Exploring
with Sarah Jane
By: Sarah Jane Woodall aka Wonderhussy A Veg as-based adventuress exploring weird shit in the desert...and beyond
If you’re anything like me, you’re a bit cynical when it comes to Valentine’s Day. Don’t get me wrong; a holiday celebrating love is great -- for the bottom lines of businesses selling everything from bubble bath to buttplugs! More than most, this holiday strikes me as a uniquely crass money making scramble. What marketing genius came up with the concept that a person has to buy stuff to prove his or her love? And it’s not even a sure bet- flowers, booze, jewelry…that stuff adds up, and half the time the relationship doesn’t last much longer than a TikTok! If only there were some way to guarantee your investment, to ensure you’d actually get something for your hard-earned cash. Well, guess what? There IS! This is Nevada, after all. And whatever else you say about us, you can’t say we’re not pragmatic when it comes to matters of the heart. We’re the only state to allow legal prostitution – so only here can you rest assured that the hard-earned cash you’re spending will definitely get you laid. That’s right, I’m talking about our legal brothels. Nevada has a fine tradition of these in-demand establishments, from the very first tents back in the 1800s mining days, all the way through to the 21 legal brothels operating today. I first became interested in brothels years ago, when I visited Sheri’s Ranch out in Pahrump with a biker friend. No, it wasn’t like that – we rode out for lunch! Sheri’s is (was, thanks to Covid-19, all the brothels are currently closed) exceptionally open about its business, and welcomes curious tourists to come in for a burger at the onsite sports bar. You can even take a tour given by one of the sex workers, which of course we did, and it was fascinating! I enjoyed it so much that I’ve been back a few times – once with my mom!
But for a weirdo like me, even more fascinating are the abandoned brothels that dot the sagebrush plains of rural Nevada – relics of a bygone era when enough miners and ranchers populated these areas to sustain such businesses. The first one of these I visited was the onceworld-famous Cottontail Ranch, just a few hours north of Vegas. Talk about haunting! The spirit of the women who plied their trade there over the decades was almost palpable, hanging in the rooms like a veil of old perfume. I entered through the front vestibule, where back in the day you would have faced a locked door with a little window, like a speakeasy, before the madame let you in. By the time of my visit, the door swung open freely, and I found myself in the old parlor – the social area where a bartender served drinks while the women lined up to be chosen by patrons. This room had long been stripped of most of its furnishings, but the walls were still covered in fantastically garish wallpaper featuring Art Nouveau-style cartoon ladies in various states of repose, falling from the walls in ragged strips of gothic decay. To either side of the parlor, long hallways led to rows of small bedrooms where the women conducted business. But now, little more than the occasional mattress and one lonely bottle of Charlie perfume bore testament to the thousands of dollars that had changed hands in these rooms. The stories that must have been told, the tears that had undoubtedly been shed…I could almost hear it all, echoing from the wood paneled walls and rising like mist from the shag carpeting. I’ve visited the Cottontail several times over the years, and each time it’s a little more fallen down, a little more vandalized. It’s really a shame for what was actually a historic Nevada business – not only was legendary Vegas casino magnate Howard Hughes known to frequent the brothel (he was said to be particularly fond of a worker named Sunny) but the madame of the brothel herself is worthy of at least a few pages in Nevada history books! Beverly Harrell was a nice Jewish girl from New York who, after a long and colorful stint in Hollywood, ended up running such a successful business out in the Nevada boonies that the Feds took notice and gave her a hard time. Rather than take it lying down (ha), she fought back by getting into politics herself – running for, and almost getting elected to, the State Assembly! She is buried in nearby Goldfield, and I’ve paid my respects at her grave.
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But the abandoned brothel that had the biggest impact on my own life is way out on the western edge of the state, off U.S. 6 in the literal middle of nowhere about halfway between Tonopah, NV and Bishop, CA. I happened to be traveling through this ultra-desolate country on my way back from the Burning Man festival one year, and as I chugged up the lower reaches of Montgomery Pass, I spotted a group of abandoned buildings off to my left. A
