GOLDFIELD, Nev. (AP) - This is a place where unleashed dogs wander dirt roads.
Busted cars dot land that came cheap. Warped wooden shacks wait for one last gust to lay them to rest.
There’s no gas station. No McDonald’s. No hospital. The closest emergency room? A hundred miles away in California.
Most people pulling into Goldfield are on the way to somewhere else.
But this desert town three hours from Las Vegas has become a Nevada oddity, now rivaling the mystery of nearby Area 51. This is the seat of Esmeralda County – one of three counties in the entire U.S. without a single case of COVID-19.
As coronavirus has killed more than 217,000 Americans to date and sickened millions more, this remote Nevada county, along with another in Texas and a borough in Alaska, have made news as places the pandemic skipped.
The USA TODAY Network traveled to Esmeralda County and found a community of 974 that is cautious, solitary and steeped in the Western ethos of individualism.
The people are proud of their isolation. They came here to get away from heartaches like COVID-19. Around Goldfield, the virus is considered a scourge of city-dwellers.
Still, locals aren’t kidding themselves. They know it may be a matter of time before someone brings it to town.
Inside the Dinky Diner is the greasy aroma of fried bacon, eggs and potatoes.
This is among the only eateries in Esmeralda County, and one of the few gathering spots, period.
Living up to its name, the diner has just enough room for seven tables, each covered in green gingham. Behind the cash register is a sign proclaiming the right to refuse service to anyone.
At age 85, Norma Stout travels here from Silver Peak, 30 miles away, site of the only active lithium mine in the U.S. Her reasoning for living in Esmeralda County is simple, and some might say a bit antisocial.
“Nobody bothers me,” she said. “I don’t like to be around people.”
Ask about her mask and her eyebrows turn to daggers.
“I think it’s a bunch of …” she said, stopping herself. “I have a hard time breathing, so I don’t think they’re worth a darn.”
Still, Stout wears her mask. She has to. You can’t enter the Dinky Diner without one.
It’s the outsiders that restaurant owner Karie Burham worries about. She doesn’t want the virus to enter Esmeralda County from one of her tabletops. Rules are rules.
“I have a lot of angry people that don’t want to wear the mask, trust me I do,” Burham said. “A lot of the older people just say this is bull——, and they don’t want to wear a mask. But if they don’t have a mask, they can’t come in. That’s bottom line.”
Dealing with frustrated travelers has become second nature to Burham.
“I tell them, ‘I have masks behind the counter if you would like to purchase one for a dollar,’” she said. “Some people do and some people sit outside. Some people get downright dirty and say, ‘Screw you’ and leave.”
One table over from Stout sat 62-year-old Hank Brackenbury, a broad-shouldered rancher with a cowboy hat and bushy white mustache. He sipped soda through a straw and waited for his patty melt. He stopped at the Dinky Diner for lunch between tending to his two ranches 300 miles apart in Beatty and Panaca.
He is quiet around strangers, but he speaks his mind about COVID-19.
“I’m not afraid of it,” he said. “If I got it tomorrow, it wouldn’t bother me.”
Nearby, Maureen Glennen and Natalie Colunga shared theories about the pandemic. They work as administrative assistants for the county’s three commissioners and had a front-row seat to several scares in the courthouse.
On six occasions, people came into contact with someone with COVID-19. Everyone at the courthouse tested negative.
Glennen said the secret is in the water.
“We have arsenic in our water,” she said. “It’s a very low amount, but it’s traceable. So maybe the arsenic has something to do with it. We’re all drinking the water.”
The lithium mine is another possibility.
“When it’s super windy out,” she said, “there’s lithium in the air.”
Colunga has another theory.
“We have gamma rays here,” she said, “so I was like, ‘What if it’s that?’”
Goldfield wasn’t always a dusty desert outpost.
Gold was discovered near here in 1902, and the place became a textbook Nevada boomtown. Early in the 20th century, Goldfield boasted 20,000 residents - the largest town in the state, eight times bigger than Las Vegas.
The posh Goldfield Hotel featured one of the only elevators west of the Mississippi.
Decreasing ore production and a devastating fire changed the town’s fortunes.
Buildings burned. People left.
Today, just 268 souls call this place home.
Esmeralda County’s population density rivals the Australian Outback, where you only run across a person every four miles.
The three hubs - Goldfield, Fish Lake Valley and Silver Peak - are separated by mountains, scrub brush and distance. Those who remain are glad to be far from the city and scourges like COVID-19.
But every other Nevada county has had cases. What is it that has kept Esmeralda free from the pandemic?
“Luck,” said Dr. Trudy Larson, a member of the governor’s medical advisory team, “but it’s luck based on geography.”
From Goldfield, the nearest major supermarket is 27 miles away in Tonopah. Every Tuesday and Thursday, the town buses a half-dozen seniors to the store. Over 60% of people here are over age 60.
“Esmeralda County is one on the last bastions of the Wild West,” said county commissioner Timothy Hipp, who is also a miner. “Esmeralda County is for people who want to get away from the rules and regulations.”
They don’t want the government knowing anything about them. Even if that means declining to be tested for COVID-19.
As of Thursday, 144 of the county’s 974 people opted for testing.
“Maybe it’s just the pioneering spirit out here,” said county commissioner Ralph Keyes, who is also a farmer. “We’re very self-reliant. We don’t need the government to save us.”
Carl Brownfield has heard all the stories about what Esmeralda County folks think about the pandemic. He is program director at tiny KGFN 89.1 - Radio Goldfield.
“The people are unquestionably, devoutly American,” he said.
So is Brownfield. At age 76, he’s a Vietnam veteran and recovering alcoholic who spent two decades driving a cab in Las Vegas. He likes to play guitar on the couch.
As vice president of the local school board, he noticed an unexpected fallout from the pandemic. People are moving here.
School enrollment is up 44%. A local RV park turned away 196 applications in the last two months, because it’s full.
“People are sending their kids to live with Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary,” Brownfield said. “People are seeing this as a refuge.”
For now, patrons at the Santa Fe Club saloon are content drinking in one of the only places in the country without a COVID-19 case.
So, why are they so fortunate?
“We drink a lot of alcohol,” one man cackled.
Two stools down, a woman held up her beer.
“This is our sanitizing liquid,” she said, and the regulars all laughed.
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