Slice of Good Ol Boy Life

We left for Las Vegas early the next morning. I did not bore Jim with the details of my Canyon excursion with Stallone. It really wasn’t that enlightening.

We loaded up the car ourselves and paused briefly for coffee in the lobby and I dropped a few postcards in the mail.

The Hoover Dam was our next stop and it would be a special one. Jim, the engineer, marveled at this true testament to American might. We both took a lot of pictures.

Dam Right

“You couldn’t build this today, with all the environmentalists,” he noted as we walked through the inner-workings of the Dam.

The Dam was built during the Great Depression and although it was not in my lifetime, the Great Depression felt very real. To construct this monster wall, the Colorado River was diverted. It was sheer power.

Many men lost their lives during the project. Many others were provided work and in turn were able to provide for their suffering families. It was a government program.

During our visit, Lake Mead was nearing a record low. Water is still a major commodity in the desert and ‘Bling-Bling’ Vegas requires a lot of it.

From the Dam, we made the short drive to Vegas, which would be our turning around point. Jim didn’t care to go any further West, despite the allure of California.

That was fine with me. I had visited the Golden State several times before. On my last trip to Los Angeles, I almost missed my return flight, having skipped out on a journalism convention and gotten bogged down in the  West Hollywood club scene.

Fast forward a few years and I was about to make my first-ever visit to Las Vegas…Sin City. Temptation was everywhere. Gambling, hot girls, muscle studs, booze, drugs, tattoo parlors…the works.

We would stay two nights at The Sahara. It’s an older casino, but still an anchor on The Strip. Jim had been coming here for decades and was on a first-name basis with many of the staff.

Bill, the bellhop, gave Jim a big hug and warm greeting when we arrived. A black man from Mississippi, Bill was close to Jim in age and you could tell they had a special bond. Jim’s arrival seemed to boost Bill’s spirits, although he was quick to bemoan the local economy.

“They’re dealing 50-cent blackjack in some of these casinos now,” Bill said.

Once settled in the room, Jim handed me a twenty dollar bill and told me to have fun gambling. I held my own on the blackjack table for a few hours and disciplined myself to leave with money in my pocket.

Just walking through the casino was entertainment enough. The rodeo was coming to town and the Strip was beginning to take on a decidedly Brokeback scene. Toby “I Should’ve Been a Cowboy” Keith was scheduled to perform that week.

Wanting to make the most of our one full day in Vegas, we retired early that first night. As we bunked down for the night, Jim asked me about a trip to Key West with R.C. and Bob — a trip I had made about four years ago. R.C. and Bob, God rest their souls, are no longer with us.

“I’ve never been to Key West,” Jim revealed.

“It’s nice,” I replied. “A lot different than Miami…you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I would,” Jim said.

On that fateful drive to Key West, I remember R.C., a jolly man who could pound vodkas with the best of them, describing South Florida as “God’s waiting room.”

I got the feeling Jim wasn’t ready to make that trip just yet. No sir. Vegas was on deck.

And we were ready.