Goodbye to the Tropicana Hotel
Despite their historical significance, there are old buildings that must come down. They outlive their purpose and their viability. This is what happened in Las Vegas last week when the famed Tropicana Hotel came to the end of its life. It was the last of the original resorts that was built on the Las Vegas Strip in the late 1950’s. It had a lot of history within its walls. With its demolition, the only history that remains are the memories of those that were a part of that history. It was because of an oddity, that I am one of those individuals from long ago.
It began in 1978. I took a new job. It required me to move to Las Vegas from Reno. It included an important assignment. It was to foster political competition in Las Vegas. In so doing, my target was to remove the most powerful person in Las Vegas from his position. He was the Sheriff. His family was also the most powerful political family in town. It was a “mission impossible” assignment. Yet, through luck and skill, it was accomplished. At the time a détente governed Las Vegas. The good people of Las Vegas tolerated the bad people. The bad people were, of course, from the world of “organized crime.” It needed to end.
This story is shared because it relates to Castro Valley, for this is my hometown and where I live again. To end up in Las Vegas was not on my agenda when I was a young man. Deep inside Las Vegas at the time was a snake pit of nefarious individuals with dark and hidden agendas. They came from places like Chicago, New York, Kansas City, and Cleveland. The Tropicana Hotel was of importance to them.
Before taking the oath of office, the new Sheriff (Commander John McCarthy of Narcotics & Vice at Metro), hosted a small and private gathering at the Tropicana. There were about two dozen of us invited. Since I had taken on the assignment to oust the Sheriff and the one who convinced McCarthy to run, I was a featured guest. That night, John had a special lapel pin made for our “inner team” of five people. He pinned them on each of us, including myself. To me, it was like having the President hang the Congressional Medal of Honor around my neck.
It was in that small room at the Tropicana that McCarthy made a toast. It was to those of us on “the team” and to the victory we earned. There was now a job to be done. He proclaimed a primary objective. It was that the “bad guys” had to go. By “bad guys,” he meant the mob guys. His voice was moderate in tone, yet the message was clear. We then clinked our glasses and repeated the assignment. At the time, the Tropicana Hotel was one of the places where they operated. Little did they know what was going on under one of their own tents.
There is a lot more to the story, of course. It will end here because of size limitations. It is shared, however, because some individuals once stepped forward to do what needed to be done to clean up Las Vegas. It was a messy and painful experience, particularly for McCarthy. Yet, the job began there that night in a small room at the Tropicana Hotel. Eventually, the mob guys were removed. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. Now and then I put the lapel pin on a suit jacket. As I do, I reflect upon what happened, one night, long ago at the Tropicana Hotel in Las Vegas. McCarthy and two others from our “team” are now gone. Now, the Tropicana Hotel is gone. Two of us remain. As the Tropicana goes, so goes the story. It is remembered here, however, and shared with you here in Castro Valley.