I moved to Las Vegas for the bars. Sure, there was grad school and the weather and the need to spend at least a little bit of my life outside of New York City, but the reason I'm here and not, say, Los Angeles is largely the opportunity to have a drink and a cigarette at the same time, anytime, in any of a thousand places.
But the spots that drew me here are already disappearing. The Algiers' hotel rooms evoked Phillip Marlowe worked over by goons and awakening next to the corpse of a cigarette girl, and the bar was always welcoming, be it 4 p.m. or 4 a.m. No fancy décor, but comfy stools, cheap drinks and a clientele who knew when to befriend and when to back off. Last summer, it was torn down to make way for plush vacation homes. The Venetian's Taboo Cover (along with Venus) recently ripped out its hand-carved tikis, Bettie Page videos and fetchingly sideburned and fire-breathing bartenders to become Vivid, The Club, feeding frat boys' appetite for anything even vaguely porn-related. The Horse-a-Round bar at Circus Circus remains empty—although it should've been declared a national historic site the moment Hunter S. Thompson kicked his attorney's ass through its pastel carousel horses.
Where does the hammer of redevelopment hit next? Well, lay your money on the venerable Sand Dollar Lounge, a Vegas institution for 25 years. While no exact dates are available, it seems that the complex it's in has been sold and rezoned for high-rise condominiums. The Sand Dollar is just a large room with low ceilings and dim lighting, stage and dance floor on one side, pool tables and jukebox on the other and an island bar in between. It's best known as a hangout for bikers and blues aficionados, but the Sand Dollar attracts a mixed crowd—and we all know that a bar with only one kind of people is no fun, even if they're your kind. During the day, it's laid-back and cave-like, a soothing spot to stop in for a quick one or two with the bartender and early-bird regulars (although you may still find yourself stumbling out at daybreak). Come nightfall, there's Harley-riding ex-models pounding tequila, 82-year-old men in suits ripping up the dance floor, tourists announcing they're going to "smack some balls around" at the pool table, and an array of construction workers, crime reporters and cab drivers. Blues bands cook in the corner seven nights a week, offering up the kind of beer-swilling, sweat-soaked entertainment you won't get from those tin-canned R&B cover acts that inhabit every lounge on the Strip. Which is why legends like B.B. King and the Righteous Brothers have dropped in for impromptu jam sessions: It's a no-bullshit, no-glitz place to hear some good music and tip a glass with your fellow man. Unless, of course, your fellow man is looking to start a fight, in which case the customers may well get his punk ass before the bouncers do.
If you've never been to the Sand Dollar, you'd best go now. If you have been, well, enjoy it while you still can. You also might want to drop by Ellis Island: While the casino itself isn't going, all the adjacent property will soon be occupied by—you guessed it—high-rises. The owner says the longtime locals' favorite will only get some cosmetic changes, but I somehow suspect that once the million-dollar vacation homes go up, it won't be a hotbed of nickel slots, dollar drinks, $5 steaks and off-key karaoke for long.
Maybe it's just where I was and where I am now, but it seems like soon the entire country will be nothing but luxury condos and we'll all just be wandering aimlessly amidst the marble lobbies and doormen without even a place to buy a pack of Lucky Strikes. Or have a goddamn drink.
Lissa Townsend Rodgers learned to make a martini at age 6. E-mail her at
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