Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to mark the
passing of a friend and neighbor:
Morris Workman
Oh, the fat guy in suspenders isn't dead (yet). I'm just passing on...to another state.
After 11 years in the desert, eight right here in Mesquite,
my family and I are leaving for greener pastures the end of November. And that's not a euphemism. Pastures don't get any greener than those
you'll find in Washington state.
I could get all maudlin and sad, offering vignettes of past
columns, but that's boring and bordering on nothing better than a rerun.
I wouldn't want to go out like that.
Instead, I'd like to offer up my last will and testament,
bequeathing a few things, including some nuggets of wisdom I've collected over
the years.
To Mesquite Gaming, I leave a half-used Reporter's
Notebook. My hope is that they will use
it to write down and remember whatever corporate name they're using this week,
since it seems to change more often than the images on a spinning three-reel
slot machine. (Mesquite Gaming...Black
Gaming...Tri-Properties...Oasis...Peppermill...CasaBlanca...Players
Island...Virgin River Convention Center...Mesquite Star). I figure by the time they're done playing
musical chairs with their moniker, they'll need a notebook big enough to
impress Tolstoy, but this will be a start.
To Greg Lee and The Eureka, I leave my old George
Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine, and a top hat. The grill is a reminder of the only time I recall Greg Lee really
getting mad at me, after I wrote about the Great Weiner War of 2009 between the
Eureka and Black Gaming. Meanwhile, the
top hat is symbolic of the remarkable fact that Lee, Andre Carrier, and the
staff of the Eureka have proven that even in the down-and-dirty world of
Mafia-spawned Nevada casinos, it's actually possible to run a gambling
establishment with class and character.
To Mayor Mark Wier, I bequeath a single pane of glass
and an oversize bottle of Windex. Wier
and the current council have done a tremendous job of bringing transparency to
what was once a very dark and ugly place.
I also offer this admonition: in the unlikely event you find yourself
primping and preening while looking at your reflection in the glass, use the
Windex. Otherwise, you're in danger of
becoming just like the previous administration.
To The Virgin Valley Water District, I leave a Rand
McNally Atlas, and a bookmark placed at page 78 to remind them that they live
in Nevada, not California. Conservation
and environmental extremism have helped bankrupt and scrape the shine off the
Golden State. The Silver State doesn't
deserve the same fate. The map also has
a little red circle along U.S. Route 95 just outside of Las Vegas, marking the
location of the High Desert State Prison, as a reminder of the destiny awaiting
any elected or appointed water official contemplating a return to the old VVWD
ways of cronyism and corruption.
To The Overton Power District Officials, I leave a
box of Band-Aids and a crying towel. By
the time Barbara Ellestad, John Taylor, and the outraged people of Mesquite get
through exposing OPD's fiscal shenanigans and spotlighting their greed and
arrogance, I suspect they'll need both.
To Barbara Ellestad and the Mesquite Citizen Journal,
I leave my blood-stained quill-pen sword and my battered AP Stylebook
shield. Of course, they won't need it,
since Barb and the crew have done such an amazing job of slaying bureaucratic
dragons and rescuing tax-paying damsels in distress over the last year with
their own battle armaments.
I also leave them my worn out chastity belt, in case some
mega-corporate-news organization comes a-calling with flowers and candy. No matter how big the check, or how badly
you might need the money, trust me when I tell you that your soul is worth
more. I learned that lesson too
late.
As for the local businesses, I implore you -- advertise more
with MCJ, even if you don't need to. To
the readers, I encourage you to patronize and support those who do. Without the MCJ, Mesquite will fall victim
to profiteers from either side -- with the news filtered through the prisms of
truth suppressors from Las Vegas or St. George, neither of whom have ever
really understood Mesquite.
To The People Of Mesquite, I leave a single ostrich
feather, a mirror, and a shovel. In
2005, I used to joke that the official Mesquite City Bird was the ostrich,
because so many of its citizens preferred to live with their heads buried in
the sand. Today, the people of this
community are engaged, aware, energized, and seem determined never to let the
"good ole boys" and carpetbaggers get the upper hand again. I am so proud of this community, and the way
that the people have stood up and cleaned house at City Hall, at the VVWD
offices, and are getting their brooms ready for OPD. Citizens also killed the ill-advised plan for an $8 million
soccer tent; and local mothers recently stood up against an out-of-touch,
out-of-state hospital corporation, forcing the hospital to back down on their
repugnant plan to close Mesquite's obstetrics department.
The mirror is to give Mesquite a chance to look at itself
and decide what it wants to be. Is it
going to be a gaming town? A golf
destination? An art enclave? A light industrial center? A suburb of St. George? A Las Vegas bedroom community? A decaying wide spot in the road next to the
interstate? A cautionary tale? The people need to choose an identity, then
commit to living up to it. No town can
be all things to all people. Once the
citizens choose a direction, everyone needs to get on board in order to make
Mesquite the growing, prosperous place it used to be, and deserves to be again.
As for the shovel...it's time to build. The government institutions have been knocked
down, cleaned out, and re-formed.
Corruption is on the run. The
painful, brutal political battles have been fought. Now is the season to come together and start rebuilding the local
economy. Start creating reasons for
people to return to Mesquite, beginning with something as simple as a genuine
smile accompanied by the words "we're glad you're here." That attitude has to include a welcoming
hand to businesses interested in coming here.
(Real businesses, not pie-in-the-sky schemes involving imaginary sports
parks, desert amphitheaters, and recycled soccer tents).
I have always said that Mesquite's most valuable asset isn't
the sunshine, the interstate, the casinos, the golf courses, or the proximity
to Las Vegas or St. George. No, the
most powerful, wonderful thing about Mesquite is and has always been its
people. Now that the people have found
their voice, rediscovered their collective power, and done the heavy lifting
needed to fix dysfunctional institutions and get rid of narcissistic power mongers,
it's time to focus on letting the whole world know that repairs are being
finalized and Mesquite is ready for the next wave of people looking for a
friendly, thriving place they can call home.
My only regret is that I won't be here to see it, to be a
part of it. But truth be told, I'm a
remnant of Mesquite's past. The city
needs to look to the future.
My destiny lies along another path. But wherever I go, a piece of Mesquite goes
with me, because this community has shaped who I am today.
I want to thank all those who had a hand in that shaping,
including people like my former business partner and forever friend Cindi
Delaney. I can't name everyone, but
rest assured that the list would look a lot like the Reliance Connects phone
book, because in many ways you have all been a part of my journey. I'm grateful to you. I'll miss you. I'll remember you.
And finally, this ending is poetic. It's the last Workman Chronicle I'll ever
write, a column born at the Desert Valley Times; one which gained momentum and
awards while showing up every week in the Mesquite Local News; and which dies
today within the electronic pages of the Mesquite Citizen Journal.
All my life, I wanted to be a writer. While the desire was forged in the crucible
of a second-floor classroom in Havre de Grace, Maryland, it became a reality
right here in Mesquite, Nevada, where the input, critiques, and encouraging
words offered by readers from 2004 to 2012 helped make me the writer that I
am. My first novel was written and
published while residing here. I'll
never forget Mesquite, where I became what I believed I was always destined to
become.
I've lived an amazing life here, and met incredible people.
Thank you.
Goodbye.
