The Tropicana Hotel, now and way back when

This past week the Tropicana closed its doors and with them, seven decades of an incredible and historic run in Las Vegas. In its place will be written the next part of a new chapter in Las Vegas’ storied and unbelievable journey along its unrivaled path as the entertainment and sports capital of the world.

That’s what we know today. What most readers don’t know is what it was like when that beautiful hotel first opened its doors and the struggles — not unlike those that most new hotels go through until they get it right — it faced before finding its way.

Fortunately my father, Hank Greenspun, wrote in this space daily and covered this small but growing gambling and entertainment city through all of its iterations in those early days. I am reprinting his Where I Stand column from Dec.27, 1959, because I think his view of those early days of the Tropicana and the life-altering impact of a French revue that had just opened on the Tropicana stage will be interesting and informative for anyone wanting to know more about the history of a Las Vegas gem of a hotel — they called it the Tiffany of the Strip. The Tropicana is now consigned to that history. Until, of course, the next chapter is written!

— Brian Greenspun

From Chopin to Can-can. In April 1957, the Tropicana Hotel opened in our city. It was a plateau in the development of the town, for new standards were set for future builders to follow.

It was plush, comfortable living for persons of most discriminating taste — accommodations that could only be found in the largest of metropolises. For many it was bringing the famed Taj Mahal and planting it in the middle of the desert for gambling pilgrims to come and admire.

They came in droves and admired from a distance. They looked but did not touch. Such elegant magnificence kept away the average person who feared the cost of such apparent luxury.

The Tropicana shows were brilliantly conceived spectaculars that would have packed them in anywhere else in the country, but, like the hotel itself, Las Vegas was not quite ready for such sumptuousness.

People shook their heads and wondered how long the place would last. The feeling was until the owners ran out of money, and from the changes in management the end might have been closer than many people realized.

It all belongs to history now. The Tropicana has arrived and its success is only limited by the number of rooms they can keep adding.

For probably the first time in the brief history of the hotel, something occurred Friday night that would have amazed every other Strip hotel owner only a few weeks before. A man offered a woman dollar blackjack play

er $50 to give him her seat at the tables. That’s how crowded was the casino.

And without taking anything from J. Kell Houssels, the present managing director who has done a remarkable job in instilling life into an almost dormant but glorious structure, credit will go to the show that opened Christmas night.

We’re not supposed to write about the Folies Bergere, which arrived at the Tropicana direct from Paris, because the official press opening is on Monday night. The purpose being to give producer Lou Walters a chance to iron out any bugs that usually arise in bringing over so mammoth a production from foreign shores. If improvements are to be made, it isn’t apparent to this critic who has seen them all and will have to admit that it will be many a year before anything in Las Vegas will be able to top it.

The Folies Bergere, which supposedly made Paris famous, is a cheap imitation of the Folies Bergere that opened at the Tropicana two nights ago.

From beginning to end this is the most dazzling entertainment any city has been privileged to see. It’s saucy, piquant and racy in the splendidly provocative French way.

It’s the old French theory of “girls, girls, girls.” They come at you from all sides in the most dazzling of costumes and shapes. And not just a display of feminine nudity but beautiful talented dancers whose facial expressions and body movements are continental theater.

From Chopin to Can-can, all phases of the theater are covered in an hour and a half of entertainment that becomes more delightful and intriguing as scenes unfold. Georges Lafaye and Company make a top hat and a feather boa speak the language of love with almost human expressions.

Varel and Bailly Et Les Chanteurs De Paris are a group of top French recording stars who sing a medley of French and American music that actually starts the audience humming and swaying. The poignancy of the French love songs and the beauty of music from “My Fair Lady” — sung in French — are intertwined with rare skill and enchantment.

Every act is terrific and magnificently produced in rare good taste. There are nudes, but not just the standing-around kind. These are occupied nudes guaranteed not to offend anyone’s sensibilities, including our county commissioners who have rare talents of becoming offended at the most artistic of acts.

The Folies Bergere transplants you to another world. It is a lovely continental atmosphere that moves so fast the audience doesn’t realize it’s over until they spontaneously come to their feet to salute the performers.

We don’t mean to steal a march on the show critics but only to comment on the new stability that has finally been attained by one of Las Vegas’ magnificent show places.

London has its Palladium. In Paris it was the Folies Bergere and Le Lido de Paris. New York had its Ziegfeld Follies. Now Las Vegas — a small town nestled in the desert miles away from anywhere — has them all and in greater splendor.

Las Vegas, the entertainment capital of the world, is now no idle boast.