In 1958, several things happened that changed Las Vegas once again. Yes, even after

All had high hopes of good fortune. The wise guys hoped for more easy money. The university hoped for a good football team to make this shady town respectable. The airlines hoped for millions of non-business passengers to fill their new planes. And Sam V., who just wanted to drink beer and get laid.

But Sin City is a harsh mistress, and over the span of fifty years it wears down people, places, and things. The proof of that is easily seen with just these examples: The wise guys (also known as the mafia) got their millions, but they were ratted out by President Kennedy’s little brother, and now they get a much smaller piece of the action. I’m told the Trop is an over-age whore that her newest pimps barely keep clean. The Stardust is worn down to a hole in the ground, and the little extension at the University never did get the football team the city needed for validation, but instead we got a breeding ground for even more bottom-feeders, better known as lawyers. (The lawyers are still trying to say a Law School is a good thing for Vegas.) The airlines are sick and dying like flies. Like the casinos, they have changed what made them successful, and now charge for toilet paper and all the unnecessary perks that attracted business for them.

Now our boy Sam is a different story. He started his fifty year odyssey on "the yellow brick road’ as an 18 year old young buck at 6 ft. 5 inches tall weighing 200 plus pounds of frustrated male hormones, nearing the point of exploding. He was such a fearsome sight that the two dollar hookers ran for the shadows and alleys. These girls were afraid that there was so much sexual energy dammed-up in this giant man-child that he could damage parts of their bodies that they needed for their profession. Such damage could force then into a life as unthinkable as death. (Yes, they could even be downgraded to the life of a pit boss at Harrah’s.)

When you see Sam now, he looks to be about 5 feet 7. In reality, I’m a majestic quarter inch taller even without those "Hollywood shoes." The good news is that with all that Vegas threw at me, I still managed to maintain the 200 plus pounds. Yes, with lifelong dedication to a program of diet, and unbelievable strenuous workouts with a cadre of television fitness celebrities, I am still well over the hump.

If you need further proof, just look carefully at anyone you can find that drove cross country to Vegas in the 1950’s and you will probably notice that they, like I, are showing hints of the premature, very early and untimely prelude to middle age (this is what Vegas will do to these folks).

My buddy and I drove all night thru Northern Nevada while trying to figure out why all the ranches had colored lights with their names blazoned on the roof. Finding downtown Vegas was no problem. The lights in the middle of the dark dessert were unbelievable. Probably a sight not found anywhere in the world today.

We went to the downtown Pioneer and snuck in the front door. It was after two in the morning and the crowd was thinning out. I tried to buy a 10 cent beer, but the bar keeper refused to serve me. So I went over to a row of dime slot machines. Yes, 10 cent slots that I believe were introduced as a step up from the penny and nickel machines for the players that were not quite ready to make that quantum leap to high-rolling quarters.