Douglas Smith
He had the look and manner of a street hustler, with the mouth and, yeah, a collection of neck tats to match.
At the base of an escalator below a large hotel
complex, the fast-talking skinny fellow approached passersby with handbills, gabbing about various sites to see. But this was the famous Las Vegas Strip, so he was one of many. He told me that he liked my hat. Yeah, right. In my big city travels over the decades, I knew that's not exactly original. Besides, this lid is pretty old and I'm not even sure how much I like it anymore.
I would have been happy to ignore him, but then he became aggravating. Or so it seemed.
Robin and I were attempting to purchase transit tickets from a street kiosk. It was mid-morning and the sun's glare against the screen was proving a real nuisance. Suddenly, our hustler pal was in our space trying to assist. Amid my frustration, you can imagine my reaction. To my surprise, he signaled a uniformed transit officer that we needed help. A pleasant young man in his mid-20s, the officer navigated us through the transaction.
"Oh, don't worry about him," the officer assured us about the 'hustler,' "he really is trying to help."
With several minutes to wait on Las Vegas's "Deuce" transit bus — an economical way to reach various Strip attractions — I observed that the man was more about help than hustle. Several tourists gave him the brush off, but he wasn't trying to chisel handouts, either. When I took a moment to approach and strike up a brief conversation, he appreciated my outreach and we parted with a shared laugh and a handshake.
Of all the big city attractions in this great country of ours, Las Vegas has been among the least appealing to me. "Sin City;" gambling culture; lots of flash and glitz; um, I prefer something more sedate.
Robin and I had visited here after a family wedding in California seven years ago, using it as a base for excursions to Hoover Dam and some Utah sites, and I didn't care for a Vegas redux. But when a longtime friend — an informed travel aficionado — pointed out an opportunity to take in an Eagles concert at Vegas's Sphere venue, along with a reasonably-priced hotel and flight package, we decided to take advantage.
Entertainer Wayne Newton has been a Las Vegas fixture since the late 1950s. His associations with various entertainment glitterati from the mid-20th century onward are legion and impressive. He may not have been a member of the Sinatra, Martin, Davis Jr., et al, Rat Pack, but he was well-associated with them, and I suspect he'd qualify as Rat Pack "lite."
Newton is not quite the headliner now. With about five minutes to spare one evening, Robin and I caught his performance in the 100-seat cabaret theatre at the Flamingo resort. The 83-year old engages nicely during Q-and-A with his audience, sharing vignettes, stories, and videos from his career. Along the 90 minutes, Newton croons a respectable set, including "Summer Wind," "Red Roses For A Blue Lady," "Daddy, Don't You Walk So Fast" and, of course, his signature "Danke Schoen."
The Deuce carried us to a macabre piece of Americana "in residence" at the city's Mob Museum. On Valentine's Day, 1929, seven members of mobster Bugs Moran's gang were gunned down in the garage of SMC Cartage Company, on Chicago's northside, by men allegedly associated with rival Al Capone. A section of
the garage's bullet-riddled brick wall is on display at the museum, along with one of the "Tommy" guns used in the hit.
The three-story, 92-year-old former Las Vegas Post Office and Courthouse building is chock full of crime and mob-related exhibits from the past century.
An unexpected bonus was meeting the son of notorious Chicago mobster Frank Calabrese Sr. Now in his mid-60s, Calabrese Jr. was drawn into his dad's criminal world around age 16. Thanks to his mobster uncle's intervention, young Calabrese avoided committing murder, and deeper involvement in the life.
He did enough to land in prison, however. Desiring to avoid mob life, and before he passed a "point of no return" with the crime outfit, Calabrese assisted the FBI in convicting members of the gang — including Calabrese Sr. — of more serious charges. His dad died in prison in 2012.
Frank Calabrese Jr. has written of his life and family, and appears regularly at the museum. Mug shots of his dad depict an imposing character, and while the son has been living on the right side of the law for many years now, in person he appears as chip off the ol' block.
The star of this trip, though, was the Sphere. Opened barely two years, the venue boasts a height of 366 feet, and a maximum width of 516 feet. You could fit the Statue of Liberty inside, including pedestal, with the distance of a pitcher's mound to home plate to spare. Festooned with over a half-million exterior LED displays, you can't miss it, and is, purportedly, visible from outer space.
The evening before our date with the Eagles, we took in a showing of 1939's "Wizard of Oz" at the venue. Immersive is a barely adequate descriptive for the experience — an understatement. The Sphere uses a lot of space-age, high-falutin' mathematics to produce its astounding special effects. Their website can fill you in. I just know they have the capability to deliver you as closely into a Kansas tornado as you can go without needing a trip to a trauma center to pluck out splinters.
If you've ever wondered what is inside good witch Glinda's pink bubble as it lands in "Munchkin Land," the Sphere's technology will transport you in for a peek. You'll have little trouble counting doe-eyed Dorothy's eyelashes as she sings "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." Even little Toto's bark sounds more fierce.
Given the venue's capabilities, even a mediocre band could sound great. While the Eagles need little assistance, this concert presented the toast of '70s / '80s rock meeting 21st century technology, and the experience was memorable. Robin is a veteran, and informed critic, of concerts in multiple genres dating to the 1970s, and she found this one jaw-dropping.
The band opened with "Hotel California." The Sphere's huge display immediately placed you on that "dark desert highway" in a ragtop on a winding, hilly road with the "cool wind in [your] hair." Soon enough you were in the hotel, traveling down the corridor, and into the "master's chambers" where folks were "gathered for the feast." Similar video displays accompanied the group's other iconic hits. Particularly enjoyable was the dueling guitars riff, for several moments, between Vince Gill and half-century band vet Joe Walsh.
The Eagles will be in residence here through the end of January 2026, and are worth a look. As he trims his sails toward age 90, it's hard to say how much longer Wayne Newton will perform. Given his manifold contributions to the community, perhaps the Vegas movers and shakers could arrange a Sphere date for the beloved crooner. Just one, or two, evenings for "Mr. Las Vegas" to tell his stories on show biz's biggest stage, and return his thanks with "Danke Schoen" one more time.
Columnist Douglas Smith lives and writes in Rockingham.
