Living Las Vegas

At Home in the City of Lights

sponsored resources

Top Vegas Hotels: Bellagio, Luxor, Rio

Roads from the Ashes: An Odyssey in Real Life on the Virtual Frontier, by Megan Edwards

Lonnie Hammargren’s Yard Sale

You can’t live in Las Vegas for long without finding out about Lonnie Hammargren’s house. I first noticed it while driving by it one day, because most ordinary residences do not have Statue of Liberty arms sticking over their back walls. And I could tell even without stopping that the yard was chock full of other large artifacts, signs, and chunks of architecture.

“I drove by the weirdest back yard earlier,” I said to a local later that day. “On Sandhill, a little south of Flamingo–”

“Oh, you’re talking about the crazy doctor’s house,” she said. “Lonnie Hammargren. He’s a neurosurgeon who used to be lieutenant governor of Nevada.”

A little Internet research revealed that Dr. Hammargren’s abode, which he has dubbed “Castillo del Sol,” is a two-story, two-house hodgepodge that grew out of one ordinary, single-level ranch-style house built in 1975. For a number of years, he has invited the public over for ice cream on Nevada Day. Nevada Day is also Halloween, an appropriate time for visiting strange houses populated by odd creatures.

Somehow, in the six years I’ve lived in Las Vegas, I’ve never been able to make it to one of Dr. Hammargren’s ice cream socials. That’s why, when I read in yesterday’s paper that the public-spirited doctor was going to have a yard sale, I immediately set my alarm clock for zero-dark-hundred. Even though I’m not much of a junkyard scavenger, I know that if a sale is set to start at seven, the good stuff will be gone by 7:15. Especially, I figured, if the sale is hosted by a seasoned stuff magnet like Lonnie Hammargren. But mostly, I wanted to see the rest of that bizarre backyard.

I pulled up in front of Castillo del Sol at 6:30, and yard sale preparation was clearly underway. Early shoppers holding Starbucks cups were gathering in front of a gate at the middle of the house, and the line continued to form and grow as I joined it. By the time the gate swung open, there were probably a hundred people or so waiting for their chance to see what Lonnie was willing to part with. According to Norm Clarke in today’s paper, the impetus behind today’s sale was the doctor’s purchase of the roller coaster that was recently removed from the top of the Stratosphere Tower. It’s not that he really wants to get rid of stuff. He just needs more room.

I moved with the crowd through a narrow passageway between the two halves of the house. A few things were labeled for sale, mostly dusty paintings and prints. Far more interesting were the items that were not available for purchase, things like a vintage Liberace sign and the doors to the first Clark County jail.

In the back yard, I peeked through a gate to see a swimming pool surrounded by vast quantities of “memorabilia,” a word I have put in quotes because I’m not exactly sure what it is you’re supposed to remember when you look at it. I’m sure there’s a story behind every elephant, mannequin, and pink flamingo, but Dr. Hammargren was not in the mood to be reminiscing. I figured out who he was when he told a woman holding a model of a German beer wagon that he could never let it go for the twenty dollars marked on the sticker. “That’s got to get a hundred dollars,” he said, taking it out of her hands. Whatever else you say about him, this is a man who values his stuff.

While I didn’t find much worth buying at Lonnie Hammargren’s yard sale, plenty of other people were happy to cart off kitchen utensils, small appliances, shoes, little bars of hotel soap, shot glasses, candle holders, a slightly bruised disco ball, posters, bar stools, and things for which the word “bric-a-brac” was invented. I was happy enough with window shopping. I kept wandering, discovering another swimming pool along the way and getting views of the uniquely constructed second story. There’s an observatory and a planetarium up there, where Dr. Hammargren pursues his double avocation of astronomy and archaeology.

I was briefly tempted by a sequined table skirt that purportedly belonged to Liberace, and if I owned a table in need of a skirt, I might have given in. But it was marked fifty dollars, and I was half afraid that if Lonnie caught me with it, the price might rise on my way to the cashier. Although a framed poster advertising an “all-you-can-eat for $3.99″ buffet caught my eye, I finally settled on a cut glass bowl. For two dollars, I can serve fruit salad in a dish with a story behind it. It’s almost as good as the chair I have that once belonged to Walter Matthau.

I joined a steady stream of other shoppers paying for their finds at a table in the driveway, where I discovered that Dr. Hammargren is once again running for lieutenant governor, and his house is going to be featured on HGTV’s “Offbeat America” this summer. Las Vegas may have bidden farewell to the Rat Pack long ago, but at 4300 Ridgecrest Drive, the Pack Rat is alive and thriving.

Planning | Advice | Tips | Routes | Books | Fun!