Granted, this is a story from another time. It was 1979, the first real trip to Las Vegas. My wife of eight months and I flew up on Hughes Airwest from Phoenix. Me being a budding high roller, we stayed at Caesars Palace, in a suite partially paid for by the house.
I had been there a few times with my father-in-law, who was a true gambler. His trick was to give me his number from the junket flight, and I got credit for spending wads of cash on the tables.
We got tickets for a 10 p.m. Read more