New York State of Mind: Is Las Vegas like the Big Apple?

Melissa Schorr

Saturday, Oct. 31, 1998 | 4:38 a.m.

They say you can't go home again. but at least you can get a taste of it at Las Vegas' quirky New York Club, where Big Apple exiles swap advice on where to find a good slice of pizza or authentic Chinese food.

Of course, if it's bagels or bialys you're looking for, forget it.

"I have to tell you, the bagels here aren't the same," sighs Norman Lachterman, a former Brooklynite who moved to Las Vegas eight years ago.

The club, which has been around in various incarnations for 25 years, meets the fourth Tuesday of each month in a banquet room at the Vacation Village casino.

But despite the influx of new residents to the area, members say it is hard to attract -- and keep -- members.

Social clubs are "a dying breed," club President Morris Rafkin gripes. "The Brooklyn Club couldn't survive; the Detroit club went by the boards. Even the Shriners are having trouble getting people."

The club generally attracts new residents -- such as Paula Lukas, who arrived two months ago from Ithaca, N.Y. and has shown up this particular evening -- who use the club for socializing until they make other friends.

"People come and go and die," Mel Tepper, a longtime member and former federal worker from the Bronx, says with a shrug.

"It's mostly for seniors," Rafkin admits. "For some, the club is not very exciting."

That depends on your definition of exciting. According to Perry Brown, vice president and one of the club's youngest members at age 46, last month's meeting, during which the members had a "Can You Top This?" joke-telling night, got "kinda raucous."

And for a good laugh, there is always past President Artie Rosenberg, 69 -- Brown describes him as "a character." The former banker and avid stamp collector, who now serves as the Grand Chancellor of Nevada for the Knights of Pythias, ambles over to tell an (unprintable) dirty joke involving a priest, a nun and a camel.

There is even scandal buried in ancient club lore: Fifteen years ago, Tepper confides, the treasurer absconded with the club funds, so the club had to be reformed.

What roused about 40 members out of their Sun City homes on this particular night was important club business -- nomination of new officers -- and a special treat: entertainment by pianist Don Friend, who starts off the set with (what else?) Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York."

Whenever possible, Friend throws a New York City-themed song into his lineup of standards, from "The Lullaby of Broadway," to "Give My Regards to Broadway"

Friend confides that he is actually a Chicagoan, but either the members don't know that, or they forgive the unfortunate lapse.

A crowd-pleaser, Friend is "one of the few we've actually had back," Brown notes. "The members identify with the music he plays."

By the second verse, everyone is clapping to the music. By the third, they are singing along. A request is called out for "Second Hand Rose."

Friend complies, noting: "There must be some Streisand fans here."

"Yah," about 20 ladies reply in unison. Then he breaks into "Havah Nagilah," the popular Jewish folk-dancing song.

"Amongst (those who are) Jewish and Italian, you've got most of the club covered," Brooks notes.

The members say they come together to talk about the old times.

"We understand each other, we have that common thread," Rosenberg says.

There's really a much more important function being served here: griping about bad food and swapping where to get good food.

Linda Brooks misses Carvel ice cream and White Castle hamburgers.

Sol Sherman notes that it's impossible to find a good rugelach.

And Ken Korotkin, a former photographer for the New York Daily News, declares: "The Chinese food here is the pits." Pizza is hopeless, too -- Korotkin has resorted to making his own. His last time back in New York, he says, "a slice of pizza in Hicksville (Long Island) brought tears to my eyes."

The club members highly recommend Anthony & Mario's Broadway Pizza at Charleston and Rancho, and Gee Joons at Binion's Horseshoe for Chinese food.

No matter how one tries to turn the conversation to other topics -- the recent Yankees World Series sweep, the contentious senate race -- it inevitably comes back to New Yorkers' favorite topic: noshing.

"You talk about old stores, like, what was the name of that bakery?" asks Lachterman, who soon decides it was a place called Bierman's on 16th street. "Everyone remembers something that brings back pleasant memories."

But not all memories are so agreeable.

"I certainly don't miss the subway," his wife, Elkie Lachterman, sniffs.

"New York has lost its flavor because we found it all out here!" her pal, Shellie Wilson, chimes in.

The two former Brooklyn girls retired here eight years ago, despite friends who thought they were "crazy" at the time.

Now, those friends have joined them too, and all have been leading busy social lives hosting out-of-town guests and playing canasta. "We wouldn't leave here for all the money in the world," exclaim the two boosters. "We could be mayors!"

Despite their allegiance to Las Vegas, many of the New Yokers can't shake what makes them unique -- such as their distinctive accents.

"As soon as we open our mouth, they don't say what part of the country are you from," Elkie points out. "They say, 'What part of the city?' "

The former New Yorkers also still know how to bluntly voice their opinions. "What's a pretty girl like you doing not married?" Lachterman demands, pointing to a bare ring finger.

Others stubbornly retain the quirks that make the rest of the country shake its head in disbelief.

"I don't drive," admits Linda Brooks, who moved to Las Vegas four years ago with her husband, Perry, and still relies on long treks on the CAT bus to get where she's going. "The streets aren't made for pedestrians, so I end up walking in these pebbles and stones."

She'd like to adapt to the driving town, but ... "I'm too nervous," she says with a Mia Farrow-like giggle. "I tell them, in New York, you didn't have to drive."

After politely enduring a barrage of questions, her husband pulls the ultimate New Yorker move -- he turns the tables on the reporter. "So why did you leave the city to come out here?" Perry Brooks demands, then laughs.

"Now," he says with delight, "I'm questioning you!"