I still remember
the instant we opened the door to the room. First of all, the interior seemed
abnormally dark. Almost the entire space, including the velour bedding and
full-length curtains that hung to the floor, were a deep ruby-red color. It
looked like a late nineteenth century Deadwood bordello, or at least the that’s
the way I’ve heard them described since in Louis L’amour novels or Robert
Parker books that describe the travails of gunslingers Virgil Cole and Everett
Hitch.
As an 8 year-old
I’d never been in accommodations this plush…or for that matter…this high off
the ground. I believe we were on the 27th floor…with a view looking
over the famed Las Vegas Strip. It was still early afternoon when we checked
into that room and I remember being almost blinded when I peeled back the
curtains to see the view. I also remember the cost of the room being $42.00 (my
mother was horrified by the amount), which was unheard of at a time when most
of the other motels we would stay at on that trip would cost something between
$6 and $9 per night (and sometimes you got free color TV).
My parents took me
to a show the first night we were there too, starring John Davidson and Phyllis
Diller. I remember standing in a long
line that wrapped through the casino as we were waiting to get in. My father
was dressed in all black and was smoking a filter-less cigarette (he rarely
smoked) he’d gotten for free while playing black jack. He looked like Tyrone
Power or some other 40’s leading man from the silver screen.
I recall him taking
a silver dollar, putting into a slot machine and pulling the handle only to
have $25.00 in silver dollars drop out. I can still vividly remember the sound
of those big heavy coins hitting the metal tray…and the noise made by my dad
scooping them all into a plastic bucket. I thought that must happen every time
you put a dollar into a machine, and couldn’t understand why my dad just
stopped after one.
“You have to know when to
walk away” my dad said as he backed away from the machine and headed over to
the cage while my mom and I held the place in line. “Let that be a lesson to
you.”
On the return trip
back from North Dakota we stopped in Las Vegas again. This time, we stayed at
what was then the southern-most end of the Strip, and actually for most of Las
Vegas really, at the Tropicana.
It was really more
of a two-story motel at the time, long before they had built any glitzy towers.
The place had this great old-school classy desert ambience…and if you sat at
the peaceful pool area you half-way expected to see Dean Martin stroll by in a
white terry cloth shirt with a chilled Manhattan and a Lucky Strike dangling
from his mouth.
My mom and dad took
me to another show the night we stayed at the Tropicana too. We were
seated in a nice elevated booth toward the back of the house when entered the
ballroom, but I saw my father hand the guy wearing a tux that had seated us
some money…and he promptly escorted us down to a front-row table that lined up
with the center stage. I remember wondering how my father knew all this stuff…and
even at that age, I remember feeling as though I was hanging out with Al
Capone.
Over the
years the allure of Las Vegas pretty much wore off on me. My wife and I used to
go to the Las Vegas Hilton when we were younger (the old International
described above), but as the charming old hotels like the Dunes and the Desert
Inn were imploded and replaced by monstrosities that I can’t even really
describe, somehow the charm just seemed to fade.
I only
go to southern Nevada for business these days, and most of the time when I do I
end up going for daily morning runs sometime between 3am and 4am (I’m on east coast
time and get up early). You see a lot of weird crap when you go running east of
the Strip at 3am, and most of it isn’t good. Come to think of it, I don’t
really recall seeing anything that I could characterize as good.
On my
last trip two weeks ago I stayed at Caesar’s Palace. I was always almost afraid
to go into that joint when I was younger…always felt like it was over my head.
The original structure is barely noticeable anymore, literally dwarfed by the
massive towers of sleeping rooms just west of the old building on the north and
south sides of the property. The old outdoor boxing area is gone too…replaced
by conference space and an expanded pool area that must be 20 football fields
in total area.
I was
able to steal about an hour after the meetings late one afternoon so I went
down to the pool to chill for a while. Actually…there were about six pools in
the outdoor area if I counted correctly, and while I can’t really describe the
atmosphere, I had zero expectation that Dino or any of his modern-day equivalents
would come strolling by. Oh wait…there are no present-day equivalents…not in
saloon style singers or old-school hotels on the Strip.
The pool
was packed though, mostly by frolicking younger generations gyrating to
unrecognizable pulsating music that don’t long for (or even know about) what I
so fondly long for. Like a lot of things…I miss the old Las Vegas…and the saddest
thing of all is I know for certain that it’s never coming back. The encouraging thing for folks charged with
filling the sleeping rooms in Las Vegas though is that I’m a dying breed…and
the lust for whatever was happening at the pool that afternoon seems to be
trending in only one direction…directly away from me.
It’s
Friday, and if you can, try to do something you enjoy with the people you love.
There will always be work to do…but see if you can steal away more than a few
hours to create some memories that really will matter when it’s all tallied up
at the end.
Archeologists will never discover the old Vegas because it was a state of mind and is long gone, as you say. Loved the song selection. Dean performed this number in the original Ocean's 11. I like Sinatra's music, but Dino was the coolest of the Rat Pack.
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