Wed, Oct 7, 2009 (1:48 p.m.)
Photo: mattindy77 / flickr.com
I grew up in Henderson, and not the snazzy Green Valley part, either. Old Henderson. Which, every day, got referred to as “Hooterville,” “Hendertucky” or with some allusion to trailer parks. If you were a DJ with access to banjo music, you played that as you mocked, to denote cleverness. I laughed it off for decades. Still do—a Vegas friend used “Hendertucky” the other day; no prob. So every time Facebook burbles with Downtown residents upset by the lack of respect their neighborhood gets—which happens periodically—I’m sympathetic to a point, but then I think, Toughen those hides, pikers! You haven’t even heard the banjos!