I know what you're thinking: Yet another article about Vegas nostalgia. Yet, for locals—I moved here in the winter of 1975, when I was 6, so I'll include myself in this group—the things on this list can keep the conversation at the pub going until closing time. For you newcomers, such old-school anecdotes can be daunting; it's like being the new kid on the block whom the snotty kids won't let you into the neighborhood tree house.
To bridge this gap, I've put together a list of talking points that, if nothing else, will prod longtime residents of the city to relate, laugh and—if my memory is perhaps too favorable—disagree with my roster. As for those of you who have recently relocated here, maybe this information will give you a foothold in our next pub talk.
1. Unedited Cult Movies on KVVU Channel 5 in the Early '80s
It was titillating enough for many young viewers to stay up late on Friday nights watching quirky imports on late-night TV, like Australia's Women in Cell Block H (complete with then-sensational lesbian lip-locking), and catching a brief flash of exposed boobies on The Benny Hill Show.
But they were just appetizers. For those so inclined, if you were still gazing at the tube well past midnight, KVVU Channel 5 would treat you to such delightful titles as Invasion of the Bee Girls, Lisa and the Devil, Beyond the Door, all soft-core horror movies—unedited!
That's right, back in its pre-Fox days (in 1978-84, it was owned by Johnny Carson a.k.a. Carson Broadcasting), when KVVU was just a tiny run-down studio off of Boulder Highway, it regaled us with the sight of full-frontal nudity. Few who saw it could forget the sequence in Bee Girls when a young woman is transformed into a bee creature by a series of lovely ladies rubbing royal bee jelly over her naked body; or Beyond's image of a naked woman being burned at the stake for a satanic ritual—pubes, nipples and all! Memorable television? For sure!
How KVVU got away with it without complaints to the FCC is simply an amazing feat. Was it the wee-hours scheduling? The relatively small population in 1980 (roughly 460,000)? The quick disclaimer by Mr. Carson himself at the beginning of each film? Mystifyingly, we have no definitive answer.
We'll just have to settle for this—that if only for a moment, KVVU, in its own low-key way, taught some of us just how anarchic television could be.
2. Calamity Jayne's Nashville Nevada Club
You knew all bets were off when you walked into Calamity Jayne's and were greeted by a giant moose head. For a brief, brilliant period—1987-91—Calamity Jayne (Claudia Rae on her birth certificate) cleared the clogged arteries of Vegas' stale rock scene by opening her door to some great alternative bands, like Nirvana (who opened for Sonic Youth—and were booed off the stage!), Social Distortion, the Jesus & Mary Chain, Nine Inch Nails, Iggy Pop and others. With the cozy confines of a 500-capacity space (or so the sign stated) and its hazy, smoke-filled atmosphere, Jayne offered quite the concert-going experience.
Jayne had some interesting credentials before she started the club. She was well-known on the Strip with her George-Jones-meets-the-Sex-Pistols band, Calamity Jayne and the Cowpunks, at the Aladdin. In 1987, she chose the former Nashville Nevada Casino on Boulder and Fremont because of its history and vibe (Merle Haggard and Johnny Paycheck both got their starts in the house band). Few felt that there was enough interest for an underground music venue to take flight in Vegas, but Jayne's pluck and knack for sensing bands about to break big made it a hit.
Sadly, it was not to last. Her friendship with convicted drug trafficker Carl "Ernie" Whittenburg (now serving a life sentence) spelled trouble for Jayne, who was accused of money-laundering in the early '90s. In August 1991, the property was seized by U.S. marshals. The sad epitaph to the story is that no one has come close to filling Jayne's shoes when it comes to a club with the vitality and originality that she had in her heyday.
3. Vegas Village
Although the city was studded with them, I frequented two of this store's outlets as a kid: in the Commercial Center (just west of Sahara) and on the corner of Decatur and Oakey boulevards. The Village was handy as a convenient one-stop shop (groceries, clothing, pharmacy, check-cashing), but this author loved going there for its rich selection of lowbrow knickknacks: three bags of Pop Rocks for 50 cents, a terrific selection of pop 45's rivaled only by Odyssey Records, pet rocks, mood rings—yep, Vegas Village had it all.
Best of all, the Village was a popular stop for a string of second-tier celebrities who were destined to find immortality on the Game Show Network: Shecky Greene, Joey Heatherton, Buddy Hackett, Robert Urich, all making the Village the place to spot the marginally recognizable.
Unfortunately, the story of Vegas Village ended on a sour note. It went into Chapter 11 bankruptcy in the spring of 1981, when the principal owner, Thomas R. Corato, was indicted for embezzlement. Would Vegas Village have survived today, with all the mega-marts that exist? Probably not, but the story of a corrupt owner who hastened the slide of a business with his fraudulent ways, forcing several hundred people into unemployment in the process, has a frighteningly contemporary ring to it.
4. The Underground
Aaahh! The memories! In the late '80s, a pocket-sized used-record shop in the Maryland Square Shopping Center (across from the Boulevard Mall) was a haven for young kids whose musical ambitions knew no bounds. The Underground was the first record store in town that I can recall dedicating a small section to local talent. (Remember Stiff Kitty?)
Better still, it had a bulletin board that advertised what new acts were in town; recruitment cards by burgeoning bands searching for musicians; cool Sid and Nancy T-shirts; and real bargains on import CDs from wicked across-the-pond bands like The Exploited, Joy Division and Wire.
Best of all were the customers: youth-culture-deprived teenagers who would discuss the tortured romanticism of Morrisey's lyrical stance, give endless "why don't we start a band?" motivational speeches (of the "whoever's parents are cool enough to let us practice in their garage can be the lead singer" variety) or start a club to showcase bands that contained their friends
Naive? Yes. Slightly pretentious? Perhaps. But isn't that the very definition of being young? There was no better place to do it than the Underground.
5. Nudes on Ice at Jackie Gaughn's Union Plaza
"It's Sexsational" screamed the headlines on Downtown billboards. It's a shame Jackie Gaughn's Union Plaza's (now the Plaza Hotel & Casino) Nudes on Ice didn't live up to the hype.
For starters, they weren't nude, just topless, and second, they didn't skate. What we did get were four women revealing their attributes while posing on a flower bed ... and that was it! Attractive as some of them were, they looked bored. You could see that beneath the veneer of forced smiles and stiff hand-waving, some of these ladies couldn't wait to get out of there. It didn't help that the professional skaters—fully clothed, of course—danced to some awful pop music like Leo Sayer's "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" and Chris De Burgh's "The Lady in Red," complete with choreography that made the Ice Angels' routines on The Donny and Marie Show look stunningly professional by comparison. However, there was one saving grace—your ticket got you a prime rib dinner with unlimited drinks.
Although this is one casino "flesh" show whose cult reputation has puzzled me over the years, I will give Nudes this much: It led the way for other inexpensive, cheesy topless shows like San Remo's Le Trix and Riviera's Crazy Girls to improve on the concept with more wit and style.
6. The MGM Movie House
When it opened in December 1973, this was something you hadn't experienced before. Located downstairs, inside the MGM shopping arcade, the movie house was awesome: 300-seat capacity; plush, sky-blue love seats; cherry Cokes delivered by long-legged cocktail waitresses, bonding with other film geeks.
But the best thing was its schedule of MGM classics like Intruder in the Dust, Grand Hotel and The Postman Always Rings Twice, shown in crisp, 35 mm prints. To complement the theater, the arcade had a memorabilia shop that sold a stunning collage of movie stuff that harked back to MGM's glory days: calendars, film props, costumes, celebrity bios, trivia books and so much more.
Naturally, it couldn't last. After MGM sold out to Bally's in 1986, the theater made a game go of it, but without MGM's stellar film library and with a changing demographic more comfortable renting videos that going to the movie house, it was over within a year. Still, it was a kick while it lasted.
7. Hair Zoo
When it came to having geometrically extreme hair that needed industrial-strength glue to keep it in place, Hair Zoo was the winner hands-down.
After its humble beginnings in 1982, as a shack near UNLV, the Zoo hit its stride when owner Jerry Bass relocated to Charleston, just East of Maryland Parkway. It wasn't just the cool hair that Jerry and his stable of stylists like Laura Baily and "Z" could sculpt, or the great off-kilter jewelry (hypodermic needle earrings!) you could pick up there, or the fine music you'd listen to as they did your coif.
No, the Zoo's charm lay in its vibe. Although Jerry himself was quiet and unassuming, he always had an ear for a funny crack and an eye for sharp observations about his customers. You felt welcomed because Jerry was one of the few elders in this city who would indulge a kid's delusion of nonconformist conformity.
Jerry's gig on Charleston ran out by 1989, and one more year cutting hair on the Strip was enough for him—he was gone. Where to? The numerous sources I asked gave me answers ranging from running a beauty parlor in Boston to a bar in Portland; that he joined a commune in Northern California; and—this one bothered me—that he passed on to the great salon above. Wherever you are Jerry, a new generation of Vegas kids could use some style pointers.
8. The Newsroom
The sign outside the front door said it all: "The next best thing to leaving." The Newsroom, started by LenAdams Dorris and John Laub in 1986 as a quaint coffee and magazine shop Downtown, was certainly the first of its kind. Unlike any other coffee joint before it, the Newsroom was about doing the New York Times crossword puzzle over a good cup of herbal tea, playing chess, flipping through the 600-plus magazines from all over the world without interruption, and just watching a most diverse selection of people: young and old, liberal and conservative, gay and straight, atheist and proselytizing Christian, all just hanging out.
In January 1987, Len and John moved into the cursed promenade across UNLV. After struggling for a year, they folded and went their separate ways. Valiantly, some cafes over the years tried to pick up where the Newsroom left off: Cafe Espresso Roma, Cafe Copioh and Len's own eco-friendly cafe on Fourth Street, the Enigma. All held the interest of pseudo-bohemians for awhile, but they are all gone. The reason? A number of factors: rising property rents, poor management, vandalism and the proliferation of Starbucks.
Is anyone willing to start a new one with all the trimmings? You know what I mean. A mom-and-pop cafe with anti-nuke bumper stickers plastered on the wall, cool socialist board games like Anti-Monopoly and the sounds of Laurie Anderson's deconstructionist pop? If so, I'm willing to wait, I'm a patient man.
9. Cinema 1-2-3
In the late '80s, Downtown's Cinema 1-2-3 offered a lineup of flicks that no connoisseur of midnight movies could resist—all for just a dollar!
Double features on Friday and Saturday nights were your best bet, with the genres ranging all over the place and the titles telling it all: trash (Slumber Party Massacre, Caged Women, Friday the 13th); UK arthouse (Sid and Nancy, Prick Up Your Ears); retro kitsch (Beyond the Valley of the Dolls and Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill) and more.
Cinema 1-2-3 had some shortcomings: It was on the seedy side (think of Taxi Driver-era Times Square); the smell of rancid buttered popcorn completely festered into the carpet (you would have to hold your nose when you went through the lobby); the backed-up plumbing in the toilets. And it was filled with more derelicts, streetwalkers and weird people than a casting call for Cannery Row.
But were these hassles worth it, for a buck a film? Absolutely!
(By the way, if any of you are curious, Discount Cinema is still alive and well for just $3 at the Tropicana Theaters off Trop and Pecos, with anything from This Is Spinal Tap to The Rocky Horror Picture Show playing to a well-attended house. At least some people know how to keep the ball rolling.)
10. The Rathskeller
For UNLV students who had neither the money nor the credentials to get into the hip hangouts back in the day, the Rathskeller was a splendidly inspired choice for a watering hole.
Across Paradise from the Las Vegas Convention Center, in the basement of the popular Swiss restaurant, the Alpine Village, the Rathskeller followed an elaborate Bavarian theme. Servers wearing form-fitting lederhosens (for the women, great; for the men, yeesch!) waited attentively while you gazed at the decorations: horns, copper bells and cuckoo clocks.
The grub was what really made this place rock: a sizable basket of pumpernickel bread, with either cottage cheese dip or a relish bowl. And how could you forget the delicious rösti (potato pancakes fried with onion and butter)? Or the chicken soup? Or the peanuts, whose shells you threw on the floor?
And the beer! Rich German ales served in huge steins, perfectly complementing the heavy food. Throw in a piano bar where inebriated patrons would sing gleefully off-key German folk songs, and you had a virtual ritual every Friday night for many an undergrad.
By the way, does anyone know where I can get some good rösti? I've been dying for some since the Rathskeller closed in 1993.