A Disappointing Trip to the Las Vegas Strip

The gentle descent as we passed over the mountains gave us our first glimpse at the sprawling neon city lying placidly in the distance, bright tentacles of light meandering from the center and into the dark desert night. Groggy murmurs from fellow passengers served as the unofficial notice that we were getting close to that great American institution, Las Vegas. The plane kissed the ground with a faint shudder and we rolled toward the gate. The lights came up in the cabin, we de-planed sleepily and were immediately shaken fully awake by the brightly lit terminal and random islands of slot machines, each manned intently by a waiting traveler looking to lighten their pockets of a few coins not yet lost. I turned to my wife and shrugged. We were Vegas innocents, neophytes to this cult of monetary hedonism, curious as to what drew millions of people with their money in tow to this Shangri- La of gambling and fine family fun. We came to vacation, armed with dreams of hitting it big, careening happily through the loud, garish city we had both dreamed of, and diving deep into that pool of fun that we knew Vegas would be. Luck would be our lady tonight.

Our cab ride was a sling shot up and into a town that is always frantically in motion. Our driver, Lois, was a gaunt, chain smoking woman with a slow Southern drawl and long grey hair, who took the turns like a professional race car driver, just easing off the gas enough to keep us from crushing each other against the door. Her free tour was narrated in a stream of slow babble, left hand leaving the steering wheel unattended while she gestured wildly at the kaleidoscope-like streets and sights we were flying past. "Frank loved to go there with dancers after the show" she said at one point, cigarette dangling precariously from her lips as we quickly sped by a large, festively lit hotel. "You mean Frank Sinatra?" I asked. She responded with a sharp glance in the rearview and a glib "Is there any other Frank in Vegas?" My wife elbowed me and giggled. Snappy answer to a stupid question. Her talent as a cabbie showed through as she dodged clots of traffic and tore mercilessly down side streets, her horn scattering slow pedestrians, getting us to our hotel in just 10 minutes.

We thanked Lois, tipped her well, and silently thanked God that we had made it in one piece. The hotel was a bland building, a few blocks off the Strip. We checked in, changed into casual clothes, and headed into a warm Vegas night that was pregnant with the promise of adventure. Reaching the Strip, we both looked up to see the mini skyline of Manhattan at the New York New York casino. A roller coaster arced and dove through parts of the casino's outside. We hurried along at a quick pace, eager to keep up with a small band of tourists ahead that moved with serious intent. Our first stop was at a small, street level casino right off the Strip. Inside, rows of video poker and slot machines were surrounded by scores of older people chain smoking, dollars clutched tightly in arthritically gnarled fists while waiting for their chance to make easy money. Their eyes fixed on the spinning slot machine windows in an intense trance that would be quickly broken as soon as the slots slowed to a stop, spitting out no money, ringing no bells and flashing no lights. But the machine would eagerly entice another roll on the slight chance that Lady Luck was putting her drink down and sweeping in change someone's life. It looked like to us like Lady Luck was getting drunk somewhere else. Michele grabbed my hand and we left, not overly impressed with our first real taste of Vegas but feeling that the Vegas we knew was right around the corner.

Our next stop was at a large, well known casino and hotel, exotically named and insanely priced. We were greeted by tuxedoed doormen as we walked through the cavernous entrance. We needed no directions to the gaming floor as the Vegas "symphony", a deafening concerto of bells, buzzers and shouts of joy, was in full swing and happily deafening anyone who came within a few yards of the doors. It hummed with the excitement that we knew Lady V., as we had come to call Las Vegas, was built for. The crowd seemed a bit younger, with knots of well dressed couples gaily moving from machine to table and back. Seated at random machines were a few of the older slot "cult" that we had left at the last place, still happily pushing five spot after five spot into the slot machines, looking at their feet once in a while to see if maybe they had actually won and just hadn't caught it. Gaming tables were dotting the floor, their dealers skipping cards about with deft precision, opening their arms frequently to rein back in the mounting piles of chips that sat in front of wide eyed players and their fawning dates. Michele and I sat down in front of a One Armed Bandit, pushing the slightly over flowing ashtray away and fed it the first of our 5 dollar bills. With a firm tug on the lever, the tumblers spun, gradually slowing and stopping and not one damned match. Again, Michele pushed the wager button and pulled solidly on the arm. And again, no lights, no bells, and no cascade of silver dollars piling at our feet. This went on for $100 dollars, our pre-arranged limit. Then we went back out into the waning Vegas night.

Our night of being "high rollers" went on for 2 more hours and 3 other casinos. At each, we felt more and more let down, even saddened, by what looked like a generation of people eager to bankrupt themselves with impunity. Among the dozens of stores selling cheap Vegas souvenirs were seedy check cashing huts, blatantly casting out nets for the older generation by advertising "Social Security Checks Cashed Here". We had to step over fresh pools of vomit left by shamelessly plastered college kids. Cards and brochures for "massages" and escorts littered the sidewalks, thrust into the palms of oblivious tourists by bedraggled old men and then dropped carelessly after the novelty of the card wore off. Hookers, "tricked" out in spiked heels and thin ribbons for skirts, brazenly asked if we wanted a threesome, or at the very least, a happy ending for either of us.

We left Las Vegas 2 days later, a few hundred dollars lighter, a handful of random wins, and the sad realization that this portion of the Great American Dream, the lure of easy money and the ribald charm of Frank, Dean, Sammy and Peter, were fast fading in the rear view mirror. We both felt like that Golden Age of Vegas, that jazzy, hip, swinging hot spot of old, has become just another gaudy amusement park, the classy dream she had once sold to a nation had been run out of town by neon loving Mickey Mouse like thugs just looking to fleece all passersby and cash out the American Dream. Maybe next year we'll just visit the Grand Canyon and see Vegas only in the taillights as we seek another wedge of the American Dream.