Sunday, Nov. 19, 2006 | 7:18 a.m.
I was having a beer with my friend George Knapp a few weeks back, and we fell on the topic of whether there were any truly iconic figures in the history of Las Vegas.
We started throwing around the names of folks who would be carved onto our own Mount Rushmore in the desert, assuming we had a big old rock wall somewhere on the edge of town and a Gutzon Borglum to spend a lifetime sculpting them.
We eventually came up with four individual names, and one generic symbol, that qualified.
If you look up "icon" in the dictionary you'll see that one of the definitions is a representation of something sacred, particularly in the tradition of Eastern churches. However, the word has morphed these days into meaning a person who is held up to esteem or wonderment.
It can also be applied to a figure draped in mystery or intrigue, or even danger. It was written recently in The New York Times that Charles Manson was an iconic figure to people obsessed with serial killers. And Saddam Hussein has hundreds of thousands of loyalists in Iraq who still consider him an icon, even as he awaits death by hanging.
Certainly there are present-day figures who might be considered down the road, say 50 years from now when high-rise condos have become passe and local experts are still trying to fix the monorail.
In athletics, guys such as Greg Maddux and Andre Agassi might earn some votes, and truly diehard UNLV fans, the sort that wear red and gray jammies to bed each night, would probably toss Tark the Shark into the mix. And in the gaming worlds, Benny Binion and Steve Wynn are names that would merit consideration.
But that is then and this is now. The four names and one symbol that George and I settled on as certified Las Vegas icons were Bugsy Siegel, Howard Hughes, Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, and The Showgirl. Of course all four of these men have passed on, and The Showgirl is nearing extinction, which only enhances their iconic status because legends grow with the passage of time. Death eliminates the opportunity for them to exhibit the kind of behavior that would topple them from their pedestals.
The least iconic of these five is Bugsy, who was here for only a short time in the mid-1940s before he got "lead poisoning" sitting in Virginia Hill's Beverly Hills mansion. Even though a Hollywood publisher and nightclub owner named Billy Wilkerson deserves credit for developing the whole idea of the Flamingo Hotel, by some twisted historical logic Siegel has been accorded the mantle as the founding father of modern Las Vegas.
That is because he brought Movieland glamour and mob influence to the city and merits some credit for understanding that if America was going to zone off one area within its borders for licentious activity and bacchanalian delights, it probably should be a place remotely situated in the middle of nowhere.
Howard Hughes is iconic in several different worlds: business, aviation and Hollywood among them, but in his four years in Las Vegas, with the still-vibrant Robert Maheu as his point man, he bought Strip hotels like a Monopoly player holding hot dice.
As Maheu recently told me, Hughes did virtually nothing to develop the Las Vegas we know and love today, but he did take famous properties out of the hands of crooks and demonstrated to corporate America that legalized gambling could someday occupy a rung of respectability in the business world.
Ridiculously rich, a world-class womanizer in his day, a risk-taker and adrenaline junkie in his youth and a certified genius, Hughes is a slam dunk choice as a Las Vegas icon, regardless of how long his toenails were or how many Kleenex he wrapped around his fingers before turning a doorknob in his cloistered quarters on the ninth floor of the Desert Inn.
While I saw Sinatra perform only twice in Las Vegas showrooms, and both times when his voice was failing him, he remains the symbol of what Las Vegas Strip entertainment is all about.
He brought the biggest gamblers to town, he was idolized by men and women equally, and his honorary stature as the lead Rat in the Rat Pack assures him iconic status in our city.
Sinatra was something of a cross between Elvis and Bugsy, if you think about it. Forever linked with the Mob, and always in the company of a beautiful woman and a posse that genuflected before him, he was a huge talent with charisma to match. He and Howard Hughes even had something in common, namely Ava Gardner.
Then there's the Big E. I had two or three different invitations to watch him perform at the Las Vegas Hilton, where he sold out the room every night he was on the marquee for eight consecutive years, and each time I took a rain check, assuming I could catch his show at a later date.
Then Elvis up and died on us in August of '77, and I had forever lost my chance.
Imagine a figure so iconic - or perhaps exploited might be a better term - that no fewer than 200 men have earned paychecks in the last decade either impersonating him or performing what are loosely called tributes to him. I've even met two women through the years who proudly told me they gave up their virginity to Elvis on one-night stands. My only response to their sharing such a confidence was, "Thank you thank you very much."
Last but by no means least on George Knapp's and my list of iconic Las Vegans is The Showgirl. Think of her as 6 feet tall, with Legs Benedict, posed with one foot slightly angled in front of the other in impossibly high heels, while balancing a 30-pound pyramid on her head and all the while smiling like she's having the time of her life and implying to the businessman in Row Three that he might even have a shot at her if he behaves himself.
There's no argument about whether the Showgirl deserves mention on our all-star team.
Despite the horrible movie called Showgirls that defiled her image, and ignoring the fact that many girls hoping to end up in the chorus line at the Folies Bergere settle for snapping up twenties doing lap dances at Spearmint Rhino, it can't be denied that for half a century the French-revue-inspired women who danced on the stages of Strip hotels have provided the defining image of what Las Vegas is all about.
So we'll put The Showgirl smack in the middle of our apocryphal Rushmore, with Howard and Bugsy on one side, and Elvis and Frank on the other.
And with that important business settled, George and I ordered another beer.
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