One evening, I sat down at the blackjack table. Gambling in Mesquite never draws the same crowds as Las Vegas, making it quiet and pleasant. Even in the evening, the tables can be empty. This one certainly was, so I talked it up with the dealer, who was losing to me. She was older than the female dealers in Las Vegas, but still the casino hooked her up in a skimpy top and high heels and a short skirt. Appalling, but then, Las Vegas also exports its older female dealers - without the looks and only the skills, they find employment here on the Nevada-Utah border much easier.

Since no one was around, Ramona felt free to tell me about life in Mesquite. "I can finally own land for my horses," she said. "That is what life is all about, some land and lots of trails." She talked about the Indian heiroglyphics in the area, and the summer heat. And, "I'd say about eighty percent of the young people gambling here are Mormons from Utah. They come across the border to be bad. To drink and smoke and do everything they can't get away with in Utah."

"The town of Mesquite actually has a lot of Mormons too. It creates a lot of problems for us, especially for my son."

I asked her why. "Well, the thing to do if your a Mormon kid in Mesquite is to have this bumper sticker. It's just a little sticker, but it says S.T.L."

"And what does it mean?"
"Not sure exactly, something like 'Shine the Light.' But what it is, is a way for the Mormons in the area to know each other, know whose on their side. The problem is that the cops go around leaving those cars alone. But my son, he's not a Mormon. They pull him over all the time because he doesn't have the sticker."
"Does your son maybe attract the cops for any other reason?"
"Well, he's a kid, you know. He's got long hair, I don't know."

I enjoyed talking to Ramona, but I was a bit suspicious of her story. Maybe her son was a trouble maker in his own right, and certainly I never noticed any of those stickers myself. But I did want to learn a little more about those Mormon youths who cross the border, to be sinful. I said goodbye to Ramona and wandered around the casino-hotels. I had a fresh wad of cash, plenty of time.

I found an escalator in one of the hotels, and then some sort of bar, where young people were buying drinks and chain-smoking. I sat down and ordered a beer, and read my book.

I watched the background noise of these mormons while glancing from my book. The result was not so peculiar, because mormon youth are no different from anywhere else. The guys were making advances on the girls, some were buying expensive drinks and blowing smoke rings. I remembered that movie, The Devil's Playground, a documentary about the Amish tradition of sending Amish teens to experiment with the outside world, doing whatever they wish. Drugs, rock music. It's called rumspringa, and these children who are more or less cut off from the outside world quickly adopt all the customs of the outside world, and perhaps even more so than outside people themselves. If the music is crass, like rap, they adopt it. If the drug is hard, like meth, it's their drug of choice.

But most of these Amish folks, like the Mormon sinners of Southwestern Utah, go back and accept their staid life - shunning what they enjoyed, affirmed in their belief after their ludicrous binges that the way is righteous.

What I see next is something I never quite forget. In any teen gathering, there is a group of inside-outsiders. The people who are accepted by the crowd, but slighter more alternative, and usually forming smaller groups on the periphery of the gathering. Even these Mormon alternative kids wear dark clothes. The one guy - tall, gawky, talking to the girls with his hands flailing in the air. They may not know it yet, but this teenage boy is a homosexual Mormon.

I rarely feel sorry for gay folks. In fact, like all straight men, I naturally grew up cringing a bit by the whole thing. Its natural for us straight folk to be a bit homophobic, at least as teens ourselves. We evolved that way for obvious reasons. Evolution wants to steer us toward reproduction.

But this guy, telling these girls some story, this guy has a hard life ahead of him. I can already see it - in the closet for another ten or fifteen years. Playing it straight, slowly becoming more and more closed off to his own people. His interests are urban, he longs for the intellectual stimulation of those girls from his teen years - but they married and are showing, and they stay indoors most of the time now. The gay mormon's life will be hell.

And for the gay Mormon, things will only get worse - because the Mormons of Southwestern Utah are some of the most aggressive anti-gay folks in the country.