LAS VEGAS – The western part of our great country has always had a fascination – even with its troubled electorate – that evokes an emotional stimulation that is aroused and hypnotized.
The flight over the Grand Canyon to “Sin City” has a delightful effect on your emotions – to see from above this expanse of rugged landscape that the Colorado River created in 6 million years – makes you appreciate this natural wonder with far-reaching respect a higher authority oversees our world.
There have been a few options in the past to fly to Phoenix on a private air charter. I will never forget the name of the brilliant pilot Ralph Gonzalez, who seemed to be flying no more than 3 meters above the ground over the mesa in his single-engine Cessna. He whispered into my headset: “Look below.” Under our plane, apparently at arm’s length, a pack of wild mustangs sprinted at a speed that would have overwhelmed a western film director.
Today these wild horses are so overpopulated in the west that they are becoming a serious problem. Like wild boars on the southern border, armadillos all over the US, and extremists in politics.
A few minutes later our plane shot over the rim of the Grand Canyon into the great expanse of wonder that took your breath away. A photographer friend who joined the charter presented his camera and I took a precious photo of the canyon that will be a keepsake forever.
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Those memories prevailed in my mind’s eye when our Delta Airbus landed on the tarmac at McCarran International Airport, where you can find almost as many slot machines as there are people in unincorporated paradise, Ariz.
The Uber ride to the Las Vegas Strip took us past a Baptist church that, believe it or not, is not the “eighth wonder of the world” out here. During my grandchildren’s lifetime, they can probably come here and find slot machines in the vestibules of these churches. The slots are definitely everywhere. I can happily confirm that none of my family’s food has been devoured by the one-armed bandits or gaming tables.
About Las Vegas, I like the rocks, the cacti, and the neon lights; the mega-hotels, the lonely ranches in the desert and the fact that hamburgers are on the menu, but no rattlesnake fillets.
I also like to go to old downtown Las Vegas, which is Spanish for “the meadows,” which I haven’t seen before – on this trip or on previous trips to Vegas. Do you remember the old neon-lit statue of the cowboy who seemed to signal a “first down”? Vic, his nickname, is still around, and to be politically correct, Las Vegas has a statue of “Vicki” across the street. To date there is no confirmation that they have children. Don’t bet that one day they won’t as our world turns out.
A great place to get a steak in this part of the world is Oscar’s on Main Street, old downtown Vegas. Perhaps you are lucky and leave Arlene Machucha, the mother of three “great” boys, waiting for your table. She and her husband Alex are of Salvadoran descent and happily settled in the grocery store. A young couple who are raising their children and looking for the best opportunities for them just like the rest of us – it’s easy to be in the gambling capital of the world.
You can take the so-called “Scenic Loop,” a tour of the city that includes a stop at the Hoover Dam if you wish. You can also fly into the Grand Canyon by helicopter and you could lose the title of your home here if you are foolish enough.
The history of Vegas is compelling – from Bugsy Siegel, the gangster who contributed to great developments here with the Flamingo Hotel, to the eccentric Howard Hughes, to Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and the Rat Pack. They all went to this great casino in heaven.
Las Vegas once attracted visitors who came to watch atomic bombs and now bet on their hometown football franchise, the Raiders.
“You can take it or you can leave it,” says Chris Byrd, a very successful attorney, of the gambling option. Chris is from Buffalo and has two degrees from Notre Dame. He hated the snow and came here for the weather and the golf.
As I passed the gift shop at the Aria Hotel, I saw a prominent “hangover kit” for $ 20. Fortunately, I no longer need something like that, which makes me the exception among the 50 million visitors who come here every year. I don’t play games and just have a glass of wine with dinner. If I book a return trip this way, a posse at the arrival gate will probably tell me that I’m no longer welcome here.
And how did this desert city get big? Believe it or not, it was the Mormon bankers who funded the development of Sin City.
