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Betrayed by his body, LV historian keeps fading
By Joe Schoenmann
Las Vegas Sun


He can still turn his head.

And the mind of this brilliant professor who became semifamous in Las Vegas, an unlikely achievement for a historian in a city whose history is so short you can find most of it on old film - that mind still works with all the insight and clarity and passion he is known to throw into his work and his family.

But Hal Rothman will never again dismantle arguments for unfettered growth in Las Vegas, or give someone his trademark "that and $3 will get you Starbucks," or shake someone's hand, or even tell his wife that he loves her.

Rothman's mind is "sharp" but his body "is Jell-O." Those were his words, e-mailed months ago and "typed" with his eyes via a device that translated his eye movements onto a computer screen, where he could select letters by blinking on them. A few months later, even that is not an option.

The honored UNLV history professor, and until late October a columnist for the Las Vegas Sun, is in the late stages of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease. The illness destroys connections between a healthy brain and the voluntary muscles of the body. At any one time, roughly 30,000 people in the United States have the disease, and about 5,000 new cases are diagnosed each year, striking people mostly between the ages of 40 and 60.

A diagnosis of ALS is a life sentence - there is no remedy and death usually comes within two to five years. One famous exception is famed physicist Stephen Hawking, who has lived with ALS for more than 40 years. There are, however, doubts about whether his motor neuron disease is truly ALS.

Rothman's first shoulder-muscle twinge came in the summer of 2005. In December of that year, the Mayo Clinic confirmed his diagnosis, and by late last fall, Rothman had lost even his slurred speech.

In an interview with UNLV Magazine last summer, Rothman said he'd lived a blessed life. "Truthfully, I got 47 perfect years. Everything broke my way. That's a hell of a lot more than most people get. The gods reached down and put ideas in my head. Even better, they let them come out my fingers - and at a pretty good clip. Not everybody gets that."

Those ideas have made their way into a collection of books that Rothman either edited or authored, most of those after he came to Las Vegas in 1992 to take an associate professorship at UNLV. From that point, his ascension in academic circles began the way it's supposed to, by publishing, speaking and teaching.

His 17 books include "The Tourism of Culture, the Culture of Tourism" (2003), "The Grit Beneath the Glitter: Tales From the Real Las Vegas" (2002), "Saving the Planet: The American Response to the Environment in the Twentieth Century" (2000) and "Devil's Bargains: Tourism in the Twentieth Century American West" (1998).

Try slogging through traditional academic books, then read Rothman. He writes about the emergence of tourism in "The Tourism of Culture" as a culturally changing force in a way that makes you want to keep going.

"Although the world's wealthy have always enjoyed the privilege of travel, the concept of tourism expresses more than mere movement to new and different places for pleasure or cultural gain. Tourism is unlike other forms of human movement across space. Tourists travel differently; they may travel in the same plane, train, boat or automobile, but they pack differently, live differently, and see and act differently ... Tourism may precede or even spur the permanent movement of people from one place to another, but it is not the travel of migration."

More so than any of the other books, Rothman interjects personal insight and experience into "Neon Metropolis: How Las Vegas Started the Twenty-First Century" (2002).

The result is a mix of theory and anecdote that entertains as it unravels and reveals Las Vegas while glimpsing into the futures of other growing cities.

"Tarkanian's Las Vegas," he wrote, invoking the name of the former coach of UNLV's 1990 champion basketball team, "was notable for its lack of pretension, a blue-collar company town where people admired money, not class or breeding, and flash and dazzle, not Brooks Brothers and Lacoste shirts. The idea of a well-honed but still ragtag bunch of Juco transfers beating a premier academic institution tasted good to service workers who routinely catered to people who thought themselves better than those who served them."

His writing is quick, it makes reference to what so many people recognize, and it's insightful.

"He has a great mind," said Gene Moehring, chairman of UNLV's History Department. "He only slept four hours a day. He could write 15 pages in one hour that would be most people's third draft."

After "Neon Metropolis," Rothman's insight became a regular fixture in the local media. Then the national media started to take interest.

He talked with Jeff Greenfield on CNN about Las Vegas as a presidential swing state, and about MGM Mirage's Project CityCenter on "ABC World News." He got more room to express appearing in a two-part, three-hour documentary on PBS' "The American Experience," entitled "Las Vegas: An Unconventional History," in 2005.

Today, that furtive mind has no way to speak, which is difficult for those around him. His friend and neighbor Stan Masters described Rothman as having been so healthy, he was the "enforcer" of their group of bicyclists, keeping inexperienced riders from overstepping their bounds as they cycled the highways of Nevada.

"He was probably the smallest guy but he was by far the one that lifted the most weights and the first one to yell out at cars for not letting us have the right of way," Masters said in an interview last year. Rothman wasn't the tallest, but his physical presence was felt immediately when he walked into a room. His forearms were like some people's calves, his neck was thick, and his eyes were quick and alive.

One of Masters' last interactions with Rothman was a year ago. Rothman walked outside to say goodbye to his bike-riding chums. Masters stayed to talk after the other bicyclists left. He and Rothman hugged and cried, knowing what was to come.

"Hal goes, 'I can't stop it. I can't avoid it. I can't pass it off. I don't want anybody to pity me,' " Masters recalled.

Moehring had a talk with Rothman, too, after he was diagnosed. The History Department chairman's own mother died eight months after exhibiting ALS symptoms. He remembers telling Rothman early last year what to expect.

"We talked a lot, and I said whatever decisions you have to make, make them while you can still talk to your family."

In an interview later that appeared in UNLV Magazine's summer issue in 2006, Rothman expressed an optimism and fervor that those who loved him knew him for. He hoped to be teaching from a wheelchair in the fall. He did not.

"There are all kinds of challenges like that, presumably in my future and probably soon," he added. "You end up without dignity very quickly. One concern is how I will communicate when I can't speak. Every day is an adventure. But at the same time, every day is a gift because you are still here."

There isn't a doctor in the world who can say how much time Rothman has left. More certain is the expense and cost of all the palliatives and medical care he has had to use for more than a year now. To ease some of the financial burden for Rothman's family - he has a wife of 19 years, Laralee, and two children - Masters and others are organizing a fundraiser bike ride scheduled for Feb. 24.

Rothman won't be able to participate, but his mind will undoubtedly be on the road with his friends, keeping the foundlings in line and pointing out the landmarks and idiosyncrasies that made him fall in love with Las Vegas.

Joe Schoenmann can be reached at 259-4096 or at joe.schoenmann@lasvegassun.com.

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