You know, one of those who you once knew well, hadn’t stayed in touch with or seen in a while, but always remained part of the fabric of your life.
In 1976 I was fresh out of college, with no real map for my future other than getting out of the frozen Northeast. At the end of summer I put what I could fit in my old Mercury and set off for the West with a pocket full of dreams and $400. I had always been a gambler and, while I didn’t admit it to my gambling-averse parents, Vegas was dead in my sights. My brother rode out with me and we hit Vegas on a sweltering September day. Knowing nothing of how to approach the town, (there was no Las Vegas Advisor then) we found a cheap room at a now-defunct dive motel called the Domino, down on Main St. near the site of the future Stratosphere.
