Fairwell Dear Western
Today I received a sad piece of news. No, no one is sick and no one has died. The news was simply that a certain place has now been officially filed away as a memory because it will soon no longer exist.
In a previous blog sometime back I recalled this place in Las Vegas, Nevada. Las Vegas is an ever changing monster. Little is ever permanent yet what vanishes often leaves nostalgia in its wake. The city is like the shifting sands of the desert that surrounds it and if they don't figure out a way to get more water there the whole damn thing might disappear.
Las Vegas is fascinating on so many levels but one of the things I find the most interesting is the fusion of local degeneracy and poverty with visitors from around the world and at times opulent wealth. Both coexist almost as if battle lines have been drawn around the city separating one from the other. There is a kind of invisible Berlin Wall. The old core of the city on Fremont street is unquestionably the front line. People attracted to this zone tend to be the most blue collar of Las Vegas's visitors. It is also a zone where local gamblers come to play. The city has attempted to polish this area and make it feel safe and inviting yet a few simple blocks away a real and much more rough Las Vegas emerges.
It is the Las Vegas of naked drugs, prostitution and those just trying to simply survive. Every time we travel to Las Vegas my friend Dave and I follow an eternal quest to locate the cheapest place to play craps. The idea is to be able to literally play for hours and risk very little. On our last trip Dave and I returned to the Western, a run down casino that had unquestionably the lowest craps minimum in all of Las Vegas, one dollar. With fifty or a hundred bucks on the line you could literally drink free Carona's for hours and when you cashed out have lost very little or maybe even come out a few bucks ahead.
The Casino itself was a vestige of some other time. The adjoining motel had been long since closed and the boarded up windows evoked images of prostitutes scurrying from one flea bag room to the next. What was left was a high ceiling room filled with slot machines and table games, their felt tops burned and stained from cigarettes and drinks. In one corner was a bar and sports book whose patrons seemed to be mostly homeless people looking for some free TV time. In another was a cafe selling dollar food in an environment that questioned the reliability of the entire food service inspection process.
The air was stale and the bitter odor of cigarette smoke permeated everything. As repulsive as this all sounds there was one thing about the Western that was special, it was real. Everything about the place whispered reality. The patrons were the mentally ill, drug addicts and laborers all trying to scrape by. For them it was a respite from an otherwise miserable life. Those that worked at the Western were also real. From the bar tender to the Pit Boss they didn't hesitate to talk or give a piece of welcome advice.
The dealers were equally real. When you played, they almost seemed as if they played with you. I spent hours with Dave in this casino rolling dice and placing chips. When I close my eyes I can still see the faces of the table crew and some of the players as if it was yesterday. This is something I can say about no other craps dealers in Las Vegas.
When I heard that the Western was closing forever my first thought drifted to them. I wondered how they would cope with losing their jobs in a city suffering terribly. I wondered how Irma the middle aged Mexican dealer would support her parents, husband and children. Irma always recognized me and called me by name. I wondered about Sarun, the Cambodian dealer who married an American and always seemed to be hungry. I wondered about the old stout white man who rather then enjoy life as a retired senior chose to run a craps table to augment what little money he had. I wondered about the plump Chinese woman who seemed perpetually jolly. Each must have felt helpless when they heard the news. The Western is owned by a larger company and I hope they will find other jobs but I will never know.
When I heard that the Western was closing I thought of Lucy. Lucy, an elderly woman that made passing by the Western part of her routine. She was astute and calculating as against all odds, she scribbled each roll of the dice on a paper trying to establish a trend. When the waitress would come around with bottles of beer she would bring Lucy a glass of milk. The old woman would gulp down every drop before sneering at Dave and literally kicking him in the ass for a run of bad numbers.
Las Vegas is ever changing and perhaps a new and better casino will rise in the place of the Western. More likely, it will be boarded up and become more a blight than it ever was. As for Dave and I, the next time we travel to Las Vegas we may have to venture another few blocks into the districts where tourists never travel. Past the drug dealers, prostitutes and heroin addicts all in the perpetual quest of finding the cheapest craps in town. As we do, I will always hope that at the table we find I will rediscover the wise words of the old man or the grandmotherly look of Lucy. Most of all I will hope to once again experience the welcoming smile of Sarun, Irma or the plump Chinese woman. Somewhere deep in their eyes exists a different Vegas most tourists never find.
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| Photo by Steve Marcus |
Las Vegas is fascinating on so many levels but one of the things I find the most interesting is the fusion of local degeneracy and poverty with visitors from around the world and at times opulent wealth. Both coexist almost as if battle lines have been drawn around the city separating one from the other. There is a kind of invisible Berlin Wall. The old core of the city on Fremont street is unquestionably the front line. People attracted to this zone tend to be the most blue collar of Las Vegas's visitors. It is also a zone where local gamblers come to play. The city has attempted to polish this area and make it feel safe and inviting yet a few simple blocks away a real and much more rough Las Vegas emerges.
It is the Las Vegas of naked drugs, prostitution and those just trying to simply survive. Every time we travel to Las Vegas my friend Dave and I follow an eternal quest to locate the cheapest place to play craps. The idea is to be able to literally play for hours and risk very little. On our last trip Dave and I returned to the Western, a run down casino that had unquestionably the lowest craps minimum in all of Las Vegas, one dollar. With fifty or a hundred bucks on the line you could literally drink free Carona's for hours and when you cashed out have lost very little or maybe even come out a few bucks ahead.
The Casino itself was a vestige of some other time. The adjoining motel had been long since closed and the boarded up windows evoked images of prostitutes scurrying from one flea bag room to the next. What was left was a high ceiling room filled with slot machines and table games, their felt tops burned and stained from cigarettes and drinks. In one corner was a bar and sports book whose patrons seemed to be mostly homeless people looking for some free TV time. In another was a cafe selling dollar food in an environment that questioned the reliability of the entire food service inspection process.
The dealers were equally real. When you played, they almost seemed as if they played with you. I spent hours with Dave in this casino rolling dice and placing chips. When I close my eyes I can still see the faces of the table crew and some of the players as if it was yesterday. This is something I can say about no other craps dealers in Las Vegas.
When I heard that the Western was closing forever my first thought drifted to them. I wondered how they would cope with losing their jobs in a city suffering terribly. I wondered how Irma the middle aged Mexican dealer would support her parents, husband and children. Irma always recognized me and called me by name. I wondered about Sarun, the Cambodian dealer who married an American and always seemed to be hungry. I wondered about the old stout white man who rather then enjoy life as a retired senior chose to run a craps table to augment what little money he had. I wondered about the plump Chinese woman who seemed perpetually jolly. Each must have felt helpless when they heard the news. The Western is owned by a larger company and I hope they will find other jobs but I will never know.
When I heard that the Western was closing I thought of Lucy. Lucy, an elderly woman that made passing by the Western part of her routine. She was astute and calculating as against all odds, she scribbled each roll of the dice on a paper trying to establish a trend. When the waitress would come around with bottles of beer she would bring Lucy a glass of milk. The old woman would gulp down every drop before sneering at Dave and literally kicking him in the ass for a run of bad numbers.
Las Vegas is ever changing and perhaps a new and better casino will rise in the place of the Western. More likely, it will be boarded up and become more a blight than it ever was. As for Dave and I, the next time we travel to Las Vegas we may have to venture another few blocks into the districts where tourists never travel. Past the drug dealers, prostitutes and heroin addicts all in the perpetual quest of finding the cheapest craps in town. As we do, I will always hope that at the table we find I will rediscover the wise words of the old man or the grandmotherly look of Lucy. Most of all I will hope to once again experience the welcoming smile of Sarun, Irma or the plump Chinese woman. Somewhere deep in their eyes exists a different Vegas most tourists never find.
OK I have to admit this is the first time I have felt sad about Las
ReplyDeleteVegas -- or maybe I felt something different about the unknown souls
that are beyond the glitz and glitter.
I think I told you I saw a Current-TV documentary about the Housing
Collapse in Vegas. The personal stories about the people who lived
there all their lives was poignant -- having lost their jobs or
family business through no fault of there own.
I have a box of slides that Grandpa took during our first trip to
California in 1955. I think there are photos of Vegas in there -- at
least I remember the old Fremont neon sign that was taken at night.
Will take a look -- maybe we stayed at the Western?
Dad