Robert Randisi - You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Las Vegas, Nevada

Spring 2003

I like the Flamingo, and the Riv. Along with the Golden Nugget, Binions and a few other places, theyre the last vestiges of my Las Vegas-the Las Vegas of Frank and Dean and Sammy. Now its the Vegas of Howie Mandel, Siegfried and Roy and Danny Gans-talented, yes. The Rat Pack? Hardly.

I had a meeting at the Riviera that day. Some kid journalist wanted an interview about the old days, and when anybody wanted to talk about the old days they came to Eddie G.

Hey, Eddie, a blackjack dealer shouted as I walked by, how the hell are ya, man?

Good, good. I didnt know his name, but I knew the face. It made an old man feel good when the youngsters working Vegas recognized me.

I went past the bar, and its, Hey, Eddie, have a drink, man. Past the pit and they said, Mr. Gianelli, respectfully, because I made the pit what it is today. And when a waitress stopped to kiss my cheek, let me smell her perfume and breathed, Hey, Eddie, into my ear-well, I aint dead, ya know. I popped wood-or what passes for wood when youre eighty-two.

Just like me the hip life has passed the Riviera by, but I still liked it. I told the journalist to meet me in Kadys coffee shop at 8:00 A.M. Me, I dont sleep so much, anymore. Im usually up around five or six, and Kadys is a twenty-four-hour joint.

I stopped in the doorway, looked around. There were a few customers. Some had just gotten up, others hadnt been to bed yet. But they all had the same look in their eyes. Tired.

Except for one. A young girl who seemed wide-awake and eager. I was looking for a writer named J.T. Kerouac. A friend of mine had set it up, but if the writer was a girl he wouldve mentioned it. Unless he figured it would be funny.

The girl jumped up out of her booth when she saw me and hurried over.

Mr. Gianelli? she asked, all excited.

Eddie G, I said. Everybody calls me Eddie G.

Eddie, Im so happy to meet you, she said. Im J.T. Kerouac. No relation.

I knew Jack, I said. Well, I met him. I wouldnt say I knew him.

Wow, she gushed. See, thats why I wanted to interview you. Youre a legend in Vegas. They say that Eddie G knew everybody.

How old are you, Kerouac?

Twenty-four, she said, with a grin. I know, I look younger. Its the freckles-but they go with my red hair. Nothing I can do about it. I really am a writer, though. Want to see my ID?

I hesitated, then said, Okay, Kerouac. Lets have some coffee.

We walked to her booth. The table was covered with papers and a lined pad. There was also a laptop computer, and books-about half a dozen, some hardback, some paper-all having to do with the Rat Pack, with Frank and Dean, and one on Marilyn Monroe.

She sat down and I slid across from her.

The waitress came over and said, Hi, Eddie. Its good ta see you. How ya doin?

Good, Melina, real good.

This gonna be separate checks?

No, I said, Ill take care of it-

No, no, I invited you, J.T. said. Its on me.

Ill start with coffee, Melina.

Sure thing, Eddie.

Im sensing a theme, I said, gesturing toward the books.

Oh, these? Im working on a documentary. Im a writer, and a filmmaker. When Im making a film Im also the director and the producer.

Not the camera woman?

I have a cameraman, actually, she said, and a soundman.

And whats the documentary about?

The Rat Pack, and their women. And I dont only mean their girlfriends and wives. I mean women who were fringe Rat Packers sort of

And what am I here to be interviewed about?

Old Las Vegas, she said. Vegas has been turned into a huge theme park.

Tell me about it.

Im going to write about the way it used to be, and nobody knows more about that than you.

And thats what you need me for today?

No, today Im working on a piece for Las Vegas Magazine.

And who are you making the documentary for?

Well for me. Im hoping to place it with one of the cable stations-HBO, maybe A amp;E, or even Bravo.

Hows it going?

She had been typing on the laptop while talking. Now she stopped, sat back and looked at me.

Actually, its not going very well.

Why not?

She touched the book on Marilyn. I saw the name Spoto on the spine.

Everything Ive found on Marilyn seems to be old news, she said. I have some stuff on Angie Dickinson, and Shirley MacLaine, even Ruta Lee.

There should be more on Marilyn Monroe than on those women combined, I said.

Oh, there is, she said, but its all been done before. Over and over. I need something new, and I just cant find it.

I drummed my fingers on the table. Even Eddie G wants to impress a pretty young girl. It had been awhile since somebody like J.T. had looked at me with such admiration.

What? she asked. Whats going on, Mr. Gianelli?

Eddie, I said, call me Eddie.

Whats on your mind, Eddie?

Old Vegas, I said, and Marilyn.

Did you know Marilyn, Eddie? she asked, leaning forward.

Yep.

Well?

Well enough.

Dont play games, Eddie, she said. This documentary is important to me. If you can help me-

Breakfast, I said.

What?

I need some more coffee, and some breakfast, I told her.

She worried her pretty lower lip, then said, And then what?

And then I have a story to tell, I said, about old Las Vegas, and Marilyn

Las Vegas, Nevada

Sunday, January 21, 1962

Dean Martin said, Twenty-two, pay the lady!

The crowd erupted into applause as Dino paid off the beautiful brunette, who probably wasnt even legally old enough to gamble. Thats not my department, though. Once theyre in, theyre in.

Only Dino could get away with paying a gambler when they actually busted the hand. Immediately afterward he spread his hands and backed away, giving the regular dealer back his table. Then he walked over to me with a big grin on his handsome face.

Eddie, my man! I came lookin for you.

We shook hands warmly.

Been a few months, I said.

Well, Im back, he said. Actually, were back. Three of us, anyway.

I knew that Frank, Dean and Sammy were booked into the Sands for one night, on the twenty-third. I had expected a call from one of them, but didnt think Dean would come looking for me in my pit.

Can you get off so we can have a drink?

When it came to Frank, Dean or Sammy I could pretty much walk off the floor anytime I wanted to. My boss, Jack Entratter, like the power to pay off on twenty-two.

Just gotta get somebody to fill in, I said. How about we meet in the Silver Queen in ten minutes?

Deans smile broadened. Ill be waitin, pally.

I got to the Silver Queen lounge in eight minutes. Dean was sitting at the bar talking to the bartender. Folks seated at the tables were pointing at him and talking excitedly to each other, but no one approached him. At the moment there was no one performing.

I approached the bar and Dean turned, gave me that famous smile again. He had a cigarette in one hand, and a partially finished drink in the other. Dean always had a drink and a cigarette on stage, but I knew the whole drink thing was a put-up job for the Clydes in the audience. In fact, Id been on the set of Sergeants 3 the previous summer to shoot a couple of scenes the guys had cast me in for fun, and I never saw Dean drunk the whole time. Ruta Lee, the leading lady of the film, had been quoted saying the same thing. She also complained that the guys treated her like a little sister. Well, everybody but me. Ruta Lee was quite a dish.

But Deans smoking, that was for real. In fact, Dean, Frank and Sammy-who all made their living with their voices-were heavy smokers.