When a Stanford University report last month proclaimed that many students could not detect fake or misleading information online, the findings caused a stir.

The University of Nevada, Las Vegas University Libraries has been awarded a $210,000 grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities to continue work on a project to digitize historical Nevada newspapers.

Think of student activism at universities over the years and schools like Cal-Berkeley, Kent State and Columbia might jump to mind. But the University of Nevada, Las Vegas?

Before the world knew Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott, Freddie Gray, Philando Castile, Terence Crutcher and Keith Scott for how their lives ended — police bullets or brute force — Las Vegas had grieved such deaths.

First Folio! The Book that Gave Us Shakespeare tours through Southern Nevada this month, and currently is at UNLV’s Lied Library. The exhibit features a copy of the Bard’s first collection of plays, published by two of his theater colleagues seven years after his 1616 death. The historic book, on tour from the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., contains 36 plays—and 18 of them never would have been published otherwise, including Macbeth and Julius Caesar.

In 1623, seven years after William Shakespeare’s death, two of the famous playwright’s friends collected 36 of his plays and turned them into a folio. They published 750 copies and, as of today, only 235 exist.

n a climate-controlled storage room at the heart of UNLV’s Lied Library, a historic collection of sympathy and solidarity fills 491 boxes.

Barbara Tabach believes “Memories are as intrinsically valuable as any material wealth.” As project manager of the Southern Nevada Jewish Heritage Project, her work is infused with that mantra.

With summer temperatures in Las Vegas averaging over 100 degrees, swimming pools are integral to the history of the city as much as neon lights and showgirls.

The flamboyant guests in Grant Philipo’s living room are dressed in scanty yet elegant costumes dripping with crystals, feathers and glitz. They are six mannequins, carefully arranged in a tableau, standing with hands raised or hanging by their sides. Together, their elaborate headdresses and finely crafted body pieces form a cornucopia of retro glamour.

Dennis McBride was just a teenager in Boulder City when he started collecting. And he never stopped.

It would have been difficult to imagine back in 1942 that a small boarding house on F Street and Adams Avenue—on the black side of a deeply segregated small town—would still be standing more than 70 years later, let alone part of a longstanding community conversation, even when it had been deemed condemnable so many years later.