Here’s an excerpt from the article. I’m also showing you the proposed cover design. Blow it up. It’s the illustration I’ve been telling you about. Harbinger Asylum’s spring issue!

“Goldfield had been ripe for capitalists, politicians, rebels and anyone with unbridled ambition to take action and cause a ruckus. Goldfield was a clean slate, an open book in 1903. Small mines were about to start turning huge profits. By 1907 the town had grown into a substantial 24 hour town, the largest in Nevada. 20,000 residents lived here and the mines were being consolidated.
The headline read “Anarchists Growing Bolder At Goldfield” -The Goldfield Sun, and the year was 1907. Goldfield was becoming a company town and the gold miners had their defense, it was their union..”

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Maybe A Not So Typical Thanksgiving Post

Clothes on the Line, Backyard

I don’t have a bed. I sleep on the floor every night. I do this by choice. It’s plenty soft, carpet, a big thick sleeping bag under me and plenty of puffy covers over me, layered. Each night, almost every night lately, I write a couple poems and rip the page from the notebook for safe keeping, then drift off to sleep.

During the day, each day, I manage to read about the object of my mind’s latest focus-labor relations, especially related to a historic moment that took place here in Goldfield between miners and employers in 1906/07. Teddy Roosevelt sent in troops to break the strike.

There’s a drawing of the men involved in that political skirmish that I’m working on for a magazine cover. The magazine is a poetry and prose based anarchist publication out of Houston Texas. It’s called Harbinger Asylum. I’m drawing these portraits in detail on a large birch wood panel. It will go on to have painting around it and many more faces, mostly characters related to the Goldfield historic experience. This will be the cover for the issue featuring the article I’m writing for them about the labor strike.

I’m painting on canvas again lately. I had sort of taken some time off from that to work on the car forest, burying cars, publicizing the place and getting ready for the big party, which turned out to be a small party back in August. Life just always gets in the way. Things have settled a bit and a few days ago I set up my little painting studio in my shower, since my bathroom is not workable. It’s a good quiet place and it’s easy to heat.

View From Our Front Porch

I love painting oils so much and I seem to forget just how much until I start doing it again. The older I get the more often I remember how much I’m in control of my life, but it’s always taking the first step that’s most important. Distractions are constant; edging them out is difficult.

Harmonica is a new endeavor for me, since Zak has moved here; singing too. There’s alot to learn in any art and it’s that learning that keeps me going.

Radio DJing is a performance for me. I get to explore music but also my own performance with voice and content. I have always loved doing interviews and it feels good to have myself involved with this community in this way.

Our House is The End of the World

A couple days ago, a folder full of quickly shot off images from my social media, i.e. Facebook days took me on a trip down memory lane. The dates on each image relayed the moments in my life that served as backdrop. It’s gets me back in the mindset of fishbowling and how it was an art of its own. Up to the minute content, distributed widely is something substantial and the amount of self exposure was something useful to explore. I must get back to fishbowling some day.

The cheap camera I now own was a trade. My offer was a router that a friend of mine needed for making picture frames and wood creations. It has afforded me another creative outlet that I’ve long been exploring and that is the capture of light, photography. Shacks and buildings and mountains and joshua trees have been the main event there. To say it’s beautiful here doesn’t nearly say it. There’s an essence to living here and the feedback from my blog site has been fun.

2007, Hotel El Cortez, the first year of NadaDada in my room, drawing on wood

Today is Thanksgiving and I’ve had my phone conversations with family back home. Soon I go back to our firehouse to help with preparations for the Thanksgiving feast where we’ll feed the town.

Mom, Dad, brothers, I love you. You must have done something right because for my life, the perspectives I’ve been privy to, I’m thankful for them. I feel like a well adjusted person. I’m thankful for my interesting friends; you’ve kept my life colorful.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Wood Is Important

The historic Gans/Nelson fight in ’06 here-it was a stadium to seat over 7000 people, constructed on the spot of wood, and it was erected temporarily-quickly dismantled and shipped off, by rail, for the next fight in another town.

The only trees to speak of here in town are Joshua Trees, which are not really wood-wood. There was one mention, in an old article from the early days, just after the first people started to populate this place; they said before anyone was here it was a “forest”. That was back before they tried to call the mining district Granpah, when it was simply called Rabbit Spring.

It remains this quizzical mention that people still ponder. Was the writer suggesting that there were real trees here or a grove of Joshua trees or what? And was it ‘full’ of trees? Back then they could cut those cacti down with no legal consequences. I’d love to see more of those “trees” here. They’re coming back. An old gal told me they’ve, just recently, started growing more heartily, around here, in the past decade.

I’ll have to do an upcoming post, just on these strange life forms. Ya’ know, 10 miles north of here and 10 miles to the south, they abruptly stop and that’s always made me ponder nature’s deeper game plans.

Shacks here have come and gone. Fires, floods, yeah, but simply stolen for firewood as well. There are stories of the old days when telephone poles would disappear, and living here, I’m not surprised. As you can see from my photos here, they’re sometimes simply left to deteriorate on their own. It’s a shame. I wish we could gather these old shacks and rebuild them along the main drag for tourists to marvel at.

Wood is important.

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Zak and I dismantled a shack with an outhouse the other day for someone and most of the wood will be used to reside her old house, but leftovers, we’re already chopping up with a borrowed chainsaw for our woodburner. It can get pretty cold and it takes a lot of energy to keep the heat up. Wood is energy.

Yesterday I got to tool around Goldfield and shoot some shacks. It was pretty cloudy-just before sunset-but I was interested in capturing the town as it is, not as a magazine would like to depict it. It’s a town that has wanted to die out but people have never completely let that happen.

The few brick buildings that remain will never go away.. and then there’s that corrugated steel that just rusts for a couple hundred years.

I call it the “Goldfield Look” and I’m interested in reviving the look and making “a thing” of it. Robert Rauschenberg would be lovin’ it. Architectural Digest, are you listening?

This time, I Get Interviewed (Worldwide)

Friday night @ 8pm, Pacific, I aired an interview of ME on Audio Sorgfield. You can stream it, online, http://www.KGFN.org.

Eddie Floyd, with his guest interviewer, Sammy Stern, pick my brain about all things Sorg and all things Goldfield. Please tune it! It was a blast to talk about my new life.

Nevada Matters airs on FoxNewsRadio, around the world, I’m told. Here’s their station’s website. My interview airs there some time this weekend. www.991fmtalk.com

but.. I’VE ARCHIVED THE SHOW so you can hear it RIGHT HERE now:

Thank you so much, Eddie Floyd and Sammy Stern!

A Full Life Living Here… Letting Cats Out of Bags

English: Tex Rickard, American boxing promoter...
Tex Rickard, American boxing promoter and founder of the NHL’s New York Rangers.

Living here, there’s a certain sense of relaxation; maybe I’ve mentioned it: we’re all on Goldfield time here. It makes sense that country music, with its laid back style of verbalization, is popular in places like this. We just don’t give a fuck. We’re here because we’re independent, but here in Goldfield we’re working on our interdependence skills.

Having said that, there is no place like this: This IS Goldfield.

You do realize that I live in a small town that was once a very important city, right? There are plenty of books and links to describe, in detail for you, what this place once was, but let me say now,  it’s a new animal here at this point. We’re a tight knit community now.

Everywhere I look are familiar faces, whether I like that or not. I could paint them leery or friendly, my choice, but it’s a very small number of people living here in this remote, high desert town.

I was in the Goldfield Gift Shop today and saw an attractive female, a blond. She wore a blue tank top. I don’t even prefer blonds, but it was a rare event, in all honesty. Not to put anyone down; I’m just saying that seeing an attractive female that’s not taken (spoken for) is a rare event these days for me. Without the commuters that we’re all trying to turn into “tourists”, this place would suck, completely.. haha.. Fresh blood rolls through every minute of the day.

I’d like to get all Edward Abbey on you, wax on about the mustard sunset and the burnt umber rocks and venomous critters, but it’s not my focus to speak of th0se things. I’m more about people. I’m more about community. I’m more about what the Greeks termed ‘agora’, or market place. People, art, socializing, psyche.

There’s no reason to not let the cat out of the bag but my roommate, Zak, and I are considering opening a coffee shop/art gallery in the space beside said gift shop, between it and our radio station where I have a show, Radio Goldfield, http://www.KGFN.org, and across the street from the famous Goldfield Hotel (which was actually called ‘The Goldfield’ in its day, by the way.) It’s time to start wheeling and dealing with this building’s owner.

At this point, we’re thinking signage:

Joshua Tree
Coffee, Art, Books and Music
Goldfield, NV

 I’m probably gonna’ need an investor or two for our shop. (hint hint) Time to make some money now.

At this moment the Chamber of Commerce is having its meeting and I’m down the street typing on the radio station’s computer. I am happy to report, these days, I represent only myself. During my ‘rein’ we tripled membership; my job is done there.

More cats I might like to bring out of the bag are these:

Nevada Matters wants to interview me for their radio show on Fox News Radio about the current happenings in Goldfield and also there’s a cable TV network that’s interested in coming to our town, with my help. It seems someone, technologically adept is needed to make connection and I’m that guy. They really wanna’ film us burning a bus at the Car Forest. I can’t divulge more than that.

I’m interested in promoting a big boxing event in our town to commemorate the historically groundbreaking boxing match between Joe Gans and Oscar Nelson that happened here in 1906. Tex Rickard went on to found Madison Square Gardens, but before that, he promoted that match, here in Goldfield. Maybe in the future, someone will compare me and my co-conspirators to him and his. I recently interviewed, for my show, the president of Friends of Joe Gans and the author of a new book about that match, “The Longest Fight”.

The Car Forest gets visitors from all over the world every week. Our work seems to be done here. It’s an art installation and it will never be “finished”. It may be time to move on to other projects for me, though. Unfortunately the owner happens to be a prick and I’m interested in disassociating myself with him.

A friend of mine is promoting his event, a soap box derby competition for adults, and there’s a new BMX track in town for the kiddies. They have very big lights for night events. I can tell ya, the soap box derby guy’s name is James and I see that he’s never gonna’ stop workin’ it. His wife is president of the Firefighter’s Association, here, and between you and me, some cool things are in the works.

My friend, John Ekman, pres of the Historical Society, is employing me to paint an old train of theirs with the words The Goldfield Consolidated Mines Company. He’s one of the most intelligent Goldfielders I know; though another contender for that distinction would be a guy I helped to build a yurt with last weekend, Bill. Both divide their time between here and California cities.

Apparently there’s a big gold mine moving back into town. We’ll see how that turns out. Somebody from the community needs to get some serious money from their corporation, if this is true. I call it image laundering, and a multi-national like that needs to clean their appearance if they wanna cash in on this place where WE live. Dominic is a friend and our County Commissioner. My hope is that he understands how to play hard ball with these boardroom stiffs.

I went to the courthouse today to collect a couple applications for a couple job openings. I doubt I’ll pursue either job, really. One thing I’m sure of, though, is it’s time to make some money, here in my far away place.

Regarding all of this, you’ll just have to stay tuned. I’m gonna’ go grille some chicken breasts now for my roommate and his kid, Alison. She’s 5 and more adorable than you can imagine.

A Good Bullshitting Session (Slideshow of Goldfield Today)

I got a camera the other day, through a trade. I told my friend that I’ve got a nice router for wood. He wanted that router and besides I wanted a camera. I got it.

So tonight I got to bring out the camera. I had wanted to shoot the town, just what I see, you know, my town. Shoot it like I live here; I know this place. These buildings in disarray are mine.

It’s been awhile since I’ve had my own camera. I’ve been in Goldfield for just over a year now and I’ve never had my own camera to shoot photos on OR video. I take life as it comes to me and that’s just the way it’s been.

And now that I have one again, life has changed for me substantially. Living here and facing the decision of how to dive back into Fishbowling (or not).

Do smelly bums always have blue eyes?

A couple showed up to the Car Forest in a small truck pulling a pop up camper. We talked for a couple minutes and realized, or chose to admit that she’d been reading my blog. All the sudden she asked “Are you the Mayor?”

“Ohhhhh… nooooo, I was the President of the Chamber here. Yeah, that’s me. You read my blog then?” Her name’s Rebecca and her boyfriend/husband is Andrew. They were stopping through coming back from a visit in Mesquite, on the state’s SouthEast angle, originating from North Lake Tahoe.

They had just bought a camper trailer in Vegas as the selection was bigger than Reno’s and the journey was worth it, I surmised. They actually didn’t end up touring the Car Forest. I understand how much they’ve had to asses, traveling. They came inside, instead, and Zak and I served them water and talked about living here. I always get asked by the girls if it’s lonely out here.

Trick question.

After they’d gone, I decided, from then on, I’d always answer that question with “Yes but it gets lonely in the city too.”

I took that camera out to catch the angles of light and feature the hard lit lines, the angles rake at low pivot positions, creating dimension and depth.

How does it make me feel? Stark lighting, evening comes in my town. I’m happy to gain good color in the viewfinder.

Damn I was happy to meet someone who’s been following along back in the real world. It reminds me of the breadth the audience of my blog can gain. I told them about the radio station because I’d be heading here tonight after the photo shoot.

Questions of the breadth of our airwaves ensued. Jokes about BOTH of my listeners listening at the same time, then abound.

Rim light happens when you’re facing the sun, looking West, in other words. Facing away from the sun, every thing’s lit smoothly and evenly. I like to be able to see dust in the air as a shiny truck drives down the slope of a gravel road.

The town is further spaced out in residencies, the further you get from the main drag, which is Highway 95. The highway is also Crook Street from historical layouts of this town. The radio station is housed in a spacious, three store space wooden building with brick walls under the wood, peeled drywall and patterned wallpaper. Our building is across the street from the Goldfield Hotel.

The Goldfield was built around 1907 or ’08 and has been vacant for the majority of that time. In its utilized days, it was the high society place to stay during temporary stays in town. These days, it’s still in nice condition, though obviously out of use with crumbling sidewalks featuring chain link fence surrounding and incredibly dusty windows. You may know this building from the ghost hunting shows on television. As featured in one of tonight’s conversations, it is one of the 7 Gates to Hell. Since none of us even knows what that means, in ramblings, I’ll move on.

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Being on Goldfield time means a certain thing here. Life here brings a solace to a person’s responsibility times and also date books. It’s easy to forget which day of the week it is and the date of month is often questionable, as well.

No one’s in a hurry around here.

This town needs a fishbowler®. I live, naturally, at this pace and focus, with me, zooms in and out, sometimes abruptly, to take in wider perspectives. I take it all in.

The houses sit vacant and widely forgotten about. Compounded interest in this former city lay in layers. I had been told recently that a past county commissioner had plots leveled, as such, I’m assuming, were properties of the county. It seemed to have been a piece of a plan to get people here to buy here.

Sally Zanjani’s book “Goldfield” is with me right now. I’ve been reading from this handsome biography of a gold rush boom-and-bust locale of yore. I’m just getting through the first 3rd of the book. I’m learning of the string of entrepreneurs and heathens that built what is a living legacy of a boom town. They got off to a bang. I’m learning that their ambitions were accelerated and all was depleted by convening factors –Both nature and mankind were unkind to the fatalists of this new Old West city.

The pioneers here were banking on a town of rowdy outlaws and determined slash resolute new-Westerners that thought they could wrestle their way to fortune living on the backs of a dirty whisky-fed laboring populous.

Gold can kill. But taking that chance is the American way.

The story city/town’s story features an industrious time of wildly speculative historical calendars-The dust here glittered gold and all that goes with such a pronouncement, this town had. Now we’re just reeling in the years.

A glitter of momentary realization brings me to what it is today to live here, in T20 siding, abandoned washers and dryers and oily rebuilds for windbreaks lining property lines with sagebrush and evening glow is today’s Goldfield. Once in awhile there’s an interesting rooftop to shroud out current day defeatism.

Sitting at the radio station, it’s quiet here-outside the sound booth, anyway. Patty and Dave are doing their live show, inside, with headphones and unscripted lines. Queenie, the dog, rests on the greenroom carpet beside me. Nurse Patty looks up the facts while Dave plays the straight guy, not knowing much about medicine and proud of it. Listeners call in for answers to their prostate questions. It’s the Healthy Hour.

I may sit outside the General Store, now, for awhile with my laptop and work on these artful words. Thanks for reading.

Tonight I’m on a mission to write like a writer. I’ve been reading some instructional books to harness my powers more gracefully. Another beer will get me where I need to be while evening truckers roll through, most without use of engine brake. Thank God for experience.

There’s been a homeless guy in town the past couple weeks. He seems to like it here and that makes me glad. His name is Preacher. We have interesting conversations, he & I, when I see him. Tonight we talk with other locals, on the woodgrain stoop.

Now there’s a whole group outside the radio station and there’s heckling of the live radio announcers.

Preacher and I talk of ghosts and demons. He doesn’t drink and he doesn’t smoke. He wants nothing from me and vice versa. This situation makes for a good useless banter..

We like our ghosts here. We like our paranormal. We like those engaged but not involved in current day life forces. We like death around here it seems.

A good bullshitting session ends with everyone getting their fill of an astute fill of excretion in inconsequential nonsense. The whole point of the game is to rattle off nothing at all that matters to daily life. We all want to get away from what it is that fills our pocketbooks.

Visiting Goldie, similar in stature and temperament to Dave and Patty’s Queenie, pulls off her own bullshitting session, in concurrent dog talk, of course. These two dogs are “good buddies.” The dogs were happy, maybe their human counterparts would take the cue and be courteous and amiable as well, always squelching any attempted puffery of O’Bomney talk.

I should probably record my show now. I’ve got my Mac computer going; it likes to overheat these days. I need it working with me. I’ve got to bounce my show from it to the studio computer so my show can be recorded. I have to edit recorded talk with Dad.

I interviewed him last week and I’m angling to have a “Vietnam Era Episode”, recorded and in the can, episode 18, once this night ends.

Shooting images of these old places we listen for tunes echoed from the past. Ours is a town that questions your motives for driving through without stopping.

Back In Goldfield, Out of Oakdale and Out of Wal Mart

I love it on the road. The mind races as the scenery swooshes by. Ideas coagulate.

If you read my last blog, you’ll already know that my Dad came to visit in Goldfield. After here for a couple days, my Dad left Zak and Alison behind and we went on the road to visit some national parks.

It’s good to be back home. It was good visiting, Death Valley and the Sequoias were inspiring, but now that Dad’s gone, it’s nice to get back to life here in Goldfield.

I have to tell you, while putting on some hefty miles, father/son bonding, on my mind was fishbowling. Touring highways and lonely routes, I got hours to explain my ideas to my Dad and I relayed how successful I feel my performance art was. One part of me feels that that chapter of life is over, but another part of me -especially while on the road -feels that fishbowling is not a done deal for me. It’s a more interesting thing, for most, than paintings. Fishbowling is about intimate exposure.

Do you know what it is, fishbowling? In simple terms, I’ll say this: fishbowling is living in public spaces and blogging about it. That’s what my business cards said. I would broadcast interviews with artists and creatives in return for meals. I saw alot. I lived simply.

Now that I’m established here in my little town, I still think about the road. It means so much to me to be traveling like a rolling stone, day dreaming about those like me that came before me. It’s good to be out there in the world, forgetting who you are and taking it all in.

Since moving to Goldfield, I’ve become the President of the Chamber of Commerce, but since then, just a month ago, I resigned from that position. It was for the best and I truly mean that: it was for the best. It was a moment of enlightenment for me to realize that I needed to extract myself from that spot in this microcosm of the world. Without the title, I wish to act on the consensus of this town.

I don’t want to embarrass anyone or make this sound negative, because it all worked out the way it was supposed to -I hate when people say that, as if the future has all been recorded before we ever lived it. I’m not a fatalist and I don’t believe in ‘destiny’ as a prescribed thing where we’re just mouthing the words or marching rote paces prescribed us. I feel our daily decisions make a difference.

Anyhoo, I wanted to recount some points from a conversation with the hotel clerk, Brianna, who I had a late night conversation with in Oakdale, CA, population of 15,000, at the base of the Sequoia National Forest. She had asked me what I was writing about there as I sat in the lobby with my note pad. I was writing about ideas of how to involve our locals to help Goldfield’s commerce.

She relayed to me that, as a “chubby girl”, she was fond of the idea that her town could get a Wal Mart, as the store’s selection of plus sizes is amenable to people of her size. We had been talking small towns and my personal experience with the Chamber of Commerce.

Oakdale is only a town and had recently voted down a bill to make it a city, I was told. A politician, new to town and unpopular, had been pressing the matter.

My little town of 200 deals with related issues. Here, we continually question whether we’d like to open ourselves up for higher levels of commerce or not. We like our streets with no names. We like the quiet.

In the end, I shared the book I had with me about my town of Goldfield by Sally Zanjanni. Brianna was interested to know about how our fires were put out in the 20’s with beer. I explained that only liquor is flammable but not beer. She was impressed with our historic population of 20,000. She understood our unique position as an all-but-dried-up little town.

Wal Mart, it seems, is a very divisive subject that can separate people into groups. The moment I realized I needed to resigned as President, I was listening to a TV program about the store’s insidious practices in America and beyond. In Reno, I had shopped there out of necessity. People like me created Wal Mart. I am the problem.

Goldfield is different and at that moment of clarity, I had decided that if Goldfield saw me as a Wal Mart type, I should not stand as a leader. I would agree with their impression and step down. Only time will acquaint my townsfolk with the real Chad Sorg.

So I told Brianna to form a chubby coalition and talk to the small businesses in town that supply apparel. “Show them the buying power of local chubby girls; Wal Mart is a rapist,” I suggested.

Brianna believes, also, that if the town becomes a city, they’ll get a 24 hour hospital of their own instead of having to travel 60 miles to Modesto for medical emergencies.

I don’t know the answers to these questions. I appreciated our momentary connection, though.

Goldfield Chamber Presented with Joe Gans Banner, Labor Day, 2012

Goldfield NV 1900a
Goldfield NV 1900a (Photo credit: DB’s travels)

Life is full here in Goldfield. I fill my own time with working on the Car Forest, moving rocks, painting and burying cars, fixing up the house and hosting visitors that have come to see the cars. I also work on Chamber of Commerce projects such as our current community effort called Beautify Goldfield where our army of volunteers is hitting the streets. In a couple weeks we’ll be cleaning up the town together. Also, we’ve voted to make the town’s slogan official “World’s Greatest Gold Camp”.

A personal and creative outlet for me is producing my weekly radio show, Audio Sorgfield on KGFN. That one is all me, but today I got to use the radio show in the service of the Chamber of Commerce. I invited a special guest and we talked about an important historic Goldfield event.

The President of Friends of Joe Gans was in town this weekend. Kevin Grace is about 40 years old and full of zeal concerning all things Joe Gans. Grace formed his organization to promote the accomplishments of this historic boxer and bring his name back into prominence. Both are from Baltimore.

Obtained at http://www.antekprizering.com/01.1...
Obtained at http://www.antekprizering.com/01.14.04.html. Picture taken in 1899. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Out of the blue, at the Chamber office yesterday, Kevin showed up. It’s the second time he’s paid our town a visit and this time he wanted to be here on Labor Day, the fight’s 106th anniversary. Grace’s first visit was 8 months ago and he was by the Goldfield Chamber’s Vice President, Dominic Pappalardo. Angela Haag and Allen Metscher of our Historical Society showed Kevin around. We have a simple plaque in the fight’s historic location as well as a more prominent one outside the courthouse downtown.

Joe Gans was the lightweight champion of the world and back in 1906 he fought Oscar “Battling” Nelson and won the match after 42 rounds to defend his title. That was right here in Goldfield. To some, this was the most important fight of the century. 42 frickin’ rounds!?! It was one of the first sporting events ever to be filmed and gloves had been a recent introduction to the sport.

Joe Gans was the first black American sports super star and this fight was at the center of attention in the sporting world. Gans won his portion of the $30,000 purse-the biggest ever at the time-and with it he opened the Goldfield Hotel back in Baltimore. $11,000, he walked away with, invested that in building the Goldfield and is purported to be the first ever African American in Baltimore to own a car! The car’s price? $5,555.00.

Even in Gans’ hometown of Baltimore, MD he’s been practically erased from history. His historic Goldfield Hotel was demolished and replaced with a post office, which inhabits the spot today. This establishment was America’s first “Black & Tan” club. Whites and blacks dined and caroused together, enjoying ragtime music.

Eubie Blake, an important ragtime musician, got his start at the Goldfield. He has a famous tune called The Goldfield Rag.

Tex Rickard promoted the fight. He was the Don King of his day and lived here in Goldfield until he moved onward. He ended up being one of the founders of Madison Square Garden in New York City. His historic house is still standing, here, though in a shabby state of disrepair.

Talking with the owner of the land on which the Gans Nelson historic marker sits, we discussed possible future plans to name his pond, currently being constructed, after the boxing match. Grace and I would like to have a more substantial monument erected to mark the location as well.

Tomorrow, Grace will be presenting to the Chamber a beautiful banner commemorating the fight. Soon I’ll be painting a scene from the historic boxing match on one of our cars at the CarForest. I’m very interested in getting one of the artists I know commissioned to do a bronze commemorative sculpture on the site. If you saw the spot, you wouldn’t believe something so historic happened there. It deserves the most dignified marker.

I’m honored to be involved with this piece of historic significance.

Labor Day, 2012, Kevin Grace presents the Goldfield Chamber with a gorgeous banner commemorating the historic Gans Nelson fight that took place here 106 years ago to the day.
The Gans Nelson banner at the resting place of Joe Gans in the Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Baltimore Maryland, courtesy of Friends of Joe Gans.

Order Your Car Forest T Shirts Online! (NO LONGER AVAILABLE)

We’re getting visitors every day from all over the country. A couple from Massachusetts drove 8 hours out of their way to see our cars just the other day, and a photographer was out in the rain and lightning the other night, (see THUNDER post) getting some shots.

(NO LONGER AVAILABLE)

The colors available, still, are Heather Grey, Corvette Yellow, Stone Blue or Light Pink. Black screen print design depicts our glorious bus and with the words:

International Car Forest

of the Last Church

Goldfield, NV.

Up to XL $15.00 USD. They’re pre-shrunk so you don’t have to allow for much shrinkage. FREE SHIPPING!

Car Forest T shirt YellowOops.. Who's This? Car Forest T shirt Grey  Car Forest T shirts Stacked Car Forest T shirt- 11 Left

Here, Alison models her pink T. She’s 5 years old and the size of her shirt is Kid’s M. This was just after we noticed she picked up some spray paint herself… it’s kind of a cool abstract painting.. I was not at all happy with her. We’ll work on it together in the spring. I’m making her do some preparatory drawing first.

I’m modeling my yellow shirt, which is a Large and a little big on me. We found some rusty wire on the ground. I’m thinking a miner used it to hang his coffee mugs from the ceiling of his shack.

(NO LONGER AVAILABLE)

 

…sorry.

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