Yesterday we visited the Hoover Dam. It was also called Boulder Dam, which perhaps was its name prior to being called Hoover. The exhibit area was closed for refurbishment, so I was unable to excitedly read about it in detail. There were other informational signs, though, so not all is lost. For an instance, the dam’s operations and refurbishments and whatnot are paid for by the electricity it generates, not tax-payer dollars.

And before anyone gets frantic, there was a monument to frail white men there, lauding them for never getting their due recognition and bearing the insult gamely.

It is fitting that the flag of our country should fly here in honor of those men who, inspired by a vision of lonely lands made fruitful, conceived this great work and of those whose genius and labor made that vision a reality.

It is supposed to be a nod to the many lives lost in building the dam, as well as recognition for creating Lake Mead, which made irrigation possible for much of the south west. But it doesn’t say that. It says that these guys made this worthless land worth something, and it was never worthless to begin with.

Something else that’s interesting is that the border of NV and AZ goes right through the middle of the dam, so you can be an hour ahead and an hour behind any old time you please.

More interesting is that NV is an hour closer to NY than AZ is, despite AZ being closer geographically. Even more interesting yet is that each of these states have a rare letter as the second letter. One of the funky letters that needs to go after Q in the alphabet.

I made Bob venture out to the middle so he could see the civil engineer plaque, but then we needed to go back. Despite being 660 feet wide at the base, the crest of the dam is only 45 feet wide. It would be less scary without all the “danger stay off wall” signs.

There is a real memorial to the men who died blasting the rock face and clearing the walls of loose rock. This big bronze man is that memorial. One of the first casualties was the father of one of the last. Isn’t that sad?

There’s also a little monument to the dig dog, who died tragically. I bet everyone in the camp was distraught that day. I bet there were guys who saved little scraps of food for the dog, and I bet everyone was real proud that he stuck around with them and liked being there. I bet the guy who drove the truck didn’t realize it at first, because the ground is all rocky and uneven and then he had to be told by another guy who was pissed and mad because he was sad and it was a stupid accident. And I bet the guy driving the truck felt awful, but had to get on with the job.

The parking garage was where the cement plant was. The sheer amount of cement needed has got to be astronomical. Bob got a little excited about that, and I’m sure there was a lot of interesting geological facts in the exhibition space, but alas. First Bob missed the geology museum at the Grand Canyon, then we don’t get to find out about geology at the Hoover Dam.

Why Hoover. That guy? He’s basically famous for having a stick up his ass. Did you know that he was so restrictive with food distribution during a project called Commission For Relief in Belgium, people called him the Food Dictator. Once more – “relief” was in the name, and he made people starve. Not satisfied to only do this abroad, however, he doubled down during the great Mississippi flood of 1927 and starved people in America, which really is much more efficient. He didn’t have to. There was enough food. Then he was president during the great depression, blamed it on Mexican Americans, and force deported a bunch of American citizens because he’s a racist asswipe. When that didn’t fix the depression, a state of being that Hoover had already been twice successful at, he was voted out of office.

He was mad about being hoisted by his own petard, and furious that Americans couldn’t see his innate greatness. He became increasingly conservative and called everything Roosevelt did an act of fascism and socialism. They really never change, do they? I know what you’re thinking “well what do you expect, from the man who ran the FBI” but that’s the other Hoover, and believe it or not, they were unrelated.

So why was the dam named for him? Because someone said it was tradition and dedicated it to him. Locals continued to call it Boulder Dam, because they all hated Hoover. Then they officially changed the name back to Boulder, and in 1947 back to Hoover. So as you can see, really damning ole Hoov with faint praise.

After our visit, we headed back to Vegas, which was only another 30 minute drive. I had always imagined that it was far from the city, but it really isn’t.