Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

Columnist Tom Gorman: Not wedded to high-rise chapel idea

Mixed-use zoning, where you co-mingle different land-use activities to spice up life, certainly has its place.

For centuries, folks have lived above blacksmiths, butcher shops and bakeries. Much of that occurred before zoning laws were conceived, so there were no grounds to complain to the local king.

And now it sounds so very modern and chic, living in a condo above, say, the Sports Shop or Sharper Edge. My wife wouldn't mind living above Coldwater Creek because she loves their sweaters. And if there were an Urban Outfitters in town for us to live above, our daughter would come back home. So just as well.

But I'm having some trouble getting my arms around the idea of living above a wedding chapel. Or below one. Or letting my home be used as a honeymoon suite.

That's the idea being pitched by Ron DeCar, a wedding-singer-turned-entrepreneur who wants to join the Strip high-rise bandwagon by turning his Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel into a big high-rise operation.

He envisions turning his existing chapel, on Las Vegas Boulevard just south of Charleston Boulevard, into a 24-story condominium hotel topped by a wedding chapel. He may scale it back to 13 stories, but the premise would remain the same -- you buy a condo that you can use one month a year.

The rest of the time, it would be rented to a bride and groom for the night, or someone else in their wedding party (I think "party" is the key word here). You'd split the revenue 50-50 or 60-40 with the property management company. I'm guessing that would be DeCar.

He says his hotel, "The Van Gogh," will elevate the fledgling downtown Arts District, with the lobby filled with art and fine dining (and a beauty salon and tuxedo rental shop).

Neighbors contend the hotel is a poorly veiled time share and that its transient residents will contribute nothing to the local quality of life. They don't like a big building towering over them, either, and they're complaining to the king.

But it makes sense getting married there. Great view, and the reception could be held in one of the party rooms and balconies high above the historic neighborhood just a rice-throw away.

When the bride tosses her bouquet, depending on the wind, some nice spinster living over on Sixth Street could catch it.

And just imagine the fun those crazy groomsmen could have, popping champagne corks off the balcony to see if they could nail that homeless fellow on Charleston Boulevard.

Everyone could get plastered and just take the elevator to your floor and sleep it off. (Remember to get your sofas and carpeting protected.)

There would be a housekeeping service so when you returned to your condo, there'd be no souvenirs under the bed.

As a condo owner, this would be a chance to buy that heart-shaped bed you've always wanted, and hang a mirror on the ceiling, and write it off as a business expense.

If I bought one of the condos, I'd own a tuxedo and be sure to stay home on Valentine's Day and see how many wedding receptions I could crash.

"Honey," I'd tell Jeanne, "Put on that Versace. I'm taking you out tonight. Let's start on the eighth floor and work our way up."

Or I'd hang out in the lobby, take wedding-group photos as everyone arrived, and sell them to family and friends for a lot cheaper than the real wedding photographer.

Maybe I'd set up a cash-only bar out of my place, where people could kill time until the bride's big entrance.

And I'd revise the Dixie Cups' top-40s hit from '64: Goin' to the condos

And we're gonna get mar-ar-aried ...

Goin' to the condos

And we're gonna get mar-ar-ar-ied ...

Gee, I really love you

And we're gonna get mar-ar-ar-ied ...

Goin' to the condos of love."

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