Being Oscar (28 page)

I went on like that for about five minutes. The people in the audience loved it. And after that, there was nothing negative my opponent could say about me. I said it all first, and I took the sting out.

I won the election in what they called a landslide. I got sixty-four percent of the vote.

I got a call from President Clinton congratulating me on being elected to lead the fastest developing city in the country. Five minutes later I got a call from Manny Baker, the heroin kingpin, who also wanted to congratulate me. Bill Clinton and Manny Baker—that about summed it all up for me.

In the next two elections, I got over 80 percent of the vote. I spent twelve years in office, and it changed my life. It freed me, and I loved it.

When I was practicing law, every day, every hour, I was on guard. I had to be circumspect, and careful about what I said and to whom I said it. It got to the point where the only person I knew I could trust was my wife. After I heard myself on wiretaps, it got even worse. If you’ve never experienced that, you really can’t appreciate what it does to you. You never feel secure after that; it’s like a home invasion. You really do feel violated.

As mayor, I never worried about any of that. I talked to everyone. I rediscovered the value of social intercourse. I had press conferences every week and I let it all hang out. I’d stand there nude if I thought it was necessary. I was a great believer in open government, and that was the way I approached the job.

My perception of being mayor, of course, was not the reality. I had thoughts of Boss Tweed, Old Man Daley in Chicago, or Richardson Dilworth in Philadelphia. These were mayors who were in charge.

I soon discovered that I was just one member of a five-member (and eventually seven-member) city council. My vote counted for no more than any other council member. So I had to learn to count to four to operate effectively in the political world. But the biggest thing I had going for me was that I didn’t need the job.

Don’t misunderstand me—I loved the job. But I wasn’t concerned about the politics of being an elected official. I wasn’t worried about a political career. I ran for mayor because I wanted to do something for a city that I loved. That was the only reason I was there, and it made me more powerful. I was immune to lots of the petty nonsense that comes with any elected office. I said what I thought, and I did what needed to be done.

I never turned down a speaking engagement unless it conflicted with some other commitment that had already been scheduled. I was accessible twenty-four–seven. It was a part-time job that I worked at full-time.

Once a month we scheduled “coffee with the mayor,” moving around the different wards of the city. People would be lined up outside the shops. They’d come with ideas and suggestions. I’d have staff people with me, and we’d take notes. We listened to everyone and heard about everything, from local zoning issues to the legalization of medical marijuana. It was a great way to find out what was going on in my city. You can’t hole up in an office and expect to be a leader. If you’re going to represent the people, you’ve got to get out and talk to the people.

That’s what government is about. It’s not about getting re-elected; it’s about serving the common good.

As time went on, we also started a monthly “martinis with the mayor,” which were meetings in local bars. They were my
favorites. People usually left those sessions feeling very good about themselves.

It was during one of those martini nights that the thought occurred to me that bartenders and waitresses were great ambassadors for the city. They were the ones who were meeting tourists and visitors every day. So we started a monthly program where we would honor one of them in recognition for the way they treated people. I’d give them a key to the city during a presentation ceremony. It was a great way to show how we appreciated people who, day in and day out, made Las Vegas what it was. I also realized that I enjoyed making people happy.

To me, the most important part of being mayor was being a leader. As mayor, your goal should be to make the city a better place, a place where people enjoy their lives and are able to thrive. You’re a cheerleader as much as anything, and you set the tone.

Becoming mayor was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I started to dream again, and I had all these ideas about making the city a better place. I wasn’t sure how I was going to accomplish it all, but I knew what I wanted to get done, and that I was going to work hard to get it.

It was a wonderful feeling. And in the morning, when I woke up, I liked who I saw in the mirror.

W
hen I was thinking about running for mayor, I was invited by Steve Wynn to fly to Biloxi, Mississippi, for the opening of his new casino, the Beau Rivage. Wynn’s an interesting guy. He’s accomplished a lot, but like so many others, he’s mostly interested in what works for him. I guess in that sense, he’s no different than any businessman.

We flew down on a private jet. There was a group of wealthy Las Vegas residents on the plane, and I saw it as a chance to float my ideas. I had a captive audience, and I took advantage of the opportunity. I went up and down the aisle seeing if these people would support me, and I got really good feedback.

Wynn especially liked my ideas for downtown. He had sold his downtown property, the Golden Nugget, when he began to develop beautiful sites on the Las Vegas strip, including the Mirage, Treasure Island, and the Bellagio. But he told me that he would be supportive of me if I were elected mayor. Those were the kinds of commitments I was looking for. I knew I needed major support if I was going to do anything about turning the inner city area around.

He told me if I were elected, he would help me redevelop the urban core. Having him committed was huge. Frank Luntz, the great pollster, was retained by Wynn to ascertain what the community was lacking and whether the taxpaying citizens would be supportive. He determined that the two things Las Vegas needed
were a first-class performing arts center and an arena. Wynn said he would be a moving force behind those projects.

As soon as I got elected, Wynn went south on me. He said he wanted nothing to do with downtown. When I confronted him, he told me, “Your downtown is never going to come back, and I’m not going to build down there.”

The same thing happened with Michael Gaughan, whose father Jackie had been a founder of some of the great downtown “joints” like the Union Plaza, the El Cortez, and the Las Vegas Club. Michael was a great operator. When I approached him for a contribution, he was very generous, but he said downtown was dead. He wanted no part of it because it was never going to be successful. Instead he went out, way south of the Las Vegas strip. He also bet me that I wouldn’t be elected. He still owes me a dinner, thirteen years later.

It was a rude awakening for me, but it made me even more determined. As a lawyer I had traveled all over the country. I had seen cities like Newark, Philadelphia, and San Diego attempting to fight urban blight.

I’ve seen places in those cities and elsewhere that looked like war zones. We had the same thing downtown: boarded-up storefronts, empty buildings, vacant lots covered with trash. I knew I had to do something about it. San Diego created the Gas Lamp District in what was once one of the worst sections of town, and I wanted to use that as a model.

I remember being in San Diego before the redevelopment. A friend had a law office in the area, and when I went there, there were tiny bugs everywhere. They had been attracted by the urine. At night, the street people used his doorway as a bathroom. There were hookers all over the place chasing the sailors. These were hookers, not call girls. There were drug dealers and drug users, filthy dirty strung-out people, holding out their hand for change. It wasn’t the image of a vibrant city, by any means.

Today, it’s a different place. They’ve built a brand-new convention center and a baseball stadium. I said to myself, this is what has to happen in Las Vegas. I wasn’t inventing the wheel; I didn’t have some revolutionary idea. I just knew that we had to make this happen.

The battle was fought on so many different levels. I learned a lot about urban planning and redevelopment, but what served me best was common sense and not being afraid to say what I thought. That’s the way I approached the job. I’ve said this before, but it’s worth repeating. I was a better mayor because I had no idea what the job was supposed to be. I didn’t have preconceived ideas about how the office functioned; I just felt that my job was to lead the city and to hopefully make it better. That’s what Doug Selby, who became city manager shortly after I took office, told me. A mayor, he said, was supposed to be the face of the city—its cheerleader—and his job was to leave the city a better place than when he found it.

I also believed that people had to do what I told them to do. And while that wasn’t the case, it didn’t stop me from trying. Part of my attitude was political naiveté, and part of it was ego. I was never in doubt, and I know that bothered some people. It still does. But it’s who I am.

And let me clear something up right now. There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that every morning Carolyn gets up, comes around to my side of the bed, and begins applauding in order to get me going. I’m self-motivated. Even without her, I hear the applause in my head.

I had played myself in the movie
Casino
while I was still actively practicing law. As I mentioned earlier, the film was written by Nicholas Pileggi, directed by Martin Scorsese, and starred Robert
DeNiro, Joe Pesci, and Sharon Stone. They played characters based on people I had represented: Lefty Rosenthal, Tony Spilotro, and Geri Rosenthal.

Being involved in the movie was a fabulous experience, hobnobbing with all the stars and with Scorsese. I never saw anyone who was more a seeker of perfection than he was. He’d do a scene over and over and over until he had it just the way he wanted it. Naturally, he went way over budget, but he was a genius.

DeNiro was quiet, a decent fellow. He made me feel very comfortable on the set. I clowned around with Pesci and Don Rickles and Tommy Smothers. And Sharon Stone was just a sweetheart, nothing like the characters she plays. She’s more the girl next door.

During the filming, we had them over to the house for dinner. Steve Wynn, who was then a neighbor of mine, threw a tantrum when he wasn’t invited. He had his wife call us, and we finally let him come. Carolyn cooked, and after dinner, Sharon Stone and Elaine Wynn helped wash the dishes. Unbelievable. I loved the whole experience, but I don’t think I brought a lot to the big screen. After the movie came out, I got a call from my mother, who was still living back in Philadelphia.

“I saw your movie,” she said.

“What did you think?” I asked.

“It’s a good thing you’re a lawyer.”

It didn’t matter. I had been bitten by the bug, and I wanted to do it again. Once I was elected mayor, I saw a way to stardom. One of the first things I did after being sworn in on June 28, 1999, was head over to the city permit department. I told the woman in charge that I was the new mayor and I had a directive for her. From now on, anyone who came in for a permit to film a movie in Las Vegas had to agree to give me a part in the film.

“You can’t do this,” she said.

“Yes I can,” I said. “I’m the mayor.”

A couple of weeks went by. One day my receptionist came into my office very excited and whispered, “Jackie Chan and Bret Ratner are waiting to see you.”

Perfect, I thought.