Just in time for Halloween, it is the Ghost of Las Vegas Past.
Last night, Hubby and I went to see the fabu Tony Bennett at the Hilton -- that's right, the old stomping ground of Elvis. Lore has it that Elvis's old stomping ground is his current stomping ground, at least for his ghost.
Being a second-rate Sinatra has paid off for Tony. When I'm 80, I wanna look as good as he does. And sound as good as he does. My only complaint is that he didn't finish the show with "I left my Heart in San Francisco." He did it mid-show, and thinking it should be the finale, I clapped my heart out, then grabbed my purse to go. Imagine my surprise when he then started in with "Fly me to the Moon."
Tony was great, and it made me wonder what Vegas was like in the 70s or earlier, the Hey-Days. Hubby lived here from 1971-1976 and had stories to tell, mainly about the Trop, one of the last of the old great hotels. Along with Hilton, they make up the two best of the old ones that exist today.
So tonight, we went with our pal Kym, who was a dancer in the Lido de Paris at the Stardust, to the Celebration Lounge at the Trop. A great cover band called Friends played, and we stayed for two sets while Hubby and Kym waxed nostalgic about old Vegas. They told me about the Moby Dick Room at the Dunes, with its faux oyster shell booths, and mighty lounge acts whose names they can't remember, as well as Sassy Cats, an act that played in the lounge at the Trop 40 years earlier, and the 1:00 am shows that the headliners put on just for the Strip entertainers, comps galore, great dining, friendly faces,the manners of the past, and so much more. Vegas today, in their eyes, is nothing like Vegas of yesteryear. Sure, the mob may have run the town, but they were nice about it. As long as they didn't blow up your car.
A week from this Monday, we are going to the Stardust, as it closes its doors forever the next morning. We'll drink vodka tonics, stop in at Charlie B's, and check Kym's reaction as memories come back to her of the 20 years she spent as a dancer there, hanging with Siegfried and Roy, drinking champagne that Sinatra and Sammy sent after the show, and just remembering what it was like to pull up to a casino's valet and the respect you got from the Valet parker for being a dancer at the Stardust in the Lido.
So I'll take your Vegas, baby, and raise you the bittersweet memories of when a good town was great. Viva, well, you know the rest.
