Cat Sitting Fishbowl Stint Starts NOW

I can’t believe I said yes to this like nothing at all. It is amazing how maliable I am; day before yesterday, I believe it was.

6:43 PM, Friday, End of the World, 12/21/12. Wow, that’s weird.

A guy I don’t know that well came to my place to ask if I wanted to cat sit in his trailer for a week or so. I said yes. Plain & simple, so here I am.

I cannot believe how simply he lives. He outdoes me, actually. No TV –that’s a start. No radio. NO COMPUTER! Apparently he drinks coffee but I haven’t found the coffee maker yet.

The food here is astounding-tiny collection. I’ll get to that later. Just a urinal; no pooping here unless I go gonzo (outside, I guess) or the rest stop. There’s TP here, shelf above the bed.

I just found his one porn mag.

I’m at the radio station at the moment to catch wireless and my show’s about to come on, I hope anyway. Last week it never seemed to come on the 2 times I tuned in to hear it. Told Carl to just air last week’s show. No prob. Gives me a week off anyway.

OH, here it is. RIGHT NOW! Tonight happens to be the “Lonely Episode, number 26, Audio Sorgfield”. It re-airs tonight @ 11 Pacific time. Otherwise, see the schedule on our page for the rest of the week.

Cat’s name is Mister White Whiskers. He was beside me this evening while I wrote this on a note pad. I hope his owner doesn’t mind me mentioning his porn mag. It’s very tame actually. Very moderate. I’m impressed by his austere life. He does have 2 vehicles though. I’m not judging.

Zak suggested, just tonight, that I fishbowl this residency. Just tonight he mentioned this as I was about to walk to the trailer to feed the cat. I actually hadn’t thought of it that way. While I’m here for the week I’m painting. Oils on canvas. Writing too it looks like. Yeah, I’m fishbowling this cat sitting trailer week.

As I said, I hadn’t planned on fishbowling here but what the hell. Pictures to come.

“I live in strange places and blog about it..” says my business card.

There’s a book on Mark Twain here. Dust cover’s mangled. I’m reading his assessment that multiple palm readers had divulged that he, according to his hand wrinkles, had no sense of humor. I would like to be so humorless myself.

Good night.

Episode Roger and Episode Life


What to do if you’re weird..

First of all, you have to accept it: you’re weird. Whatever the mood was that conjured up this perception, you have to then accept that: I’m lonely, I’m scared, I made a mistake, I’m just different.

At this point it would be good for you to be an artist of some kind. Work with whatcha’ got, or even if not, and just make something. Even if it’s a shelf that’s a strange angle, make that-OR-clean the dishes if that’s a weird thing for you to be doing at this moment. If the wind is blowing, devise some kind of windblock out of big sheets of stuff you may have in the yard, such as a car hood or hollow panel doors, and stand them up in a strategic windblock spot.

I was thinking of this kind of talk in order to possibly relate to you, my reader, but then I started thinking, life is stranger than fiction; I will continue just talking about my real life and hopefully that will entertain you. It wasn’t that windy for me today.

I come in each week to the radio station, here, dark, lights on so the street traffic can see me. I create these shows for my small community and maybe that’s the kind of environment that’s needed to immerse oneself with what it is to write a song. What does it take for them to give it flavor but make it mean something?

I’m writing a song. Zak has this real folksy riff that I’m working with. I haven’t gotten back to him yet with my lyrics, really. We’ll have to work on the song and put it all together & make it fit pretty. I’ve written a BUNCH of words for it. Some rhyme, sometimes they don’t. There’s a certain carefree feel to the riff and I’m happy about that. I want the message to feel happy or at least melancholic like ‘it’s alright’. I think I’m calling it “End of the World”, so that could be ironic.

The Roger Episode..a.k.a. Episode Roger. It’s an entire episode of Roger Whittaker and Roger Miller. Now before you poo poo it and think, um, whatever you might think about that, I’m requesting you listen. It’s on tonight (Friday, Pacific time) 11pm..

The Rogers, though, they both have their unique voice to give daily life an artistic twist. Whittaker was born with an authoritative voice and Miller, well, he’s a smartass, but he’s able to join the low balls with the high brows.

It’s in the way that you do it, right? The WAY that you put your song together. It’s the way that the chords go together and how they end up feeling. The message is not always in the subject matter, per se. Sometimes, it’s the raw abstractness of it all. To abstract (verb) from life and from time, monotonous or glorious.

But we all have different worlds to move around in. We do it different.

Audio Sorgfield. For (pretty much) 25 continuous episodes I’ve been making radio episodes for KGFN, 89.1 FM. I want you to tune in tonight at 11 Pacific, OR I guess you’ll just have to go to the station’s site and look at the schedule page. Easiest to just go to the bottom to see what times throughout the week I’m on.

& fer godssakes, please comment.

This time, I Get Interviewed (Worldwide)

Friday night @ 8pm, Pacific, I aired an interview of ME on Audio Sorgfield. You can stream it, online,

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.

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,, 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.

Turns Out, I’m not the Hero of Goldfield… not quite yet

54 photos of our End of the World and Goldfield Days, taken by Teresa Roberts. So, kick your shoes off and take a listen to tonight’s Audio Sorgfield episode #13 while enjoying.

I’ll paint a practical picture of what the End of the World Party was like.

As I’ve already been talking about in other blog posts, I was disappointed with the outcome. Not many people showed up; like 20 or so, to camp.

It rained and our bands were very disappointed, in fact, upset that they never got to play. A duo came to play that hailed all the way from San Francisco. We did get to burn our bus and I’ll tell you about that in a minute. A nudist with no belly button was here. A couple girls that we’d never met before came down from Reno. Their arrival, with others, was at about 2am. I walked all the way out to the bus with no shirt on to greet them. That must have seemed odd.

A very good friend who’s bound to a wheelchair showed up with another friend and his girlfriend; they were a lot of fun to hang out with and Zak and I were very happy to be able to accommodate. An archaeologist came from Idaho to stay for a night in her tent.
It was all so weird and almost dreamlike. Friends camped in the yard or in their cars in the driveway. Ms. Button took a bunch of pictures for us and we did sell a handful of T-shirts. A film maker friend stayed the weekend as well to document our party. A couple ghost hunter friends came down from Reno to visit as well.

Conversation hinged on UFO’s, mining, and the over-zealous local sheriff’s department who kept a close eye on us. The musicians sat in our covered patio and drank vodka, ate cheeseburgers from our grill and talked music.

At one point, a brand new white corvette came rolling out from our CarForest’s dusty roads. I went out to greet the driver who happened to be a guy who I’d heard of but never met before and involved with our local radio station. He flew out from Minnesota to be here and I enjoyed talking with him for a little bit. It was a rental car; we had figured that. A handful of friends showed up or rolled through. A gay couple from a neighboring ghost town swung by and I’m glad to have made their acquaintance. Goldfield will never be the same.

The town’s yearly festival, Goldfield Days, was going on this same weekend and I’m proud to say a lot of locals came out to see the CarForest. It was such moody weather that on the one hand, I was proud to show off Goldfield’s meteorological drama, but then again, the rain really put a damper on our party. The amps never came out of our big black Suburban which died on us on Saturday. Our school bus stage was never used.

I rented 3 port-a-potties for the weekend and one was used only once by a small child that showed up on Sunday with families of 4 wheeler fanatics from Southern California. It got me thinking, I believe we should buy one bathroom facility to have here permanently in the future.

I’m proud to say that articles were written in 2(!!) Vegas periodicals, Nevada Magazine’s website, local area newspapers, Reno News & Review and also multiple blogs online. We even have a production company from New York City that wants to make it out to see a bus burning and air it on a cable network! I’d have to say I’ve done my part for Goldfield, Nevada.

We got a ton of publicity all over the state and beyond. PR could not have been done any better, thank you very much. Of that, I’m very proud. That’s why it’s puzzling that the results were so lackluster. It’s a long way to Goldfield, I guess. Goldfield is famous now though.

The weirdest part was the days after the party. People are still showing up. We’ve opened up a floodgate of visitors! Just today, visitors from Massachusetts drove 4 hours, one way, out of their way to come down to Goldfield to see the Car Forest.

Around noon, I was sitting at the General Store and this great panoramic photographer that I know pulled up and said “Chad! We came to see the CarForest!” Vincent Cascio is his name and I can’t wait to share the digital vistas that he takes. (By the way, he’s looking for a Reno gallery to show in, hint hint..)

He said, he wanted to share the photos he takes in town with Goldfield’s Chamber of Commerce. “Oh great, Vince, we’d love them. I’m the President, actually.” It was a small town moment.

Torrential downpours came and having seen the End of the World signs still at the road, a mystical wanderer showed up at our doorstep. She just got out of the Goldfield jail and she had alien prophecies to share with us. She’s a shamanic healer, of sorts, and the most independent loner I’ve met in a long time.

The archaeologist talks of future wishes to base herself in Goldfield, by the way. We’d like that. She’s artsy and smart and cute. She enjoyed the rusted debris in our back yard and I can’t wait to hear what she says about the volcanic rock surrounding our home.

We had wanted to fill Goldfield Days with the campsters from our End of the World Party. We wanted to be heroes to the town. I have to realize, success is sometimes more obscured than we’d like. We did a very good thing. These writings help me digest it all.

In this melancholic, mystical, post-apocalyptic mood, I finished a parable I’d been working on for 6 months about a snake that rules the world through greed. It ends on a positive note. I recorded it last night for Episode 13 of my Audio Sorgfield. Every episode is unique and this one has a hero theme.

6 months of planning, promotion, and physical labor went in to the making of this party. I had vowed to stay in bed for 2 days after it was all over. Basically this whole week I’ve done that, save the couple times I took long walks up the surrounding hills to discover new terrain and old ruins. At night I’ve been able to enjoy the stars with a clear mind. I’m not even thinking about the next party yet.

Multiple times a day now we see people cruising up to look at the cars. The greatest accomplishment gained from throwing this party is that, now, a floodgate of visitors has opened up. I think it’s time to paint a big sign with a donation box and words saying “Buy a Car Forest T-Shirt downtown at the Goldfield Giftshop!”

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Wanna’ email me?

Radio Goldfield, Pirates No More!

“Tony’s Place” is a homespun world of community radio theater which posits a setting where Brazil nuts and root beer are the bane of prohibition efforts in this alternate Goldfield-centric 1940’s-ish world. The show is Radio Goldfield, KGFN’s, new community radio theater show, (approximately 18 episodes so far). Residents Tony Taylor and his mother, Linda Enlund, co-write the show.

The Governor, the Mayor ( assassinated a couple months ago) and various sheriff/deputy, gangster/brothel characters-thirty to date-make up the pantheon in this home spun comedic epic where community is paramount.

Taylor, 39, with dark, thick hair, warm tan and bashful but confident voice, says of his mother, “She has most of the ideas about where the show is going and then we work together to produce the finished product.”

“Anybody can be in the show.. ANYbody…It’d be great if every person in town played a character of their own,” declares Taylor. “…we need more bad guys.”

“Why bootlegging of Brazil nuts and root beer?” I inquire. “…’Cause everybody wanted it” is Taylor’s casual retort.

With a background in theater and rodeo (broncos), Taylor quotes the director of a touring stage production of The Odd Couple, that he performed in. “Acting is real life experiences in an imaginary world.” Anthony Perra, from Chicago, inspired Taylor to let his actors feel their characters’ roles, naturally.

Linda Enlund is currently making headway to re-open our only local cafe/gas station, which used to be called Dusty Fenders.

A few locals and a steak salesman come and go during the course of our interviews on a Saturday afternoon. We sit at the kitchen table at Carl and Patty Brownfield’s comfortable, little, wood-sided, Goldfield house. Conversation tends to land on the refrain of aliens/UFOs, ghosts, or military aircraft. The home’s stereo speakers air KGFN.

“Hey, who’s that on the radio?” asks Carl Brownfield, KGFN’s Program Director and guiding light.

He’s referring to the commercial, currently airing, for my own radio show, Audio Sorgfield. Brownfield goes on to tell us stories about the old days, before his leadership, while it was still a pirate station and yet later, once County Commissioner-by-day, radio station board member and on air personality-by-night, Dominic Pappalardo, invited the Brownfields to preside over the board of this sinking pirate ship and shape it up.

They said yes, and have since come into the good graces of the Federal Communications Commission, running as a legitimate non-profit corporation, accepting donations which keep operations running smoothly.

Nevada Senator, Harry Reid, had gotten the station back on the air since the Emergency Alert System is a necessary service that the station offers the Central Nevada area.

“It has never happened before. We’re the only station in the country ever given a license after being busted for pirating,” proudly proclaims Brownfield.

In previous years, a shack on top of Columbia Mountain housed the computer equipment running it all. “Back in those days, we had to climb the mountain to change the music or reset the broadcast or whatever was needed.” Brownfield, longtime Las Vegas cab driver, goes on with resonant voice and wise story telling panache to retell the raunchy joke that got him and Dusty Fenders kicked off the air in the station’s previous incarnation.—that joke will not be relayed here. Suffice it to say, Brownfield was inspired to keep radio airing in Goldfield.

“Carl, we’re up to 17 shows” crooned Patty, Mrs. Carl  Brownfield, the station’s webmaster. She also has a show of her own, Old Time Radio Theater Hour, featuring vintage comedy routines, such as Red Skelton’s, and dramas like Chandu the Magician, a 30’s and 40’s magician/detective mystery. Patty has played a key role in making technology work for the station.

Keep an eye/ear on Radio Goldfield’s broadcasts. Dave Manning, a traveling musician, just performed a concert at our radio studio to an audience of 15 or so, with subsequent broadcasting on air. Also, bands playing the town’s August 17th event, Goldfield Days, were featured on air. Live broadcasts happened all day on Saturday, of the event, with live interviews from the sidewalk.

An extension for the radio tower was installed on Columbia Mountain thanks to donations received during Goldfield Days. More towers; we need more towers.

In the fall, students of Goldfield Elementary School started producing their own radio shows, using newly purchased broadcasting equipment, with the help of teacher Jan Larsen, and Tony Taylor’s instruction.

Taylor trumpets, “I don’t know about you, but when I stood in class I couldn’t even lift my head up to look around… I blossomed when I came to radio, so I know it will help the kids.” Regarding the technology, Taylor continues, “By the end of the school year, those kids are gonna’ be teaching me!”

Stream on the Internet: Tony’s Place, Old Time Radio Theater Hour, Audio Sorgfield, and the rest of our shows and programming.

See Schedules here:

Just Painted Tonight as I Facebooked on the Front Porch with PBR

and Radio Goldfield… when I showed Mark, he said “.. we could pull it behind the tractor.”

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Just Heard on Radio Goldield “You can’t roller skate in a Buffalo Herd”

..BUT YOU KIN B HAPPY IF YA WANTED TO. I thought it appropriate for you to hear what I’m listening to. Just heard, 5 minutes ago on Goldfield Radio..

Welcome to Radio Goldfield..and my gun.

Here’s a tune they would play. I listen to this station while i paint cars in the desert breeze with my shirt off and shooting a rifle into cars once in awhile.

Here’s a selection from my listening pleasure..

if you’re bored, read about our radio station. this letter from the guy who started the station pleading against lawyers demanding he shut down his station… the station is still on:

here’s my gun and cheap chianti..

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