What Happens In Vegas....

 

 

“What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegs”—unless I wrote about it.

 

As the Associated Press correspondent in Las Vegas from 1968 to 1970,. The late 1960s in Las Vegas were the era of the rat pack, Howard Hughes, nuclear testing and the Mafia. Thrilled by the entertainment scene, I got into most of the shows for free. Elvis Presley’s debut in 1969 at the International was a highlight. He had rekindled his “Hound Dog” days and put on a great show, though he seemed winded by the end. I saw Frank Sinatra perform five times and attended a party he hosted at his daughter Nancy’s debut, also attended by Presley.

 

Of course, gambling was always fun news. When Circus Circus asked me if the photo of a real elephant playing a jumbo slot machine could run on the wire, I jumped at the chance. Las Vegas was also known for its quick weddings. When I was tipped that actress Lana Turner had married her seventh husband, I called their hotel and got her new husband, the hypnotist Robert Pellar, on the phone. He confirmed the marriage, cut off all further calls, and I had a scoop. 

 

Sports news was loads of fun. I covered the Wednesday night fights at the Silver Slipper (but never wore a white shirt in the front row—red was better). At one of those matches, a fight among two people at the bar got more attention than the one in the ring. In one night, I covered George Foreman’s first professional fight and one of Sonny Liston’s last, at ringside near Howard Cosell.

 

As much as I enjoyed the glamor of Las Vegas, the job slowly wore me down. In 1968, the world was going nuts with assassinations, political turmoil over Vietnam and international crises My role was to write about gamblers’ reactions to these tragedies. Demands of Nevada media were overwhelming. In 1970 I transferred to San Francisco, the area where I grew up.

 

As I grew older, high on my bucket list was a 50th anniversary return trip to Las Vegas, which I took in April 2019. I found the AP bureau downtown, and I rang a buzzer and spoke through a speaker phone. A staffer opened the door warily, but in this day of high security I had to sweet-talk my way in.  Now, the bureau had four staff members plus a full-time sports writer in a city that has grown five-fold since I left

 

I guess my major concession to 50 years away was a bike ride in the desert. For years, I had longed for a leisurely ride in Red Rock Canyon, west of the city, which has great views and a bike path. At age 77, there were more hills than I bargained for, the altitude was higher than I thought, and I had to get into the “sag wagon” twice. My back hurt for days from the bike ride. In 50 years, some things do change.