Guest Blogger

Hi Vegas fans,

This week, we are treated to another excerpt from Andrew Yoelin's 50 years of Vegas memories. Here's Andrew's take on some of the hotels that have graced the Strip over the years...

MGM Grand

The original MGM Grand (now Bally’s) was a lot of fun. I went there in 1974, spring-break and one night we went to Jai Lai. Jai Lai is a very popular game in south America and is played with a bent wooden racket, which is more “catcher” than racket and the players play on a court called a “fronton”. My friends were busy betting unknown players in a relatively unknown game, losing $5 bet after $5 bet. I, on the other hand, had discovered that they served Hebrew National Hot Dogs at the concession stand. I ate three, called my Dad to tell him about the hot dogs, ate one more and we left. Best hot dog I ever ate.

At some point, my family was in Vegas, around 1970, and we were recommended Battista’s Hole in the Wall, across the street from the original MGM. It’s still there but either my tastes have changed or the recipes have. Back then it was honest, delicious Italian food and Battista would sing. Beautiful voice.

In 1990, I made friends with a relative of Bernie Rothkopf. Mr. Bernie Rothkopf was president of the MGM Grand, hand-picked by Kirk Kirkorian to run the joint. Bernie had been in the casino business in Vegas since the forties and he knew his stuff. We stayed there about two weeks before the MGM Grand fire, which devastated Bernie.

My friend, Bernie’s relative, got drunk one night and played blackjack. The next day a man approached my friend, a man he’d never seen before and the man said, “I’m Bernie’s head of security. Don’t take a hit card on a hard 18. It’s stupid”. My friend had been spotted by security and identified without knowing it was Bernie’s relative and without Bernie ever knowing. You think that’s good security, that was 30 years ago; imagine how tight it is now.

Here’s the best Bernie Rothkopf story: back in those days, before celebrity chefs, the major hotels in Vegas each had five or six restaurants, different themes, all owned by the hotel. So, the MGM Grand had, for example, a deli, a Japanese/ Chinese restaurant, a Victorian Steak House, etc.

So, one night, Mr. Rothkopf took all of us to the steak house. I remember it being very loud. Lot’s of people, dish-noise, just loud restaurant noise. But when Bernie said anything, even in his low speaking voice, it was as if it got quiet because...I don’t know why...because he was such a big-shot? His voice was like the Red Sea parting...

The food comes out, I’m eating, talking to one of my friends, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Bernie nod to the restaurant’s Captain, and say, “Who’s cooking tonight”? The Captain responded, “Tony”, and Bernie requested Tony’s presence immediately.

Tony came out of the kitchen, sweating from the crush of business but soon sweating because, after all, this was ‘the man’. Bernie said, “Tony. What did I tell you about the potatoes the last time I was here”? Tony responded, “You told me not to burn them”. They were twice-backed or something. Bernie said, “Do these look burned to you”? Tony responded they did. When Tony left the table I swear to you I thought he would be buried in the desert. All because he burnt Bernie’s potatoes.

Did Tony die over potatoes? I don’t know for sure. But it felt like he was going someplace not good.

Landmark

On that same Spring Break trip of 1974 I’ve talked about, the first night in Vegas, we went crazy. Drank to excess, lost all my money, lost track of my friends, so I had to walk from the MGM Grand to an off-strip hotel by the International, now the Hilton International. I was so blitzed that when the Landmark Hotel stood in my way, I decided the best shortcut was to go through the hotel. Which is silly because at no time in the history of Vegas can/could you ever get out of the back of a hotel.

I proceeded through the casino, through a coffee shop, and through the kitchen—some chef was making a Chef Salad with Julianne of ham, turkey, cheese and I, acting as though I was management, tasted the turkey and cheese and instructed this poor kitchen worker to “slice them smaller” as I champed on my stolen samples.

I walked out a back kitchen door, in a suit and tie, and climbed a 20 foot tall cinder block fence. What sense did this make? None. I was a drunk college kid and it wasn’t a short cut, it was dangerous and stupid and the view was of trash cans, not of a neon-lit Vegas skyline.