The Kats! Bureau at this writing is at The Official Tropicana ImplosionPalooozaFest, just south of the skeleton of the historic hotel-casino.
A few minutes ago Neon Museum Executive Director Aaron Berger interviewed me for a series of clips to be presented at the museum. He’ll be here through the night, asking for folks’ memories of the Trop.
When Berger asked me that simple question, I instantly thought of Jerry Tarkanian. I’d barely remembered this episode in the coverage of the hotel’s closing and implosion. But when Aaron asked for my recollection, I flashed on Tark relaxing on a king-sized bed one afternoon in February 1997. Tark was five years removed from UNLV and coaching Fresno State, in town to play the Runnin’ Rebels.
Tark was on his cell phone when I walked in. Cell phones were somewhat of a luxury then, and he called out loudly, “Tell Freddy we’re coming in tonight!” Then he looked at me and said, “Piero’s!” referring to his buddy Piero’s founder, Freddy Glusman.
Tark leaned back on the bed. I asked what it was like to be back in Vegas. He said, “This city is growing too big, too fast.” In 1997.
It seems everyone has a Trop story. It’s where I covered the Hawaiian Tropic Pageant on the pool deck and the close of “Folies Bergere” from inside the theater in 2009. I met Brad Garrett at the hotel when he opened his comedy club on the second floor. He roasted everyone he ran into on his way to the venue, still under renovation. “People are telling me that my face is not on the key cards yet!” he called to an unexpecting blackjack dealer. “Fix that!”
Garrett led me to the venue and explained, “The key to the success of this club, is burgundy,” as he glided his his hand across the velvet curtains.
This is spit-balling memories, as I look out at the two tours to be dropped about an hour from now. One night I was waiting for my dad at the bar at Tropicana Lounge. He liked to stay at the hotel. “Big rooms!” were a treat. I dumped a $20 into the video poker machine, as Skye Dee Miles’ Skye 5 band rocked the room.
Bang, I hit a royal for $2,000. Skye came over, there were two attendants and a bartender all celebrating with me. Dad arrived and said, “What the hell is going on here?”
We had planned to go to the then-new Cosmopolitan that night, but instead hung with Skye and the band. Dad danced with a few of the cast members from “Jubilee” who liked to end the night in Tropicana Lounge. Skye is still a family friend, the best $2k jackpot you’ll ever know about.
The lounge closed a few years later, in favor of a new bar — rather, a nightlife concept — devoid of personality. Several shows shut down or left the theater in the days I’ve covered the Trop, most notably “Folies” in 2009. I had written about that show from inside the theater, celebrating 49 years of parading Vegas showgirls.
The Trop will be remembered fondly. I always felt Laugh Factory was an underappreciated club, with big names and unknowns sharing the bill. It was the last place I saw Louie Anderson perform. Rich Little headlined there for years; Murray Sawchuck held the afternoon spot. That club will resurface, I’m confident, in a hotel with vintage Vegas pedigree.
I look out now at the Tropicana’s shell, imagining the Oakland Athletics playing there. That is also an institution with sentimental ties, from my days in Northern California. I feel that just behind the GGG Demolition sign is the suite where I spent time with Tark, and remember Vegas icons lost to time.
John Katsilometes’ column runs daily in the A section. His “PodKats!” podcast can be found at reviewjournal.com/podcasts. Contact him at jkatsilometes@reviewjournal.com. Follow @johnnykats on X, @JohnnyKats1 on Instagram.