Where I Stand -- Brian Greenspun: Down a familiar road

IT IS DEJA VU all over again.

I know Yogi Berra didn't have the incredible growth of Las Vegas in mind when he uttered those words, but I certainly did when I thought them to myself Thursday as I drove my car southward into Del Webb's latest entry in our valley, Anthem. The purpose of the journey was to help inaugurate the Revere Golf Course which, according to the publicity folks, will revolutionize the way golf is played in our valley.

The name "Anthem" usually causes most Americans to come to attention. Invoke the memory of Paul Revere and his midnight ride to warn of the impending birth of the greatest nation on Earth and there is little left to impress regular folks. In this case, one of golf's great legends, Billy Casper, and his partner, Greg Nash, have managed to build in and through the desert canyons a golf course worthy of the memories invoked by the name.

But as much fun as I have talking about golf courses and the metamorphosis taking place in Las Vegas as each new course comes on line, I am constrained to confine these remarks to the deja vu part of the column. For one, my publisher does not take too kindly to the time I spend away from the office. No matter how much I try to convince her that investigative work on the numerous new golf courses in the county is all part of the job and somebody has to do it, she keeps convincing me that she's heard that line before. Besides, she likes doing that part of the job.

Las Vegas is not like any other city in this country, and not for the obvious reasons. I remember, speaking of golf courses, when my parents decided to build the Paradise Valley Country Club (it is now called Wild Horse after a few ownership and many more name changes). At that time, Desert Inn Road was mostly dirt east of Maryland Parkway, and Sunset Road was all dirt -- and big rocks! It was a very long way and a lot of nothing but desert looking back from the golf course toward the newly built homes that were creeping up on what is now Sahara Avenue.

Today there is no looking back. Rather, most people trying to traverse the bumper-to-bumper traffic on their way to and from work are looking forward -- to the day when the freeways will be full of cars and the surface streets will be, once again, as passable as the two-lane dirt roads once were. Here's a flash -- that day will not come for a very long time!

What will come is what has come before and what I saw as I drove past dump trucks, water trucks, street pavers and earthmovers on my way to play a little golf on what just a few months ago was "desert so far out of town no one will ever live there." Is it inconvenient to have to wait behind the big trucks and then detour left when a short right will get us home? Sure it is, but that's been a way of life in Las Vegas for the past five decades.

Is it as calm and serene as the pictures on the sales brochures indicate, especially when the working crews start the big cats moving around 6 a.m. and the dynamite blasts shake whatever reverie there is throughout the day? Of course not. But one day it will be just like the pictures. The big trucks will have moved down the road by then and someone else new to town will be wondering when it will all stop.

As I worked my way up the hill and beyond what I had thought was the last living soul in that part of the valley, the idea that I had been there before was overwhelming. I recognized the trucks, the roadblocks and the new homes under construction. I also recognized the frustration on the faces of the new residents who were trying to negotiate their way out of the building zone and toward whatever peacefulness would await them down below. Imagine their disappointment when they hit the first street being torn up because increased demand required widening. That, by the way, is a countywide phenomenon that shows no signs of let up anytime soon.

What I saw on my way to Anthem was what I saw in Green Valley just 20 years ago. And what I saw in Green Valley was not so different from what I saw when the first homes west of Main Street were under construction in the late 1950s, and what I saw near Hyde Park in those days was not very different from what I remember about the new neighborhoods being built near Oakey and Eastern what is now a lifetime ago.

That is the Las Vegas I remember, and that is the Las Vegas that the thousands of new transplants will see for decades to come, assuming bad things like the nuclear dumpsite don't happen to us in the meantime. Will we ever get used to the detours? The torn up streets? The early morning construction noises and traffic tie-ups? The seemingly endless building booms that affect our lives in ways so different from the places from which we have moved?

I don't think so. Nor should we because those minor inconveniences are what make Las Vegas such a wonderful place to live. Because with each new home, new church, new shopping center and new hotel comes the kind of opportunity that just doesn't exist back where most Las Vegans come from. Whether it is a better job or a better restaurant, a better school or a better ballet, a better nightclub or even a better golf course, the kind of growth that is Las Vegas allows all of us the opportunity to improve our quality of life.

That's what I was thinking about on the way to the Revere Golf Course. It may be a revolution in Las Vegas golf but it is, more importantly, an evolution in the life and times of Las Vegas that makes me happy to know that deja vu can happen over and over again.

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