The new home provided him all the domestic comforts he had become accustomed to, while at the same time offering the freedom to be as wild, or “run free,” as he desired. The desert for exploration was all around us. But, first, he had to know every inch of his home. This would include meeting and approving of Herman.
Herman was brought to us by friends who assured us that the man was an honest, excellent builder who also knew how to repair almost anything. Herman was recently divorced (we were told that his wife had run off with an Elvis impersonator who was performing in Las Vegas) and needed a job and a place to live. We needed a builder and repairman, so I made Herman an offer. If he remodeled the building for office space, a meeting room, and a small warehouse, he could live in the attached guest house, rent free, as long as we owned the ranch. He could decorate his living quarters to fit his needs. A property as large as ours, with home and the other buildings, would need constant attention, and my work with the gift shop left little time to devote to maintaining the property. Therefore, Herman would have a job working for us after all the remodeling was complete. He accepted my offer. Herman’s thick German accent occasionally resulted in miscommunication and my college German didn’t really do much to help the situation. But he was, indeed, a master builder and understood my repair and construction needs, often working late into the evening with typical German efficiency to complete different phases of the project. His first assignment, the remodeling of the guesthouse, would be the most important, as he would live there. The finished product was nothing short of magnificent. The kitchen was equipped with all modern appliances and the bathroom included a shower with tub and a beautiful tile floor, all installed by Herman.
Herman’s personal appearance, however, was in complete contrast to his work ethics, and his personality would best be described as a bit odd. His brown hair, streaked with gray, was constantly unkempt. We never saw him freshly shaved, and there was always a three- or four-day growth of gray-black whiskers, which matched his eyes. His seldom smiles revealed a few teeth missing.
Though he was not a big man, he was equipped with powerful arms and hands suited to his occupation. We had been assured by the people who introduced him to us that he could “repair or build most anything,” and that, he could.
But there were mysteries about the man. We never knew his age, for example. Anytime we inquired we received a different answer, always within a few years of the last answer. He related an endless number of stories of his past, yet remained very vague on just how he arrived in Las Vegas. We assumed he followed his wife, for she, like her new husband, was an “entertainer,” or so he once said.
As to his prior profession, we were given different stories over a period of time. For example, he had been a Formula One race car driver for an unnamed German auto manufacturer, though we learned he knew little about automobiles, except how to drive one. He said he once owned a large nightclub, where beautiful women arrived from Russia and Poland, begging for a job, and would do “anything to get one”; we didn’t inquire further into what that would entail.
Herman also claimed to be a master chef of European cuisine, who had performed his art on German television, viewed by millions. And then there was the time when he became dean of a “beauty school” and a professional photographer for leading glamour magazines.
We gave little credence to the stories, but they were amusing, especially during slow times at the office.
Most important, though, he was respectful to Chi and myself and attempted to befriend Trooper, who followed him about from time to time, but at a safe distance. There seemed to be an element of caution for both cat and repairman. The cat appeared concerned with the fact that Herman often carried a tool in his hand, a hammer or saw. Observing what the tool could do caused that concern. But, when “unarmed,” the cat often approached the man.
We never were able to convince Herman that the cat was tame. He once said to me, “That cat could kill a big animal if he wanted to. I’ve seen his long teeth. He is Jaeger (hunter), he is!”
So, with mutual respect, the two got along, although Trooper kept a careful eye on Herman. The man actually admired the cat, and believed he should always report Trooper’s location as the cat explored the property. And, thanks to Herman, the work at our ranch was completed on or ahead of schedule.
It was a good thing that all the ranch projects were moving according to my plans, for our life would be changing in an unexpected way.
We received disturbing news from the hotel management where we had operated our gift shop for several years. As is so often the case with casino-hotel resorts in Las Vegas, this one planned a major renovation. Our gift shop area, we were told, would become part of a new, “vastly expanded buffet.” We must make plans to close the shop within two years, an exact date to be issued later.
We depended on the profit from the shop for our survival, and now must create a new business that would replace the income we were about to lose.
Chiaki had a Japanese friend who was employed by another hotel as their international marketing manager. He made an interesting suggestion as to an alternative. I had driven this man and three of his contacts, executives for a Japanese airline, on an off-road desert trail ride in my H1 Hummer. They were thrilled with the short introduction to the desert. All of the riders encouraged the same idea—that I should start an off-road, scenic desert tour business. At the time, Japanese tourists were flooding into Las Vegas, and most had never seen a Hummer except on television news.
Chi and I began to explore different trails in the area and selected a few we believed would be idea for a brief education on our desert.
Ninety percent of Nevada is owned by the US Federal Government under the protection of the Department of the Interior, and most of that percentage is controlled by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Anyone may use trails approved by the BLM, but if one is operating commercially, then a “special use permit” is required. BLM attempts to ensure that drivers keep their speed under twenty-five miles per hour (a good idea if one wants to still have his vehicle together at the end of the drive) and remain on existing, approved trails. That is, one should not drive off a trail and into the desert. That action would destroy plants and the fragile desert “crust,” a three- or four-inch layer of organic matter that protects the earth from erosion while providing a base for plant seeds to survive.
With our necessary BLM permits, we still needed a county and state business license, as well as a Nevada Transportation Authority certificate. Once we had all of these in hand, plus our commercial insurance (required by all agencies), we were ready to start our desert tours. At last we were ready to show the public the Mojave.
We would be conducting our tours through the beautiful Red Rock Canyon Conservation area with its 200,000 acres of spectacular limestone and red Aztec sandstone cliffs. Some were thousands of feet in elevation. Here, Chi and I pointed out as many interesting points as possible during a three-hour visit into the area. The exciting phase of the tour was when we actually drove “off-road” on BLM trails so people could see the desert from “the inside out.” I believed this phase to be important because other tour companies only drove around the desert on blacktop roads and did not enter as we did. We began our tours with a Hummer H1, the original Hummer very similar to the famous Humvee. This was a perfect vehicle, powerful and safe, in which to carry our passengers on the off-road trails. Also, it gave us a great marketing tool as, at the time, most had only seen the vehicle during TV news coverage of the Gulf War.
In this canyon a photographer has a natural landscape paradise. Besides fantastic stone formations, thickets of Joshua trees appear to guard the valley with the Spring Mountains in the background. The majestic Joshua, often hundreds of years in age, are really not trees, but members of the lily family. They were named by a group of Mormon pioneers as they crossed the Mojave Desert on their way to Utah. The large plant’s unique shape reminded them of the Biblical Joshua, reaching his hands t
o the sky in prayer. The Joshua tree name has held since the mid-1840s.
The Old Spanish Trail passes through the Conservation area. Travelers frequently camp at the oasis now known as Blue Diamond, so named by early prospectors who claimed that water in the desert “is as rare as a blue diamond.”
Once off road, the passengers were told to stay alert for animals like the protected desert tortoise, kit fox, coyote, and bobcat. Except for the tortoise, however, these are mostly seen after dark. During daylight hours, though, we expected to see the elegant red-tailed hawk and ravens. Large animals such as the mountain lion, mule deer, and bighorn sheep are found at higher elevations and likely would not be visible. But there are always a great variety of plants, lizards, and snakes to discuss and photograph.
Every day on the trail I thought about Trooper when the name bobcat came up. I believed I was needed at the ranch to watch over him during his early years. The solution to my concern was simply to hire a driver, train him, and maintain contact by two-way radio. Chi prepared to educate young Japanese women to be narrators for the Japanese tourists. The business soon grew to the point where we needed to purchase two additional Hummers and hire drivers as we expanded our contacts to customers from a great variety of countries.
There was yet another phase to be added to our tour option list—mining towns, or ghost towns.
The Old Spanish Trail, which passed through the Las Vegas oasis, attracted Mormon missionaries in 1855. They farmed the land and erected an adobe fort, but evacuated the area to return to Utah at the beginning of the Utah or Mormon War in 1857. After the Civil War a number of ranchers settled at the oasis, but soon a railroad was constructed linking Los Angeles and Salt Lake City. The steam engines required water, and so did the workers. The Las Vegas oasis had all the water they needed.
Las Vegas became a city around 1909, thanks in part to the railroad, and was home to several hundred people. By 1930 the population reached 5,000.
But before Las Vegas the city was born, there were numerous towns with populations of 1,000 to 5,000 people scattered about Nevada. These were the mining communities, founded because someone struck precious metals, either gold or silver. They, too, needed water to survive, and if either the ore or water (often both) ran out, so did the people. Many of the towns were deserted long before Las Vegas became a city, and the miners, prospectors, and business people moved on to the next boom town. The abandoned town became a ghost town.
Two ghost towns were located within an hour of Las Vegas and our ranch. They were added to our list of tours. With fully qualified new drivers, I could once again spend time with my friend, the cat.
CHAPTER 9
New Territory, New Friends
“If you tame me, we shall need each other.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
I REMAINED AS EXCITED AS Trooper while we explored our new property. I knew the cat had been busy at night investigating the area, yet he came to my bed before dawn and snuggled next to me by pushing my arm aside to form a comfortable pocket.
When I strolled about the land, the cat was always nearby, often only a few yards away, darting between bushes. He behaved as if he were my “wing man,” protecting my flank. Trooper knew the land belonged to him and assumed the responsibility of guarding me.
Indeed, it was a comfort having him near during those walks. I knew nothing could slip up on him for the cat always appeared in alert mode.
After a walk I went to our office building and settled down to read through the daily paperwork necessary for our business.
Herman had already cut a hole in the office door through which the cat could pass when he pleased. He usually entered after his morning territory check and jumped to the corner of our eight-foot desk to take a nap. He showed no interest in the ringing phone or the sound of shuffling papers.
Across from me sat my office manager, Teri, a thirty-two-year-old attractive blonde with a phone voice that melted even the coldest solicitor. Her duties included the screening of incoming phone calls, placing most of the orders for our gift shop, paying bills, and processing payroll. In addition, she was a master on the computer, a talent I have never equaled. But most impressive was her pleasant personality and her ability to interact with a variety of characters. If I sound prejudiced, I am. Teri is my daughter.
Teri, her twin brother Mike, and her younger sister Nora were raised in Phoenix by their mother after our divorce, while I stayed behind in Chicago. My children came to visit from time to time or I journeyed to Arizona to be with them. Many years later, when the children were young adults, I married Chiaki and within a year Teri and her husband moved to Las Vegas to take advantage of a lucrative job market. Teri’s husband was in the home construction business and Teri went to work for a bank. But soon Teri gave birth to my first grandchild, Taylor, a girl. After that she had two more girls, Megan and Jordan, each about two years apart in age. She resigned her position at a local bank to be a full-time mother. Fortunately, she had a friendly neighbor who became their babysitter, meaning that Teri was free to go to work for me as my part-time personal secretary.
I often recall one of Teri’s visits to our home shortly before we relocated to the ranch. It was two months after the birth of her first child. Trooper had been sleeping somewhere in the yard that morning, and hearing our conversation, he decided to come into the house for a visit. The cat, then still a youngster, strolled into the living room where we were all seated. Suddenly he stopped and lowered his body almost to the carpet, assuming an alert position. The hair on his back bristled and his nose twitched rapidly. He was shocked by the sight of a pale, hairless animal on the living room floor. It was a creature he had never seen before. This strange animal appeared trapped in some kind of chair. Its legs were moving about and it was making peculiar sounds. What animal is this, the cat must have thought. Is it dangerous? Is it here to take my food? I will carefully investigate.
Trooper found Teri’s two-month-old daughter to be an interesting discovery. Trooper had seen larger children before and learned, like most cats, to avoid them. Children can pull tails, jerk fur, and even throw things at cats. To the cat, this creature appeared harmless, but he had to be sure of that before letting it preside in peace. Trooper moved slowly forward, closing the distance to the baby. We watched with some concern as the cat began to circle the child, moving closer with each pass.
“Look at him,” Teri said with serious concern. “What is he doing?”
I knew Trooper would not harm the baby. “He’s testing to see how far baby can jump. He has no idea what she is or what she can do. He just wants to be sure it is harmless,” I answered assuredly.
Trooper paused about three feet from the child, then turned and started towards the kitchen. He stopped midway and turned to stare back at the baby for a minute. And after a short staring contest, his first meeting with a human infant had ended peacefully. He encountered Teri’s other babies with only mild interest—they were harmless and boring. And from there, Trooper and Teri formed a friendship that day, an important occasion because we all would soon share the same desk.
A few days after arriving at the ranch we received a guest, Mr. Jim Butler, our neighbor from across the road. This tall, gray-haired gentleman with a ruddy complexion arrived in an electric-powered golf cart, explaining that the few hundred yards separating our homes was too far for an “old fellow” to walk.
Jim was eighty years old and a retired Navy man, having served almost thirty years. He and a “Navy buddy” left the military the same year and together moved to Las Vegas. This buddy came to visit him each week and they discussed how happy they were to be in the dry climate of the Mojave Desert.
“I had too many years of humidity and mosquitoes in the South Pacific,” Jim said. “Here, we don’t have either, and I like that!”
With a laugh, Jim stated that he was the “self-appointed area historian.” His wealth of local knowledge, which he subsequently relayed to Teri and me
, substantiated that claim. He had settled on a ranch about twenty years prior, and could remember when Prima’s golf course was abandoned. He recalled that the country clubhouse burned to the ground in a fire set by vandals, and that the manager’s home soon met the same fate. All that remained there were a few pine trees near a stone foundation. The golf course, grown over with sagebrush and creosote bushes, had become unrecognizable as a once active playground.
“That’s a good looking bobcat you got there!” Jim exclaimed. “I’ve heard some make good pets.”
“How did you recognize him as a bobcat?” I replied.
“Oh, I knew right away. He’s a beauty. I saw plenty bobcats around here in the old days before your place was built and civilization with its automobiles chased them away. A band of coyotes competed with the big cats for natural food . . . rabbits and such . . .”
“Coyotes?”
“Yes sir. About seven of them originally. But that pack began to kill pet dogs and cats, so people fought back . . . shot a few of ’em.”
“Some are still out there?”
“Yep. Maybe only four remaining. You’ll hear them at night when they come near your place. Your cat could kill one or two, but he don’t stand no chance against a pack.”
Jim noticed the concerned expression on Teri’s face.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he continued. “Your cat may be peaceful, but he’s still wild in his soul. You can’t change that. If need be, he can fight like hell using them claws and long teeth of his. But, you know, he climbs trees faster than you can snap your fingers. One on one he’ll lick any coyote stupid enough to test him. But he’s smarter than them coyotes. More than likely he’ll scamper up a tree to avoid a fight.”
“That’s good to know, Mr. Butler,” Teri said, casting a quick glance at me.
“Them coyotes are the serial killers around here! Always have been, but it won’t be long until folks kill ’em off. I know they must hunt for food but this pack has started killing for the fun of it . . . not even eating all their kills.
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