Land of Hard Knocks

Long After It Gave Him Something to Escape, the Busted Boom Town of Searchlight Still Speaks To Harry Reid's Heart

SEARCHLIGHT, Nev.

Sen. Harry Reid is trying to become more polished. Here, he is demonstrating his ability to be a gracious host, welcoming a reporter into his kitchen.

"Hey, you want a drink or something? Water?"

No thanks.

"They said I'm supposed to offer you a drink, so that's what I'm doing. If anyone asks, just tell them I offered you a drink."

It's not clear who "they" are. Maybe Reid's wife, Landra, who is in the next room, or the press secretary standing to the side, or any number of people who are trying to keep a senator prone to inelegance on his best behavior these days.

"You want some food or something?" asks Reid, opening his refrigerator. "I have some fruit here." He removes a bowl of blueberries and strawberries. "If anyone asks, I offered you food." He chuckles, mocking the idea of Harry Reid following scripted niceties.

This is a calm summer day for Reid, who is spending the July Fourth weekend in his home town of Searchlight, a drive-through slab of desert between Las Vegas and Needles, Calif. The town of 600 has two casinos, a Bubbles & Bleach laundromat, a McDonald's, a small grocery store that sells "Where the Hell Is Searchlight?" T-shirts and a favorite son who is the top elected Democrat in Washington.

Reid, a bookish-looking Mormon, finds himself on the cusp of a familiar situation: a fight. In this case, over a successor to Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor. Reid has endured many fights over 65 years -- both political and in the boxing ring during a brief career as an amateur middleweight. But the ones he most delights in are the raw, dirt-streaked battles of his youth.

Once, in high school, Reid and a friend were brawling with a group of airmen who'd come to Searchlight to partake of the town's whorehouses. One man hit Reid so hard it felt like he couldn't breathe. Broke a few ribs. Reid lived with the injury, which is how these stories usually go.

"See that knuckle?" Reid says, indicating a flattened area on the back of his right hand. That was from eighth grade, Searchlight Elementary. The teacher's son was in the class, and Reid couldn't stand him. "So once during class I just beat the crap out of him, right in the classroom."

Was the kid hurt?