Input: Dam Good Luck: From the beginning, Las Vegas was built to serve travelers. The railroad needed a way station, and Las Vegas was the place. Growth continued for ten years, and by 1915 the town had telephones, round-the-clock electricity, and a growing populationmany of whom worked in the railroad repair shop. But such heady progress would soon come to a halt. The growing competition in rail transport resulted in Union Pacific buying the Los AngelesSalt Lake line. Union Pacific then consolidated its operations, eliminating the Las Vegas repair facility. Additionally, Las Vegas had been made a part of Nevada's new Clark County in 1909, a year when the legislature also outlawed gambling. These unfortunate circumstances threatened to relegate Las Vegas to the status of a small desert community that could no longer support its 3000 residents. But the southwest's growing need for water, combined with Las Vegas's fortuitous proximity to the Colorado River, would give Las Vegas a second chance to achieve prosperity. Construction on Hoover Dam (originally Boulder Dam, subsequently renamed for the president who authorized the project) began in 1931 in a canyon 45 miles (72 km) southeast of Las Vegas. Providing an influx of $165 million to the southwestern economy, Hoover Dam played a major role in preventing Las Vegas from drying up, both financially and literally. Not only did it create jobs, but it also created Lake Mead, the massive reservoir that today provides water to all of southern Nevada. More Government Help: The construction of Hoover Dam did not single-handedly save Las Vegas, however. The state legislature helped as well, by legalizing gambling in 1931 and thus solidifying the future of the town, though legislators and residents could never have known this at the time. The hordes of people who attended Hoover Dam's 1935 dedication set the city's now-formidable public relations machine into action. They went to work on what has become one of the lengthiest citywide tourism campaigns ever attempted. It didn't take long for the city to establish itself as a wild-West town with an "anything goes" attitude. Vices outlawed or heavily controlled elsewhere were legal here, available any hour of any day (or night).
"Who worked at making the lengthiest city wide tourism campaigns ever made?" is "Customers"?
Output: no
Input: One look at Fred Rooney, and you just know he's the good guy. A trace of childish innocence in his face gives the lanky Bethlehem lawyer a Jimmy Stewart-like quality of quiet trust. In black jeans and button-down shirt, he's a kind of folk hero in the south Bethlehem melting pot where he's crafted a law practice catering to working-class families - mostly Latino - in the shadow of the hulkish remnants of Bethlehem Steel. A two-hour drive away, at City University of New York Law School in Queens, Rooney spends several days a week helping upstart lawyers develop storefront practices that, like his, provide legal representation to folks who can't afford a $250-an-hour legal counselor. Kristin Booth Glen, the law school's dean, took one look at Rooney and knew he was the right person to head the innovative Community Legal Resources Network. ''Fred's so low-key, he's Midwestern in effect,'' says Glen, a former New York Supreme Court judge. ''He captivates people, he inspires loyalty.'' For bringing legal representation to the poor and a host of other social causes, including finding medical care for seriously ill children in Latin America, the Moravian College Alumni Association has chosen Rooney for its prestigious Haupert Humanitarian Award. The award, given to only a select few alumni, will be presented at 7:30 tonight at a reception on Moravian's Priscilla Payne Hurd campus. Moravian, where he was an undergraduate in the early 1970s, inspired Rooney's deep sense of social justice. The son of a Bethlehem Steel executive in New York, he came to the Bethlehem campus from an affluent upbringing on Long Island. The young Rooney might have set his sights on Washington, D.C., like his uncle, former U.S. Rep. Fred Rooney of Bethlehem. After all, politics run in the Rooney family. His brother, state Rep. T.J. Rooney of Bethlehem, is a power in the state Legislature and the Democratic Party. But on a trip to Colombia when he was a junior at Moravian, the child of privilege saw human suffering, malnutrition and poverty the likes of which he had never imagined. ''I couldn't understand why we live this way and they live that way,'' Rooney recalled. ''It's been the guiding light of my life ever since.'' After graduating in CUNY Law School's first class in 1986, he took a job with Lehigh Valley Legal Services.
"Kristin Booth Glen is dean of which law school?" is "City University of New York"?
Output: yes
Input: If you beat a dog in Schuylkill County, you'll probably get a $100 fine. If you repeatedly beat a woman, you'll probably get the same fine. In 2001, county judges heard 98 Protection From Abuse cases, finding the defendant guilty in 48 percent of those cases, either after a hearing or through a technical violation or plea. Of those found guilty, the majority were ordered to pay court costs, plus a $100 fine. No defendants were ordered to pay more than a $250 fine for violating the court order. In 27 percent of the cases, the charges were dismissed or the defendant was found not guilty. In the rest of the cases, charges were withdrawn or the matter is not yet resolved. Sarah T. Casey, executive director of Schuylkill Women in Crisis, finds it disturbing that in most cases, the fine for violating a PFA is little more than the fine someone would get for cruelty and abuse toward an animal. "In most of the counties surrounding Schuylkill County, the penalties given for indirect criminal contempt are much stiffer than those in Schuylkill County," Casey said. "What kind of message are we sending those who repeatedly violate Protection From Abuse orders? That it's OK to abuse women in Schuylkill County, because you'll only get a slap on the wrist?" Under state law, the minimum fine for contempt of a PFA is $100; the maximum fine is $1,000 and up to six months in jail. Like others who are familiar with how the county's legal system does and doesn't work for victims of domestic violence, Casey believes some changes are in order. Valerie West, a manager/attorney with Mid-Penn Legal Services, with offices in Pottsville and Reading, regularly handles domestic violence cases. She finds fault with the local requirement that a custody order must be established within 30 days after a PFA is filed. West said she feels a custody order should be allowed to stand for the full term of the PFA - up to 18 months - as it does in many other counties in the state. "It places an undue burden on the plaintiff, in terms of cost, finding legal representation and facing their abuser - not to mention a further burden on the system to provide those services," West said. "It may be difficult for the parties to reach an agreement so soon after violence has occurred.
"Sarah T. Casey, executive director of Schuylkill Women in Crisis, finds it disturbing that in most of the surrounding counties the criminal contempt charge is what?" is "To find legal representation and face their abuser"?
Output:
yes