’m writing about the job that Dad got when he got back to Reno after WWII, working for Charles Skipper as a real estate man.Tags: Adult Dating, affair dating, sex dating