Over ten years ago, I made my first trip to Las Vegas. I was (at that time) interested in baseball and baseball parks and went for a bus tour that took a week to go up and down the west coast visiting the California - Oregon - Washington major league (and a few minor league parks). I forget the exact year right now, but it was the year the Kingdome was closed for a while because of falling roof panels. I went all the way to Seattle and got to to see the outside of it. Sigh.

Anyway, the trip was arranged to leave the Midwest, with the bus going to Las Vegas, and people had the option of taking the bus all the way or joining it in Las Vegas for the west coast travels. I flew into Las Vegas on Friday evening and the bus was to leave the following morning at 9AM. I dropped my bags in the room at Fitzgeralds, and went out to see the night life. I would play a little at a place and move along, in no hurry to retire for the night. It was constantly, "I'll stay up a little longer."

As the hours passed, finally I found myself at the blackjack table at the Western as the sun was coming up, and one of the seedier looking guys at the table, which I think had a $1 minimum, kept digging in his pockets and pulling out one crumpled dollar bill at a time to bet. I looked around the table and thought to myself, "What the hell am I doing here?" I made my way back to the Fitz, checked out with my luggage being the only part of me that made use of the room, and got on the bus at 9AM. I then found the a/c on the bus had conked out. I sat in the very hot bus on the ride to San Diego and mostly slept.

Since then I have many horror stories about the ancient ramshackle place a few blocks down from the El Cortez that is the Western. It's a place that has to be seen to be believed.