Others now speculated as to why Hughes had come back again. All were certain he had some great “mission”—to reform the loose morals of Las Vegas, to clean out the Mob, to join up with the Mob. In fact, Hughes had no plans at all when he arrived, except to find a safe place to hide. And, in a real sense, that was still all he was after.
At first, it was safe enough to hide in his blacked-out bedroom, behind a closed door, behind his phalanx of Mormons, behind a locked partition in the hallway, behind an armed security guard on an otherwise vacant and sealed-off penthouse floor. Then he had to own the entire hotel. To protect himself. Having bought the Desert Inn, he had to buy all the surrounding hotels on the Strip. Again, for self-protection. Now he had to buy the rest of Las Vegas. For the same reason.
Desperate to control his own little world, Hughes bought increasingly greater control of the world outside, expanding his domain in concentric circles, only to discover that the more he owned, the more he needed to protect, so that each new acquisition generated the need for further acquisitions to protect those that came before.
Atop his desert command post, Hughes loomed over the Las Vegas Strip, snatching up its gaudy hotels and gambling casinos like some demonic demigod playing an outsized Monopoly game. Had he looked out his window, he could have seen it alclass="underline" miles of improbable flash set down by mobsters in the middle of nowhere, with eighty-foot signs blinking STARDUST and SANDS and CAESAR’S PALACE, a fabulous façade for the bare bones of capitalism, pure money with no product, as skeletal as Hughes himself, the garish front as much a mirage as his own public image.
It was a cheap, loud, vulgar place, and Hughes never set eyes on it during his entire stay. His windows had been blacked out the day he arrived, and not once did he peel back the masking tape, pull up the blinds, and look outside. Never in four years.
Hughes had his own vision, and he didn’t want it sullied.
“I like to think of Las Vegas in terms of a well dressed man in a dinner jacket, and a beautifully jewelled and furred female getting out of an expensive car,” he wrote, conjuring up a more acceptable image. “I think that is what the public expects here—to rub shoulders with V.I.P.’s and Stars, etc.—possibly dressed in sport clothes, but if so, at least good sport clothes. I dont think we should permit this place to degrade into a freak, or amusement-park category, like Coney Island.
“Dont misunderstand me about the clothes,” he quickly added. “I am not suggesting that our entire staff go out and blow themselves to a new wardrobe at the hotel’s expense. (That is intended to be a joke.) I am not thinking of what our employees wear, and I am certainly not thinking of spending any unnecessary money. So lets make do with the present uniforms.
“I was thinking more of the impression given in the advertisements, etc.,” he continued, trying to get back to his vision, but suddenly sidetracked by another disturbing thought.
“One thing is certain—if you permit Jai-Lia to come in here you will never get them out, and it is a dangerous crowd filled with communists from Cuba.
“Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that you well know (from my resistance to the Monorail, for example) that I see Las V. as being just one notch in class distinction above the amusement park category. For this same reason I am bitterly opposed to dog-racing. I would not oppose horse racing in a few years if we are cut into it.
“Bob, ever since I arrived here I have been fighting attempts to down-grade the Strip into some kind of freak show—an amusement park—a cross between Coney Island and the Hudson Palisades Park. If one of these sideshows is allowed, there will be 3 or 4 or six and then we will have a real avenue of merry-go-rounds and roller coasters.
“I have certainly made no secret with you of my feelings that the Las Vegas strip does not have much class (in fact, I was laughed at once when I said it had a certain degree of class), but nevertheless it does have just that small difference in class distinction between an amusement park and a place which is garish, but like no other place in the entire world.
“I dont think I would like to live here or center all of my future plans around this pivot point if Freemont Street is going to be moved to the Strip.”
Class. They may have laughed at him once, but Hughes was now determined to make Las Vegas a real high-class place, and there was no room in his vision for the honky-tonk atmosphere that had already overrun downtown, much less for monorails, dog racing, or (God forbid) jai alai.
In fact, Hughes had more than a vision. He had a plan. A mission. He would “make Las Vegas as trustworthy and respectable as the New York Stock Exchange—so that Nevada gambling will have the kind of a reputation that Lloyds of London has, so that Nevada on a note will be like Sterling on silver.”
Real class. But his plans went still further.
“We can make a really super environmental ‘city of the future’ here—No smog, no contamination, efficient local government, where the tax-payers pay as little as possible, and get something for their money.”
There it was. Hughes Heaven—no contamination, no taxes, and lots of class. There was, of course, one other requirement: he had to own it all.
He already owned the Desert Inn, the Sands, the Castaways, and the Frontier, all nicely clustered in the center of town. Now he was eyeing the Silver Slipper, a low-class “grind” casino just across the street, and its huge next-door neighbor, the Stardust, which alone would nearly double his holdings.
“I feel there is something very important and very significant about being in a position of 100%, admitted undisputed leadership,” wrote Hughes.
“I know you tell me that such a position has already been achieved,” he chided Maheu, who urged restraint, “but if you asked ten different people, you would probably get ten different opinions.
“Bob, stated briefly, I am certain that there is great value in any entity which is clearly, indisputably the world’s greatest and largest gambling operation.
“So, I am talking about a clear cut leadership of such magnitude that the word of mouth report would become accepted throughout the world. So that when anybody thinks or speaks of gambling, the reaction would be automatic, just like the reaction to Sterling on silver.
“But, what is most important of all, is that it will put to rest this gnawing urge I have for a slightly stronger position,” he concluded, reassuring his regent, “and when this urge is satisfied, I am positive our relationship (yours and mine) will improve immeasurably.
“I am certain, Bob, that the removal of this one thorn in my side will leave us with a really harmonious prospect for the future.”
Hughes had to have the Silver Slipper and the Stardust, and he also wanted the Silver Nugget and the Bonanza and Bill Harrah’s clubs in Reno and Lake Tahoe and perhaps the Riviera and… well, just about every hotel and casino in Nevada. But for now the Slipper and the Stardust were a must.
Up in Carson City, Paul Laxalt was getting worried again. If Hughes had a gnawing urge, the governor still had a gnawing fear. The legislative probe stirred up by Hughes’s last casino license was coming to a head, and two new purchases right now might be dangerous. Laxalt asked Maheu to ask his hidden boss to slow down.
“Because of the developments of the last few days and a concerted effort to make multiple licensing a political football, the Governor respectfully requests that you refrain from any additional acquisition at this time,” Maheu wrote Hughes. “He thinks that if we wait a few months until the atmosphere has changed that the situation would be entirely different. He is preparing a long confidential memorandum for your consumption. Anyway, Howard, he pointed out his great devotion to you and begs of you to hold still until at least you have had a chance to absorb his comments.”