Arnold M. Knightly, The Editor's Desk

I don’t think I have left the City Council chambers more disillusioned with you than I did Tuesday night.

The council, sitting as the Redevelopment Agency, asked the city manager to draw up plans to loan the Boulder City Museum and Historical Association $300,000 to help retire debt on the financially beleaguered museum.

As I said in my Dec. 29 column, I support the government having a role in supporting the arts and museums. This move, however, to help the nonprofit museum with RDA funds, – which in turn helps the for-profit hotel and the for-profit restaurant – just doesn’t feel right to me, but maybe I’m missing the boat on this one.

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Chuck Muth, Muth's Truths

“I noticed that you are supporting Newt Gingrich,” a longtime reader emailed me this week, “but your position puzzles me.” Others have expressed similar comments, especially those who know I am much more in line philosophically with Ron Paul. So I’ll explain. (Disclosure: I’m presently a paid adviser to Winning Our Future PAC)

Although I was involved in local GOP politics superficially in 1993, Gingrich’s efforts and stunning victory in 1994 inspired me to get much more involved. So lacking the good sense God gave me, I ran for chairman of the Clark County Republican Party in 1995. And lacking the good sense God gave the members of the party at that time, they elected me.

Frankly, they shouldn’t have.

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The purpose of National School Choice Week, Jan. 22-28, is “to shine a spotlight on the need for effective education options for all children.” And nowhere is such exposure needed more than right here in Nevada.

Let’s first consider the latest failed experiment our government has performed on our nation’s children in its ongoing efforts to “fix” education, joining other failed fads such as new math, whole language, multiculturalism, block scheduling, cooperative learning and — I absolutely love this one — “brain-based teaching” (duh).

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Arnold M. Knightly, The Editor's Desk

by Arnold M. Knightly, The Editor’s Desk

If you have seen me around town the past few days you know I have been in a funk. I am not my bright, cheery self. All right, I’m never really bright and cheery.

I was going to write my column this week about how when a sitting U.S. President visits Las Vegas, tour planes, helicopters and other certain aircraft are grounded at the Boulder City Airport for the duration of the president’s visit.

But I just couldn’t pull it together. Weighing me down has been the death of a former friend of mine from cancer Jan. 7.

Doug Frye was a Las Vegas musician I met when I was working at Odyssey Records in 1990. Originally from Pittsburgh, Frye came to Las Vegas through a less-than-distinguished military career.

Full of life and always with a smile on his face, Frye had a love of music that was infectious. He was also an outstanding musician.

Frye, myself and another friend, John Qualley, used to go down to my house near the old Bishop Gorman High School, get rip-roaring drunk and watch the movie “Raising Arizona” repeatedly. We knew that movie by heart.

Frye and Qualley might have been the first people I told that I was going to be a father. The resulting child was my son Nathan, whose name was taken from “Raising Arizona.”

After Nathan was born I moved to another part of town and hung out with Frye less and less. Eventually we drifted away from Odyssey and lost touch. I can’t name 20 people I worked with at that store over six years, but I never forgot Doug.

At some point Qualley moved to Denver, but I lost touch with him too.

I would see Frye over the years: walking through the grass at a music festival or at random places.

I would think of him when I was in Memphis watching his favorite band, Fishbone.

The last time I saw him was maybe three years ago at some now-closed bar, playing with some band I have forgotten.

Whenever we would see each other, we would embrace, talk about old times and exchange numbers. On Facebook I would see his band was playing somewhere but I would tell myself I would catch them next time.

Frye would leave comments on my Facebook page when I was battling cancer.

It was on Facebook that I learned of Frye’s death. Frye found out just before Christmas he was sick, but by then it was too late.

I felt compelled to go to a memorial service that was held for Frye on Sunday at a smokey dive bar. But this is where Frye lived his life, with his friends that were there at the end.

The stories started coming back to me that I had suppressed, like the time I loaned/gave him $200 to get his bass out of the pawn store.

Qualley, now a touring musician himself, came in from Denver. We hugged for a long time, shed a tear for our friend, and promised to stay in touch.

He said “Raising Arizona” is still his favorite movie, as it is mine.

With the memorial service weighing heavy on my heart, my dad told me Tuesday that his brother Bill passed away. Again, we hadn’t talked in nearly 10 years, at least.

Time moves on and I have been guilty of not remembering who is important, and failing to reach out and tell them so.