It was all over but the shouting on the last day of the Stardust auction.

After throngs of bidders had jammed the place over the weekend to buy everything from dice tables to showgirl costumes, Tuesday's last session had a noticeably slower pace. More than 5,000 bidders had taken a shot at an amazing variety of Stardust swag. Sales had been swift and sweeping, and by the fifth and last day of the auction, the Great American Group was down to taking bids on furniture, housekeeping carts, vacuum cleaners, electric maintenance carts and the Stardust's trees.

"Certainly, we think the turnout has been wonderful," said Great American President Mark J. Weitz, who has 25 years in the business. "Other than Three Rivers Stadium, it's the largest crowd that I've been involved with."

By Tuesday, however, bustle was gradually giving way to resignation. The amazing Stardust, so celebrated and so notorious in its 48-year history, was one step closer to fading from view.

There were a few casino signs left. I reminded myself that it never paid to get mushy about a casino, but they still give me a twinge of nostalgia. Where else in the world would placards reading "Players Welcome," "Show Line Starts Here" and "Ten Cent Superfecta Wagering" hold a sentimental meaning?

As I roamed the aisles of office supplies, dressers, and assorted leftovers, I was reminded that two of my sisters had worked for many years at the Stardust. One dealt blackjack, the other worked in the casino cage. They told stories about the swells and the suckers they encountered, and for the most part they liked their jobs.

Through the years, I must have met a thousand Stardust employees. Former Green Bay Packers linebacker Dan Currie and smooth Phil Dioguardi were two of many great characters. And no one could beat the late Herb Tobman in the storytelling department.

The Stardust will always be remembered most as the headquarters of Frank "Lefty" Rosenthal and the brief hangout of Anthony Spilotro, two Old Vegas fixtures whose wild lives were dramatized in the Martin Scorsese movie "Casino." The fact the cinematic portrait was skewed and that the Stardust enjoyed remarkable success before and after Lefty and Tony, doesn't lessen the historical image of mob influence at the casino. The fact is, a great many good people spent their working lives putting in honest days and nights toiling to make the Stardust's customers feel special. But nobody makes movies about waiters and dealers, housekeepers and cocktail waitresses.

As I pondered the expanse of remaining furnishings and material that went into keeping the Stardust running for so many years, I met Las Vegas natives Marc and Kim Simon. They came to the Stardust on the last day to find "good stuff" at bargain prices and to reminisce about the place. Like many locals who have been overwhelmed by the growth of the valley in recent years, the Simons see the Stardust not just as a casino, but as an icon, a piece of the landscape, a place filled not just with noise and tourists, but with memories.

Like one maudlin columnist, they also felt a sentimental twinge about the Stardust.

"It's sad," Kim said. "Nothing's sacred in Las Vegas. They're getting rid of it all."

"Another locals place bites the dust," Marc said. "There are a lot of good memories in this place."

"We don't count anymore," Kim said. "It's not like the Las Vegas we knew. It's like California."

"It's more like Disneyland in California," Marc added. "We've got that one-sawmill thinking process. They talk a game about diversity, but they don't do that."

Las Vegas observer Megan Edwards notes that the two most memorable things about the Stardust are its name and its sign, and she makes a good point. The Stardust is a Las Vegas icon, a piece of our vanishing history.

But the Simons made an insightful statement when they talked about how the Stardust was always a good place for young dealers to gain a foothold on the Strip. It was a place where people were proud to come to work.

They weren't celebrities or hoodlums, and they never saw their names in lights, but it was all those wage-earners who really put the sparkle in the Stardust.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.