LETTER: Goodbye to an old friend, the Tropicana
I’m savoring my memories of each little feature of the Tropicana. There are so many of them. This was Vegas before the bean-counters took over. I hope my favorite dealers are safe and comfortable or are resting in peace.
I remember the lush gardens and flamingos and koi, the stained glass R-rated art above the tables. I remember the people I met there, such as the neurosurgery resident I met at the craps table after a Grateful Dead concert.
During the COMDEX computer-show era, the Trop was the headquarters hotel for IBM. They introduced terminals where you could swipe your player card and view your comp balance in real time.
There were Jacuzzis, shielded by foliage, that you could sneak into late at night. If anybody tried to bother you — they never did — you could just tell them you were a guest of the casino. Late one graveyard night, I had such a roll, alone on the floor, that they started playing funereal dirge music over the PA to try to get me to seven-out. Unfazed, I said “Where’d you get this music, the haunted house?”
The ultimate compliment I can give the Trop is that the cage cashiers knew me by name.
