June 18th, 2009 | 
Author: After wandering—and pushing—around for a few minutes I spotted a circus wagon frontage with the word “Paymaster” inscribed in ornate lettering. I must have been one of the first to cash in, as almost everyone else was preoccupied with the razzle-dazzle of opening day. I pushed my chips in to an impeccably dressed guy inside, one with a $2,000 suit and a $50 haircut. Saddled with a splitting headache from all the clamor, 1 just wanted out. “Just gimme my money and let me out of this bedlam. When I shoot raps I sure as hell don’t want to step into elephant shit! You better believe I’M NEVER COMING BACK TO THIS FUCKING CRAZY CASINO AGAIN”
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Maybe I overreacted just a trifle, maybe I was rude to the dude, but I just needed to express my desire to split as soon as possible. Mad as a hatter, the guy, in all his sartorial splendor, counted out my money, and gave me one of the dirtiest dirty looks I’ve ever been zapped with, as I wheeled around and hightailed it out to the street.
A couple of weeks later in New York I picked up Life magazine which, to my surprise, had an eight-page photo spread on the gala opening of Circus Circus in Las Vegas. Along with all the pictures was a short interview with the very same Beau Brummel from the cashier’s cage—Jay Sarno, one of the owners of Circus Circus. “What makes me mad,” he complained, “are these guys who come in and hit and run and complain about elephant shit. We don’t have any elephants at Circus Circus.”
Today, most casinos are corporate entities, run by MBA CEOs with $1,000 suits, button-down shirts, and pricey ties. Their marketing departments are jammed with high-tech computers and business machines manned by accountants that you would expect to find in a shoelace factory’s office. When I first got to Las Vegas in the early 1960s, all the casinos were either controlled by the mob or by free-wheeling, old-time gamblers who started out running sawdust joints in the Old West. A lot of their accounting was done in back rooms by shady-looking, cigarette-smoking characters wearing visors and wrinkled sport shirts.
Whenever a new casino would open, as the Castaways did in the early 60s—an ill-fated venture built directly across from the Sands—all the other High Rolling casino games owners would swoop down on opening day, loaded with money, and with the evil intent to try their luck at the tables, doing their damnedest to put the newcomer out of business. A wild idea to be sure, but a long-standing Vegas tradition nevertheless.
In the case of some new casinos, the ploy turned out to be an unexpected shot in the arm for the new kid on the block, and the old-timers retreated, licking their wounds. In the case of the Castaways, the good ol’ boys had a lucky run at the tables and cleaned out the Castaways’ cashier’s cage by dawn. And damned if the casino wasn’t forced to close its doors the very next day for a spell, until it was finally able to hustle up new financing for a reopening.
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