Vintage Vegas on Main Street Las Vegas

Main Street was once the place to go for things like cheap furniture and upholstery supplies. Today it’s home to several vintage and antique shops, plus some impressive street art.

 

When I walk into many of the shops on Main Street, it’s like a trip back in time. It’s delightful, except it’s a little unsettling that I own (and still use) some of the things I’ve found for sale.

This display kitchen at Retro Vegas, for instance, holds several objects that are very familiar to me. See that little folding stool by the counter, in the corner? I have an identical one at home, inherited in the few things left from my childhood home in the Charleston Park area Downtown.

If you’ve seen the movie “Casino,” you’ve seen what I call Vintage Vegas style. The look is heavy on orange, olive, glass, and gold in a mid-century style that’s actually pretty cool. It saw its apex during the 70s. I think the earlier, slightly less gaudy 1960s style is cooler, but it’s a little harder to find. Retro Vegas is filled with vintage pieces from prior eras.

 

While Vegas-centric items are the focus of several Main Street stores, that’s certainly not all you’ll find in the way of shops. Case in point: Las Vegas Oddities and Antiquities, which is light on Vegas-themed items but has everything from fine art to skulls. 

Modern Mantiques has a great combination of vintage and interesting items. My favorite piece here was a metal dragon sculpture. “Look, it’s your spirit animal,” my son said. 

JJC Clocks & Antiques is full of clocks (of course), but also has an area filled with an assortment of vintage and antique pieces alongside unexpected things, like this elephant. 

The number of ash trays in most stores is astonishing. It’s a reminder that everyone smoked everywhere all the time from the 60s through the 80s. Ash trays were functional and decorative. Today, the prettier ones have survived and can be re-purposed, unless you’re using them for their original purpose. This is one I have, and I think it's way too pretty for cigarette ashes. 

When you’re wandering down Main Street from store to store, you see plenty of street art along the side streets. It’s one of the best reasons to walk to a few shops.

It’s nice to see a mix of businesses in the area. The vintage shops are neighbors to car repair shops, restaurants, plumbers, tattoo parlors and other businesses that are hold-overs from Main Street’s prior life.

The word “gentrification” gets mentioned a lot when talking about this part of town. Personally, I like it the way it is, but everything changes, especially in Las Vegas. In August, LV Weekly featured a piece on Main Street, complete with an artistic conceptualization of how the new, redesigned, one-way Main Street will look like after road construction is done (whenever that may be). I’m sure it will be pretty, but I’ll admit I’m a big fan of authentic grittiness when it comes to my home town. But I have hope we’ll get it right, something like what has happened along Fremont East.

An afternoon on Main Street is sure to be entertaining, especially if you’re hunting for a specific hard-to-find item, or if you’re of a certain age and remember seeing this stuff when it first came out. If you dislike glossy newness and cookie-cutter things, Main Street Las Vegas is the place for you.

Are you a vintage and antique shop lover?

Fun Fact:

Perhaps not coincidentally, the owners of Retro Vegas own a home that was once an embodiment of the Vegas Vintage style in every way. A few years ago I read a story in Las Vegas Weeklyabout the owners’ purchase of the former home of Doyle Brunson (also once the residence of Jackie Gaughan), a place I knew well once since I was friends with Brunson’s daughters when we were kids. It’s an amazing house that was once filled with furnishings that would fit right into its current owners’ shop.

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All pictures by Terrisa Meeks. See more from Main Street Las Vegas on my flickr page.

Vintage Vegas - What’s a Camera Girl?

In Old Las Vegas showrooms, going to a show was totally different than it is today and involved far more people.

A modern Las Vegas showroom - Barry Manilow performing

Recently I was telling a co-worker about getting in touch with an old friend of mine who once was a camera girl.

“A what?” my co-worker asked. “What’s a camera girl?”

I hadn’t thought about the fact that someone living in Las Vegas might not know what a camera girl is.

It was one of the many positions that formerly existed in Vegas showrooms before stadium style seating took over and transformed the way people see a show.

At the last show I went to, Vegas! the Show, everyone stopped at the camera station as we went in. Snap, Snap, Snap, and we were on our way. This is the standard photo moment at any number of events and attractions. After the show, we got to examine our pictures and decide whether or not we wanted to buy them (nope!). It’s all pretty impersonal.

Back in the day, when you went to a Las Vegas show, things were different.

First, there was no stadium seating. There were tables and booths, and the best seats were obtained by knowing the maître d’ and the showroom captain, and tipping well. People dressed up. There was a cocktail waitress, and at the early show there was a meal. Somewhere in there, the camera girl came around to ask you if you’d like to have your picture taken.

In an Old Vegas showroom, a camera girl had to be charming, attractive, a good photographer, and a great salesperson. My old friend, Cyndy, was all of those things. Here she is with Steve Perry of Journey. She appears to be extremely composed despite having her picture taken with a rock star, but she met a lot of famous folks in those days.

You can still find camera girls in some restaurants, but it’s not the same as it was when the job title of camera girl brought an immediate image to mind of a pretty young woman in a short skirt with a camera.

For some reason, although I spent a lot of time in showrooms, we never got our picture taken. I suspect it was because Dad didn’t have a way to get it comped—he always complained that the pictures were too expensive. 

Do you remember camera girls in the showrooms?

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Photo of Barry Mannilow courtesy of PCDude2143 at flickr

Vintage Vegas – Halloween and Nevada Day

When I was a kid, I thought all children got a day off of school for Halloween.

When I was growing up in Las Vegas, we celebrated Nevada Day on the day the state gained statehood in 1864, October 31, no matter what day of the week it fell on.

This led me to believe that Halloween was a full-fledged holiday that everyone had off.

Here I am in those early days, before I understood that (sadly) the entire world did not get the day off to dress up and trick-or-treat.

 

Since 2000, Nevada Day has been celebrated on the last Friday of the month, which this year falls on Halloween.

You can learn more about Nevada Day history at the Civil War Re-enactments this weekend at Spring Mountain Ranch.

Vintage Vegas - Lake Mead in Better Days

At one time, it was unfathomable that Lake Mead might ever fail to support Las Vegas. There was no “bathtub ring,” and there were no worries about water shortages.

Today, we face a much different reality.

When I was a kid, the fact that Lake Mead was the nation’s largest reservoir was a matter of local pride.

My dad told scary stories about the lake that left me wary of going very far from shore: stories about man-sized catfish living close to the dam, people pulled underwater and swept away by the currents, and other PG versions of his bartender tall tales.

Me & Dad at Lake Mead

In my childhood years, my family enjoyed the lake from the safety of the marina (usually Echo Bay or Lake Mead Marina). Each marina had a restaurant and the Lake Mead Marina had a shop where you could buy bags of popcorn or bread to feed the carp, who went into a feeding frenzy almost as soon as the first scrap of food hit the water. My dad once lost a pair of glasses to a carp that had its mouth wide open at just the right moment.

Today, both Lake Mead Marina and Echo Bay Marina are gone from their original locations.

Lake Mead Marina moved and is now a part of what’s called Las Vegas Boat Harbor. In 2007, before it had to move, I was able to take my son to the Lake Mead Marina; it's mostly dry land in this area now.

Lake Mead Marina, 2007, in its original location. See the "bathtub ring" on the hill?

In 2011, my family staycationed at Lake Las Vegas, and we spent our days exploring the lake. We went to Echo Bay, and I was stunned to see how low the water was. I remembered going there as a kid, when the Echo Bay's hotel, restaurant, and bar were busy enough that my dad considered taking a job there.

Echo Bay in 2011

Last year, the Echo Bay Marina closed.  Over the past few months, several news outlets have featured pictures of the structure’s remains left sitting atop the dried-up former lake bed.

Low water levels are changing the appearance of the lake in drastic ways, and for those of us who’ve known Lake Mead for many years, seeing the water levels drop elicits a mix of sadness, fear, and wonder.

Do you remember Lake Mead before the “bathtub ring”?

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All pictures by Terrisa Meeks

Vintage Vegas: Fats Domino & My Parents

“Only you would have autographed Fats Domino albums in your garage and not know it.” ~Comment from a friend.

I’ve had a lot of emails and messages from friends lately, most of them along the lines of, “Where have you been?”

Let me sum up the past few months for you: First, there was a flood. Then there was mold, and a crazy landlord, and lawyers, and a move that happened over Christmas and New Year’s. (We’re calling it “Mold-nado.”)

New Year's Eve at my house: Ringing in 2014 with lots of boxes.

In case you’ve ever wondered how long it would take two adults and a resentful teenager to move a four-bedroom home and a workshop (with very little help), the answer is: eight days. Eight long, painful days, at the end of which we all agreed that stairs are evil and we hate them.

We’ve been settling into an awesome new home (it has a pool!), managed by a lovely, sane management company, but we’re still working our way through boxes. A few weekends ago, we uncovered my parents’ old vinyl records.

In the 1960s and 70s, my dad frequently worked the showroom bars on the Las Vegas Strip, and he knew a lot of musicians. He was friends with several of them, including Fats Domino and Harry James. 

Apparently Dad also knew Peggy Lee, who autographed this 1962 Blues Cross Country album for him (notice Quincy Jones conducted):

When I got to the Fats Domino records, I found albums signed for my mom and me.

I think Dad met Fats at the Flamingo, where my dad was a bartender during the early 1960s. However they met, Fats and my parents became friends.

My favorite story about Fats came from my mom. According to Mom, one day Fats (his real name is Antoine, incidentally) pulled up in front of the house in a limo. His feather ties had become wrinkled and mashed somewhere during his travels, and he didn’t like whatever solution the hotel had proposed. He asked Mom to help him, and she came up with putting them under the sofa cushions to gently press the feathers back into shape, returning his ties to show-ready condition.

When I was about 10, I got to sit backstage and watch Fats perform. I thought it was odd that Mom and I were sitting behind the action, amid the lights and the curtains, but it was fun. I grew up around showrooms, but I was usually sitting in the audience. I didn’t really understand what a privilege it was to be backstage.

The last time I saw Mr. Domino, I was in my early 20s. Dad and I went to see him in his suite, which I think was at Bally’s. I remember there was a great view of the Strip from the sitting room's window. He and Dad chatted for maybe 30 minutes—about what, I don’t remember. Fats seemed to find me sassy (probably a fair assessment), but he was happy to sit and catch up with Dad.

This is why it takes me so long to go through some of these boxes: the stories they hold slow me down.

I’ve still got several boxes to go. Who knows what other treasures I might find?

What's your most surprising "find" (in the garage, the attic, etc.)?

Vintage Vegas Crime: Dead & Stinky

I try to keep my crime stories to myself, but sometimes they just come up. Last week, for instance, my friend and co-worker was grief-stricken over the death of a beloved pet.

Early in the day, she said, “Tell me something gruesome so I won’t be sad.”

(I worked for Las Vegas Metro for over 20 years. I wasn’t a cop, but I did work in the Crime Lab's office for 10 years. Yes, that Lab, before “CSI.” I have a few gruesome stories, and my friend loves true crime.)

“Dismemberment would be good,” she suggested.

So I told her about the dismembered body in the car that was towed into the Lab’s garage. In summer.  

On that hot day, a white sedan was unloaded into the garage. The smell of dead body filled our building almost immediately.

The door to the garage was directly across the hall from the door to our conference room. So, behind one door we had the very smelly car with the parts of a chopped-up person in the trunk (legs and arms and such), and behind the other door we had a conference room full of left-over food from a party we’d had at lunch.

Everyone in my office knew that one of us was going to have to go down there, brave the stinky dead body fumes, and put the food away. 

While we were in the midst of avoiding the inevitable task of cleaning up the left-overs, our Captain’s secretary staggered into my office. I’ll call her Pam.

“WHAT IS THAT SMELL?” she gasped, hand over her nose, eyes watering. “And HOW are you all WORKING?”

We summarized: dead body parts in a trunk, 110°, garage.

Pam was a veteran Metro employee, but she had only been in the Lab for a couple of years. We had also just moved into a new building with a garage attached to our offices. For several previous years, we’d enjoyed a building with a detached garage, an arrangement everyone preferred for just this reason.

“Try rubbing Vicks under your nose,” I told her. “Open your door. Turn on your fan. You’ll get used to it.”

Unconvinced, Pam went back to her office.

A few minutes later, my peripheral vision picked up something outside my window. I took a closer look.  In front of our building, out by the parking lot, Pam was leaning against a handicapped parking sign in an “I might pass out” sort of way.

I walked outside and asked her if she was okay. “I don’t know how all of you are working,” she told me.

“Does this mean you won’t be helping me clean up the food in the conference room?” I asked her.

(I know, I know. I couldn’t help myself. That was mean. Shame on me.)

Pam looked seriously nauseous.  I don’t remember if she answered my question, and I’m pretty sure she went home early. I went back inside and cleaned up the conference room.

Later on that day, after the car was towed away and the garage was hosed down, someone from a local government agency (whoever it was that got all the calls from the people in an apartment complex just east of our building) showed up to ask questions about what was generating such an awful smell. My Captain smiled at the guy, showed him her badge, and shooed him away.

If I recall correctly, the man responsible for the dismemberment was eventually convicted, probably at least in part because of the evidence collected that stinky day.

I had to think of more stories throughout the day to distract my pal from thinking about her dearly departed dog friend. After another dismemberment tale and a couple of murders, I was able to segue from gruesome to funny. Clearly, however, sometimes you can have both.

Are you a fan of true crime or police stories?

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Photo courtesy of Alan Cleaver at flickr

Vintage Vegas Pics: The Days When Lake Mead Had No Bathtub Ring

I was searching through my family pictures this evening, and in between the tintypes and Texas farm houses, I found a handful of these shots taken in 1983, when Lake Mead’s spillways were put to use for one of only two times (the first being when Hoover Dam was built).

Some unknown person from my family captured these shots of the water not long after it first started cresting the sides. Later on, misty waterfalls were created by the water rushing over the spillways. 

The intake towers look like they're floating on top of the water, and you’ll notice there’s not a trace of bathtub ring around Lake Mead,

Today, we’ve got rock outcroppings in front of the spillways. Both the old family photo above and the 2012 shot below are of the Nevada Intake Towers. Quite a transformation, isn’t it?

Recent photo of Hoover Dam, Nevada Side Spillway, courtesy of Gnaphron at Flickr. 

Scroll to the bottom of this page from Missouri University, and you'll see photos of the spillways in full waterfall. 

Were you here in 1983? Did you see the spillways turn into waterfalls?

Vegas Places: Holy Moly, I Know That House!

When you’ve lived in Las Vegas all your life, you get accustomed to seeing the city on TV, in magazines, or online. But it’s one thing to see the Strip on television or in print, and another to see a home that you remember almost as well as the one in which you grew up--or a house that's just a few blocks from where you once lived.

If you watch "Pawn Stars," you’re familiar with Rick Dale of Rick’s Restorations. Back in the days when the northwest side of town was still horse country, I lived just a few blocks from his home/business. I drove by his place every day. In those days, he would leave a few vintage Coke machines outside to advertise his services.

At that time, our neighborhood was far on the outskirts of town. When I gave people directions, I would tell them, “Keep driving until you think you’re lost. Then keep going.” Today, of course, the area has a mess of homes, a mega-church, and a freeway. And Rick’s place is still out there.

The first time my husband and I saw Rick on a Pawn Stars episode, it took us just a few seconds to recognize the house. It was kind of strange, but fun, like knowing a secret no one else does—although I’m sure everyone in that neighborhood knows who he is now.

But I got my biggest, "Holy moly, I know that house!" in the pages of Las Vegas Weekly.

The magazine's February 24 issue featured an article about a house ("Mid-Century Manor" by Sarah Feldberg) with loads of pictures--which at first I didn't recognize. Then I read the article's first sentence, which said that the house had been owned by both Jackie Gaughan and Doyle Brunson... and I took another look at those pictures. Holy moly, indeed.

Back in the 1970s, when I knew the Brunsons (I was friends with their daughters during our middle school and high school years), the house looked a lot different. But I recognized the spiral staircase, the distinctive front door, and the lava wall. I spent a lot of time in that house. Looking at the magazine's pictures felt like a twisted time warp, or maybe a short journey to a parallel universe.

My own old childhood home isn't likely to show up in any media, unless it's on an episode of "Cops." I drove by the place about a month ago; time has not been kind to it. The houses in that old downtown neighborhood are a patchwork of the restored, the neglected, and the downright scary. The cars parked on the front lawn of my old place definitely put it in the last category.

Here's what the house I grew up in looked like, back in its prime. The first picture below was taken sometime in the 1960s (crazily enough, those awnings are still on the house). The second picture was taken in the backyard in the early 70s, at about the time I knew the Brunson family. That's me and our dachshunds in front of my family's beloved fig tree. The dogs and tree are gone, but the girl is still kicking.

Picture of vintage Las Vegas postcard courtesy of Mark Holloway

Vintage Vegas

Last week, the remains of the Moulin Rouge were demolished. Las Vegas’ first integrated casino was open for only six months in 1955, but until July 22, 2010, talk had persisted about resurrecting or preserving the historic site. The sad, lingering death of the Moulin Rouge is representative of the way Las Vegas has traditionally treated its history. Like a former lady of the evening turned legit, Vegas likes to ignore its past.

Paradoxically, those of us who have been here for a while enjoy a round of “I remember when,” as in: I remember when Rainbow was a dirt road; I remember when the sand storms were so bad you couldn’t drive; I remember when you could drive on Fremont Street; I remember when Red Rock was a long drive out of town; I remember when Lake Mead over-flowed Hoover Dam’s spillways. (And I’m only using my own “I remembers.” My pals have a bunch more.) I damn near cried when I watched a YouTube video of the Strip in 1991. There was the Hacienda, the Glass Pool Inn, the Dunes, the Sands, Wet ‘n Wild—all long gone now. But I reminded myself that time marches on for everyone, especially for those of us in the City of Neon. In another twenty years, can you image what Vegas will look like?
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For more on the Moulin Rouge, read the LV Sun's story, which also contains pics and video.

Photo of Moulin Rouge (on “Life”) courtesy of Mark Holloway, a.k.a Nevada Tumbleweed