Citizen Hughes - Michael Drosnin [57]
“Bob, ever since I arrived here I have been fighting attempts to down-grade the Strip into some kind of freak show—an amusement park—a cross between Coney Island and the Hudson Palisades Park. If one of these sideshows is allowed, there will be 3 or 4 or six and then we will have a real avenue of merry-go-rounds and roller coasters.
“I have certainly made no secret with you of my feelings that the Las Vegas strip does not have much class (in fact, I was laughed at once when I said it had a certain degree of class), but nevertheless it does have just that small difference in class distinction between an amusement park and a place which is garish, but like no other place in the entire world.
“I dont think I would like to live here or center all of my future plans around this pivot point if Freemont Street is going to be moved to the Strip.”
Class. They may have laughed at him once, but Hughes was now determined to make Las Vegas a real high-class place, and there was no room in his vision for the honky-tonk atmosphere that had already overrun downtown, much less for monorails, dog racing, or (God forbid) jai alai.
In fact, Hughes had more than a vision. He had a plan. A mission. He would “make Las Vegas as trustworthy and respectable as the New York Stock Exchange—so that Nevada gambling will have the kind of a reputation that Lloyds of London has, so that Nevada on a note will be like Sterling on silver.”
Real class. But his plans went still further.
“We can make a really super environmental ‘city of the future’ here—No smog, no contamination, efficient local government, where the tax-payers pay as little as possible, and get something for their money.”
There it was. Hughes Heaven—no contamination, no taxes, and lots of class. There was, of course, one other requirement: he had to own it all.
He already owned the Desert Inn, the Sands, the Castaways, and the Frontier, all nicely clustered in the center of town. Now he was eyeing the Silver Slipper, a low-class “grind” casino just across the street, and its huge next-door neighbor, the Stardust, which alone would nearly double his holdings.
“I feel there is something very important and very significant about being in a position of 100%, admitted undisputed leadership,” wrote Hughes.
“I know you tell me that such a position has already been achieved,” he chided Maheu, who urged restraint, “but if you asked ten different people, you would probably get ten different opinions.
“Bob, stated briefly, I am certain that there is great value in any entity which is clearly, indisputably the world’s greatest and largest gambling operation.
“So, I am talking about a clear cut leadership of such magnitude that the word of mouth report would become accepted throughout the world. So that when anybody thinks or speaks of gambling, the reaction would be automatic, just like the reaction to Sterling on silver.
“But, what is most important of all, is that it will put to rest this gnawing urge I have for a slightly stronger position,” he concluded, reassuring his regent, “and when this urge is satisfied, I am positive our relationship (yours and mine) will improve immeasurably.
“I am certain, Bob, that the removal of this one thorn in my side will leave us with a really harmonious prospect for the future.”
Hughes had to have the Silver Slipper and the Stardust, and he also wanted the Silver Nugget and the Bonanza and Bill Harrah’s clubs in Reno and Lake Tahoe and perhaps the Riviera and … well, just about every hotel and casino in Nevada. But for now the Slipper and the Stardust were a must.
Up in Carson City, Paul Laxalt was getting worried again. If Hughes had a gnawing urge, the governor still had a gnawing fear. The legislative probe stirred up by Hughes’s last casino license was coming to a head, and two new purchases right now might be dangerous. Laxalt asked