If you grew up in the Midwest during the 1960s, the summertime family car trip to California was an eagerly awaited coming-of-age ritual. My own family—two parents, four kids, and one Chevrolet station wagon—headed west from Kansas City in the summer of 1964. In between the Grand Canyon and Disneyland, we stopped for two nights in Las Vegas. We stayed at the Gold Key Motel—no fancy Strip resort for these frugal Midwest travelers—and saw two shows: Johnny Carson at the Sahara Hotel (his very first Vegas engagement) and the Kingston Trio (my sister’s favorite) at the Riviera. I remember few details about our stay, aside from going backstage to get Johnny’s autograph (I still have it, on an old Sahara Hotel postcard). But the impossibly glamorous atmosphere—the glittering showrooms, the cacophonous casinos that we were not allowed to enter, the neon fabulousness of the hotels lining the Strip—made a lasting impression on me. So I want to thank, first of all, my parents—who returned to Vegas many more times, usually without the kids—for giving me one indelible glimpse of Las Vegas in the golden age.
It was Jonathan Karp, Simon & Schuster’s publisher, who came up with the idea, when I proposed a book about Las Vegas’ 1960s heyday, that I frame it around Elvis Presley’s big comeback show there in 1969. And it was my old friend Steve Dougherty who helped me realize what a great idea this was. Steve is a lover and chronicler of rock ’n’ roll of all kinds and eras, but he always loved Elvis best. I once asked why. Because, he said, when he first heard Elvis as a grade-schooler in the 1950s, the music made him happier than he ever felt in his life. Not a bad recommendation for any artist.
In reconstructing Elvis’s great comeback show in Vegas, I am grateful to the people who shared their firsthand memories, including Ronnie Tutt, Bobby Morris, Sammy Shore, Terry Blackwood, as well as (via email) Jerry Scheff and (after much cajoling) James Burton. Jerry Schilling was especially generous with his time and insights into Elvis and his Vegas years. Peter Guralnick, whose definitive two-volume biography of Elvis was such an important resource for me, was gracious in counseling another writer just venturing into territory that he has so expertly plowed. David Beckwith, Kevin Kern, and Gary Hahn, of the Presley estate, were helpful when they could be—and honest when they couldn’t. And Jeroen Vanderschoot, of ElvisMatters Belgium, made sure I stuck to the rules.
While Elvis’s life and career are well-trod ground, Vegas’ golden age of entertainment is, in many ways, almost virgin territory for a historian. There are few books or authoritative records to draw on, and a dwindling number of people with firsthand accounts of that era. I am grateful to Lisa Gioia-Acres, Lynn Zook, and Peggy King (widow of the late Vegas lounge singer Sonny King), who were so helpful at the outset in giving me ideas and connecting me with sources. Mike Weatherford, longtime observer of the Vegas entertainment scene for the Las Vegas Review-Journal, was also helpful to a Vegas newbie, as were several other Vegas scholars and historians, among them Michael Green, Karan Feder, Deirdre Clemente, Larry Gragg, and Claytee White.
I am indebted to all of the people quoted in the book who ransacked their memories of both Elvis and Vegas. But I owe particular thanks to Corinne Entratter Sidney, whose trust I won early on and who rewarded me with hours of memories, stories, and insights into the world of her late husband, former Sands Hotel chief Jack Entratter. Among the many others who were so welcoming to an outsider diving into the world of classic Vegas entertainment, I am especially grateful to Maria Pogee, Pat Gill, Vera Goulet, Marty Beck, Kathy McKee, Sonny Charles, Ruth Gillis, Claire Plummer, Jerry Jackson, and Nelson Sardelli. And also Shecky Greene, who gave me two of the most entertaining lunches I can remember.
Su-Kim Chung was an invaluable guide through the Special Collections at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Crystal Van Dee helped me sort through the Mark Tan Collection at the Nevada State Museum. Kelli Luchs and Jim Rose at the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority were a most accommodating resource for photos and video of Vegas’ golden age.
Jeff Abraham, who always seems to know more about my book topics than I do, was his usual font of ideas, connections, and tidbits of information. Joanne Kaufman, Arthur Hochstein, Steve Koepp, Barbara Graustark, Richard Gurman, Harvey Myman, Steve Oney, Kathleen Brady, and Peter Newman were among the many friends and colleagues who followed my progress on the book and provided counsel, support, and in some cases specific help. And Kristiina Laakso was an enthusiastic cheerleader and sympathetic sounding board all the way through.
My editor at Simon & Schuster, Priscilla Painton, was once again a dream to work with: encouraging but tough, and such a good friend that I knew our clashes would always end happily. Her assistant, Megan Hogan, and the rest of the Simon & Schuster team made the process as orderly and painless as possible. And my deepest thanks, as always, to my agent, Kris Dahl, who has been so supportive for so long, whose words are always comforting, and whose advice is never wrong.
Finally, a remembrance of two people who couldn’t be around to see this book. Richard Corliss, my longtime colleague at Time magazine, was a great fan of both Elvis and Vegas, and I regret that he didn’t get a chance to read this book—or, even better, to write it. He was a passionate devotee of popular culture, who not only showed me what great critical writing is, but taught me to never be embarrassed about what you love.
And, of course, my thoughts are always with my late wife, Charla Krupp. She has been gone for more years than I want to admit, and this is the first book I have written entirely without her input. But her great, generous, uplifting spirit continues to hearten and inspire me. I hope she would have liked this.