I vaguely remember D. Brian Burghart introducing me to photographer Don Dondero, a pleasant older fellow who Brian referred to as “legendary,” shortly after I started my internship at the Reno News & Review in the summer of 1996.
As far as locals go, Brian wasn’t exaggerating—Don was indeed a legend. And somehow, Don was serving as the RN&R‘s staff photographer around that time—even though the RN&R was still in its infancy.
Back in 2016, the Nevada Museum of Art exhibited a collection of Don’s photos shot in Reno in the 1950s, called Don Dondero: A Photographic Legacy. At the time, the museum wrote: “For nearly fifty years, Don Dondero was celebrated as one of Reno’s most notable and accomplished publicity photographers. From capturing civic celebrations and commercial commissions, to significant regional events and Reno’s illustrious celebrity nightlife, Dondero was one of northern Nevada’s most called-upon photographers for over fifty years. Dondero loved taking pictures and rarely turned down a job.”
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Ah. He never turned down a job. THAT must be how he became the RN&R‘s staff photographer.
Anyway, the NMA exhibit bio continued: “Born in Ely, Nevada in 1920 and raised in Carson City, Dondero served as a lieutenant in the United States Navy in World War II before taking up photography. Upon Dondero’s return to Reno, he picked up his first camera and never looked back. Along with his wife Liz Dondero, he built a successful photography business—focusing on freelance work, Don worked primarily out of a downtown Reno studio located above the CalNeva Casino (located at 150 N. Virginia St.) From 1973 to 1978, the Dondero family operated a popular camera shop—Parklane Cameras—located in Park Lane Mall.”
Yeah … Don was a true local legend. In fact, he kept on taking photos professionally until months before his death in 2003.
On Nov. 1, 1995, the RN&R‘s cover story featured some of Don’s aerial images of the area—taken from a single-engine Cessna. This was a time before the drones of today, when aerial pics were a lot more, well, special.
Two things struck me when I first looked at the nine images printed by the RN&R in that issue. First, I was saddened by how small the reproductions are. That’s not a criticism of the powers-that-be at the RN&R; again, it was a different time, when photos had to be developed on film, and the process of getting pictures onto newsprint was a LOT more difficult and primitive than it is today. I admire the fact they ran this three-page cover package at all!
Second, it’s amazing how different the Reno of 1995 is from the Reno of 2026 in some pics—look at the Spaghetti Bowl pic, and the photo of the “Helm’s” (sic) pit—and how similar they are in others. (Much of downtown looks the same today, and the layout of the airport concourses is virtually unchanged—although they’ll be different in the not-too-distant future.)
Here’s the text that introduced Don’s pics:
Don’t look down.
For the acrophobe, the saying works well, as long as you’re in a position to look up or out. But when the single engine Cessna you’re idling about the skies in flops over on the side you’re sitting on, there’s no other choice.
Don Dondero is opening the window again, pointing his lens groundward, and you have to look down.
That’s when you realize not everyone was expecting this moment.
At least not the two-dimensional architects who allow function to supersede form, never considering someone might be viewing their work from above. The newer casinos, hotels and shopping malls that look so formidable from the street level become unattractive, black-topped rectangular slabs littered with AC units and heat pumps.
To the north, south, east and west, developments creep up the hillsides to the vanishing point. Where houses have already been constructed, patterns set in. In the suburbs of Reno, these new neighborhoods are defined by their many cul-de-sacs. From the air they resemble Hydra, the nine-headed serpent slain by Hercules. There’s no stopping them now, though.
Occasionally, terra cotta tetrahedrons jump out of the mix—the roof of a private dwelling—and you realize that some designers have considered every angle. Then there are the pleasant accidents, like the baseball fields, laid out in sets of four, with their home plates meeting in the center, sets of bleachers rising from the center like pyramids, Egyptian shrines.
The mountains that encircle the Washoe Valley provide a false sense of closure, creating an illusion that man has conquered nature. Beyond the mountains, of course, are the badlands of Nevada, dispelling this mirage.
The plane corkscrews up in the air, gaining altitude as it sidewalks toward the western foothills. Veins of golden asp course down the canyons. Here, too, nature still rules; the only signs of man are the occasional dirt roads dwindling to nothing.
We go in for a closer look, but turbulence from the mountains slaps at us like we’re a fly.
It is time to head for the barn.
Below are photos of the cover and the three cover-story pages. I strongly recommend zooming in for a closer look. While the pics are grainy, they’re still rather revealing and offer a fascinating glimpse into the Reno area as it was 31 years ago.
—Jimmy Boegle
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