You Don't Know What You Got 'Til It's Gone
The older I get, the dumber other adults get.
When we were walking the strip in Las Vegas this past April, I took pictures of every remnant of old Vegas I could find, and there wasn't much. Thank goodness for digital because I think I took the equivalent of a roll of film just of the newly imploded Stardust, the bottom half of the sign still standing there like some sort of cemetery marker. Signs seem to be some of the last things to go, as next door to the former Stardust was an empty lot with the skeleton of a sign out front - the former Westward Ho which was demolished in late 2006. I even photographed a towering, deteriorating sign for El Rancho, a hotel demolished way back in 2000. After snapping away at the sites for Stardust and Westward Ho, we crossed the street to the Frontier. My dad said something to the effect of, "I bet this one's days are numbered." We had no idea how right he was.
What was a fully-functioning hotel and casino just seven months ago is today a pile of debris. They imploded it just hours ago. In its place will be yet another obscenely extravagant hotel for people with more money than sense. In reference to the new hotel, the Associated Press quoted owner Yitzhak Tshuva as saying, in a way that couldn't possibly be seen as flaunting his greed and materialism in the face of God, "I think that there should be no price tag for a place with such enormous potential." I'm normally no prude, but we're not talking about a community center or hospital or research facility here, we're talking about a casino - a virtual palace of debauchery. Is that the enormous potential of which he speaks? Now people can get drunk, lose insane amounts of money, and wallow in complete hedonism in a much more expensive building than they did before? Put me on the waiting list! It says that Tshuva gave hugs as the hotel came down. Yeah, eradicating a piece of modern history warms the cockles of my heart too.
I guess it shouldn't be all that surprising that a town built on indulgence loses more of its past with each generation. It is somewhat ironic that the attitudes that built the glitzy, eye-popping hotels 40-some years ago are the same ones that are calling for those buildings to be rendered obsolete and replaced with something glitzier and more eye-popping. In 40 years, should God withhold his judgment that long, our children will be calling for multi-billion dollar spectacles to built in place of outdated eyesores like the Venetian, the Bellagio and, yes, even The Plaza Hotel that will be built in the spot where the Frontier stood a mere 24 hours ago. I guess I should expect nothing less from a town that lives by the unofficial mottoes "Live in the moment" and "If it feels good do it", yet it probably surprises you to hear that every time another piece of Vegas history topples, my heart breaks a little.
When I was a kid, too young to even remember the year, my dad went to Las Vegas. One of the things he brought back was a souvenir pictorial - essentially a bunch of post cards attached to each other and folded up in an accordion style. As a kid whose trips had never gotten more exotic than seeing the bright lights of Dairy Queen on Rt. 460 between home and Grandma's, I was mesmerized that such a place could actually exist. I looked at the postcards often and wondered what it must be like to see a place like that in real life. Over 20 years later, when I finally got the chance to see it for myself, most of the hotels that mesmerized me as a kid - hotels like The Sands and The Dunes - were long gone. Even some of the hotels that remained, like The Riviera, which were once flagships on the strip, had been reverted to also-rans, so hidden among the bigger, more bankable hotels that I sometimes had to look at my pictures to realize I'd even seen them. That's why I was so happy when I'd get to sneak a peek at something that resembled the Vegas of those postcards - the larger than life marquees advertising cheap buffets and B-list (if you're lucky) entertainment, skyscraping signs lit up by individual tiny bulbs and not high-tech LED, architectural details that had managed to escape remodeling and remained to hold testament to that hotel's golden age. I'd find some sort of satisfaction in a seeing where a newer sign facade or banner had fallen off, revealing a rusty sign from some long-since forgotten hotel. It was like the proverbial tell-tale heart, not letting the "onward and upward" Vegas developers forget the history they were trying to erase with their latest pet projects. They almost seemed to be coming back from the dead to warn these trendy new attractions that they were once the trendy new attractions too, and someday their fates would be the same.
Spectacular implosions may make Las Vegas one of the most high profile cities when it comes to tearing down the old to build the new, but they're certainly not alone. Many east coast beach towns are experiencing the same fate. I see it every year in my town - another quaint motor inn from the 60's comes down so a behemoth, view-blocking hotel can replace it. Homes built for the baby boom are unceremoniously bulldozed to make way for town plazas and condos, more pieces of another era completely gone. Unfortunately, these projects also mean converting the affordable to the upscale. One $200,000 dollar home is replaced with condos going for $450,000+ a piece. A $79 a night motel is replaced by a $300 a night hotel. Post-war bungalows are flattened to make space for high-end boutiques. This is another reason I find today's decision-makers dumber and dumber. By replacing everything with "bigger and better" (i.e. more expensive), they are contributing to making life harder. People will have to work longer hours at more jobs to be able to afford anything. How does it improve life when you have to save up for a year to be able to afford any type of vacation that doesn't involve an air mattress on your parents' floor? Nowadays, parents practically have to sacrifice the experience of their children's childhoods just to be able to afford a roof over their heads. Our generation is criticized for owning homes that have been obnoxiously dubbed "McMansions", but it's hard to avoid them when the smaller homes that our parents and grandparents successfully raised families in are being razed and the only thing being built in their places are these excessive houses. For whatever reason, we keep insisting on erasing our past so that we can improve upon it. Does anyone stop to think that maybe the past doesn't need our improving? Maybe it's fine the way it is.
I would not suggest that every old building be saved. That's not only unrealistic and impractical, but just as ignorant as tearing down every old building. I would encourage people to break out of the mentality that old is bad simply because it's old. We shoot dirty looks at people who throw away an aluminum can instead of recycling, but we think nothing of turning a usable building into a pile of debris because it can be replaced with something that looks more modern. We also need to stop being so near-sighted when it comes to history. I wish so badly I could find the article, but I read not too long ago about internet groups that are trying to chronicle the endangered species that is the enclosed shopping mall, a big piece of late '70's-early'90's American culture. When a member of some large preservation group was asked if they might ever look into saving some of these malls, the woman pretty much sniffed at the idea that they would be interested in preserving a [shudder] mall! These same groups rally to save things like single-family residences, buildings that were only significant to a handful of people, simply because of their age and the fact that they are some of the last remaining edifices of their time. Yet the idea that something like a shopping mall, which in some places were social centers of the community, could be of historical significance in 50 years is so absurd?
Buildings that the greatest generation built with their own hands have stood for years as monuments to optimism and the desire for the American dream. They are quickly becoming no more than memories, making way for new buildings that stand as monuments for gluttony and trendiness. I hate to think it, but maybe that is the new American dream. I wonder how Canada is this time of year...
When we were walking the strip in Las Vegas this past April, I took pictures of every remnant of old Vegas I could find, and there wasn't much. Thank goodness for digital because I think I took the equivalent of a roll of film just of the newly imploded Stardust, the bottom half of the sign still standing there like some sort of cemetery marker. Signs seem to be some of the last things to go, as next door to the former Stardust was an empty lot with the skeleton of a sign out front - the former Westward Ho which was demolished in late 2006. I even photographed a towering, deteriorating sign for El Rancho, a hotel demolished way back in 2000. After snapping away at the sites for Stardust and Westward Ho, we crossed the street to the Frontier. My dad said something to the effect of, "I bet this one's days are numbered." We had no idea how right he was.
What was a fully-functioning hotel and casino just seven months ago is today a pile of debris. They imploded it just hours ago. In its place will be yet another obscenely extravagant hotel for people with more money than sense. In reference to the new hotel, the Associated Press quoted owner Yitzhak Tshuva as saying, in a way that couldn't possibly be seen as flaunting his greed and materialism in the face of God, "I think that there should be no price tag for a place with such enormous potential." I'm normally no prude, but we're not talking about a community center or hospital or research facility here, we're talking about a casino - a virtual palace of debauchery. Is that the enormous potential of which he speaks? Now people can get drunk, lose insane amounts of money, and wallow in complete hedonism in a much more expensive building than they did before? Put me on the waiting list! It says that Tshuva gave hugs as the hotel came down. Yeah, eradicating a piece of modern history warms the cockles of my heart too.
I guess it shouldn't be all that surprising that a town built on indulgence loses more of its past with each generation. It is somewhat ironic that the attitudes that built the glitzy, eye-popping hotels 40-some years ago are the same ones that are calling for those buildings to be rendered obsolete and replaced with something glitzier and more eye-popping. In 40 years, should God withhold his judgment that long, our children will be calling for multi-billion dollar spectacles to built in place of outdated eyesores like the Venetian, the Bellagio and, yes, even The Plaza Hotel that will be built in the spot where the Frontier stood a mere 24 hours ago. I guess I should expect nothing less from a town that lives by the unofficial mottoes "Live in the moment" and "If it feels good do it", yet it probably surprises you to hear that every time another piece of Vegas history topples, my heart breaks a little.
When I was a kid, too young to even remember the year, my dad went to Las Vegas. One of the things he brought back was a souvenir pictorial - essentially a bunch of post cards attached to each other and folded up in an accordion style. As a kid whose trips had never gotten more exotic than seeing the bright lights of Dairy Queen on Rt. 460 between home and Grandma's, I was mesmerized that such a place could actually exist. I looked at the postcards often and wondered what it must be like to see a place like that in real life. Over 20 years later, when I finally got the chance to see it for myself, most of the hotels that mesmerized me as a kid - hotels like The Sands and The Dunes - were long gone. Even some of the hotels that remained, like The Riviera, which were once flagships on the strip, had been reverted to also-rans, so hidden among the bigger, more bankable hotels that I sometimes had to look at my pictures to realize I'd even seen them. That's why I was so happy when I'd get to sneak a peek at something that resembled the Vegas of those postcards - the larger than life marquees advertising cheap buffets and B-list (if you're lucky) entertainment, skyscraping signs lit up by individual tiny bulbs and not high-tech LED, architectural details that had managed to escape remodeling and remained to hold testament to that hotel's golden age. I'd find some sort of satisfaction in a seeing where a newer sign facade or banner had fallen off, revealing a rusty sign from some long-since forgotten hotel. It was like the proverbial tell-tale heart, not letting the "onward and upward" Vegas developers forget the history they were trying to erase with their latest pet projects. They almost seemed to be coming back from the dead to warn these trendy new attractions that they were once the trendy new attractions too, and someday their fates would be the same.
Spectacular implosions may make Las Vegas one of the most high profile cities when it comes to tearing down the old to build the new, but they're certainly not alone. Many east coast beach towns are experiencing the same fate. I see it every year in my town - another quaint motor inn from the 60's comes down so a behemoth, view-blocking hotel can replace it. Homes built for the baby boom are unceremoniously bulldozed to make way for town plazas and condos, more pieces of another era completely gone. Unfortunately, these projects also mean converting the affordable to the upscale. One $200,000 dollar home is replaced with condos going for $450,000+ a piece. A $79 a night motel is replaced by a $300 a night hotel. Post-war bungalows are flattened to make space for high-end boutiques. This is another reason I find today's decision-makers dumber and dumber. By replacing everything with "bigger and better" (i.e. more expensive), they are contributing to making life harder. People will have to work longer hours at more jobs to be able to afford anything. How does it improve life when you have to save up for a year to be able to afford any type of vacation that doesn't involve an air mattress on your parents' floor? Nowadays, parents practically have to sacrifice the experience of their children's childhoods just to be able to afford a roof over their heads. Our generation is criticized for owning homes that have been obnoxiously dubbed "McMansions", but it's hard to avoid them when the smaller homes that our parents and grandparents successfully raised families in are being razed and the only thing being built in their places are these excessive houses. For whatever reason, we keep insisting on erasing our past so that we can improve upon it. Does anyone stop to think that maybe the past doesn't need our improving? Maybe it's fine the way it is.
I would not suggest that every old building be saved. That's not only unrealistic and impractical, but just as ignorant as tearing down every old building. I would encourage people to break out of the mentality that old is bad simply because it's old. We shoot dirty looks at people who throw away an aluminum can instead of recycling, but we think nothing of turning a usable building into a pile of debris because it can be replaced with something that looks more modern. We also need to stop being so near-sighted when it comes to history. I wish so badly I could find the article, but I read not too long ago about internet groups that are trying to chronicle the endangered species that is the enclosed shopping mall, a big piece of late '70's-early'90's American culture. When a member of some large preservation group was asked if they might ever look into saving some of these malls, the woman pretty much sniffed at the idea that they would be interested in preserving a [shudder] mall! These same groups rally to save things like single-family residences, buildings that were only significant to a handful of people, simply because of their age and the fact that they are some of the last remaining edifices of their time. Yet the idea that something like a shopping mall, which in some places were social centers of the community, could be of historical significance in 50 years is so absurd?
Buildings that the greatest generation built with their own hands have stood for years as monuments to optimism and the desire for the American dream. They are quickly becoming no more than memories, making way for new buildings that stand as monuments for gluttony and trendiness. I hate to think it, but maybe that is the new American dream. I wonder how Canada is this time of year...
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