The city of Las Vegas appears poised to support a new kind of downtown ride: a giant money slide in the shape of a soccer stadium.
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Leave it to downtown casino legend Jackie Gaughan to play the gracious host even after he’s gone.
Nancy Reynolds’ life has been so filled with travel and political adventure that it’s hard to imagine there was a time she was just a small-town girl on horseback.
It’s about 650 miles by interstate from Las Vegas to the heart of New Mexico’s green chile country. But pull up outside Carlito’s Burritos and that distance swiftly fades in a pungent cloud of roasting peppers.
While there is much excitement surrounding the new attractions on the Strip, there is something to be said about entertainers from the city’s past.
Even if this community weren’t still rising from a staggering recession, I haven’t heard anyone outside City Hall excited about the prospect of spending $150 million in public funds for a new stadium.
It looks like sports betting and golf magnate Bill Walters has scored another sand save, this time at Desert Pines Golf Course.
Is it just me, or did the presidency of Barack Obama end this week? It’s unofficial, of course. He still gets to live in the White House another couple of years.
The scene might have been broadcast from any number of troubled spots around the world. But it wasn’t coming from someone else’s country. It was from ours.
Jackie Gaughan owned more casinos, and Steve Wynn used a Fremont Street address to the best advantage, but it was Benny Binion who dominated Glitter Gulch for half a century.
For casino titans Steve Wynn and Sheldon Adelson, the roaring Macau casino market has been a seemingly endless party of rapid expansion and record-setting profit.
The gangsters are coming, the gangsters are coming. And, surprise, they’re bringing fans.
Clark County Commissioner Larry Brown defended the county’s decision not to accept liability for a plan to construct an earthen berm to divert flood water from the Rainbow subdivision in upper Kyle Canyon.
Judith Nies doesn’t leave the environmental optimists and desert daydreamers among us much room for hope in her new book, “Unreal City: Las Vegas, Black Mesa and the Fate of the West.”
The boiling clouds of August were ominous, but only a sprinkle fell on Gov. Brian Sandoval as he addressed reporters Friday morning outside the Mount Charleston Public Library.
An experienced long-distance runner, Stacey Escalante has learned the importance of pacing yourself.
Attorney Michael Mazur specializes in collections, and he’s certainly covered his bases with the Laughlin Township constable’s office.
To hear casino billionaire Steve Wynn tell it, New Jersey officials wouldn’t listen to him when he warned them that Atlantic City’s prosperous days were numbered. Wynn sold his casino interest in Atlantic City a couple decades ago.
To hear him describe his life, you’d almost think Mike Miller was the lucky one.
Las Vegas, a city made famous by infamous men, has no statue honoring one of the most important figures in its history: Teamsters Union titan James Riddle Hoffa. Do you think it should?
Every few years, it seems, a new theory emerges about the final resting place of the Teamster Union titan’s body. The name has become part of American mythology. And just last week, PBS devoted an episode of “History Detectives: Special Investigations” to Hoffa’s Houdini act.
Don’t be surprised if methamphetamine is part of the developing story surrounding the July 17 shooting death of 23-year-old Krystal Starr McAdow outside a West Sahara Avenue convenience store, an informed source says.
There was a time Joe Merica had this town by the tail. Don’t remember him? Even his cool name had a finger-popping snap to it that made you think of an endless Happy Hour and the clink of ice in fresh glasses.
Although he never won a World Series of Poker bracelet or a $1 million jackpot, James Garner’s “Maverick” character was the first acceptable gambler portrayed on television. He was handsome, clever, never cheated a sucker — and always outsmarted the bad guys.
Detroit mobster Jack Tocco’s death of natural causes this past week generated barely a ripple of notice in Southern Nevada. But there was a time in the early 1980s when the mere mention of his name was enough to set state and federal law enforcement on the hunt for gangsters in the neon.
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