Viva Lost Vegas

If I could turn back time, I would find a romantic old Chinese restaurant built like a red, neon-lighted pagoda. It would be decorated with fans, dragons, urns and murals. It would serve chow mein and crisp noodles and egg foo yong, dishes my wife and I lived on when we were newlyweds. Last month, I found it.

We were celebrating our 28th anniversary at Fong’s Garden, which opened in 1955 east of downtown Las Vegas. Buddha sat at the lip of a fountain, a golden silk-screened room divider made the world go away and it was yesterday once more.

My wife, Bobbie, and I felt like children as we sat down for lunch in an enormous, tufted red booth. For $3.95 apiece, we ordered egg flower soup, egg rolls, egg foo yong, chow mein, moo goo gai pan and rice. We drowned the food in sweet-and-sour sauce, hot mustard and soy sauce and mashed it together, just as we did long ago. We were too full to eat our fortune cookies, but mine held promise:

“A thrilling time is in your immediate future.”

We were in Vegas for a reason. On a Saturday night in 1972, we had driven from our apartment in Burbank to the Clark County civil marriage commissioner’s office in downtown Las Vegas. We got married in a three-minute ceremony, then drove back home immediately. We did not stop in a casino, hotel or restaurant, and we did not play a single slot machine. Why? We were young and had no money--and I had the world’s worst case of buyer’s remorse.

Of course, I got over it, but for some reason we never returned. Now we were back, trying to get it right.

After lunch, we saw our first pair of hot pants in decades at the Liberace Museum on Tropicana Avenue. They were red-, white- and blue-spangled suede, and Liberace had worn them with matching jacket and boots to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Statue of Liberty’s dedication.

Wladziu Liberace (1919-1987) was a Las Vegas headliner for three decades beginning in 1955, when he opened at the Riviera as the highest-paid performer in Vegas history. He gained notoriety for his mink and chinchilla robes and matching boots, his glitzy cars and pianos and his glittering candelabra. Most of the treasure is here, collected in two buildings, along with the world’s biggest rhinestone--more than 50 pounds.

The glittering peacock jumpsuits at our next stop, Elvis-A-Rama, seemed subdued by comparison. Elvis-A-Rama is the new Elvis Presley museum on Industrial Road near Treasure Island. Graceland clearly got the best of the Elvis memorabilia, but his Social Security card, purple Lincoln, winter Army uniform and blue suede shoes are here.

In the museum’s small cabaret, decked out like a 1950s malt shop, we watched Elvis impersonator Sonny Boline sing old tunes with taped instrumental backup. Boline, wearing a tight red suit and a gold lame shirt, looked a bit like Elvis and had his gestures and expressions down pat. Boline’s version of “If I Can Dream” was so powerful it could make you cry.

We drove to the north end of the Strip to the Algiers, a coral and green motel built in 1953. Five bridesmaids in pink satin dresses and matching stiletto pumps were drinking champagne in front of a nearby wedding chapel.

On this Saturday afternoon, when the Strip was bumper-to-bumper, it took us 10 seconds to park in front of the Algiers and a minute to check in. Our $65 room was spacious and clean, decorated with watercolors of desert scenes. It overlooked a palm-fringed pool. Only the rattan headboard and the swag lamp suggested another era.

I took a shower and came out feeling romantic. My wife, meanwhile, was sound asleep. I faced a moral decision: Should I stay by her side or go do something?

Elvis called to me. “It’s Now or Never,” he said.

I crossed the street to the Riviera to check out its Bistro Lounge show, “Billy Ortiz’s Tribute to Elvis.” Ortiz wore a tight red suit, a glittering silver shirt and a wide gold belt with a huge buckle. Backed by a four-piece combo, he did a credible Elvis imitation, particularly on “Viva Las Vegas” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” A lounge lizard sitting beside me at the bar, playing video poker intently, looked up to say, “He’s obviously imitating the fat Elvis.”

For supper, Bobbie and I went to Battista’s Hole in the Wall, a block off the Strip on Audrie Street. Battista’s, opened in 1970, was frozen in time: Tiffany lamps, plastic grapes, Chianti bottles and bushel baskets hanging from the ceiling, and black-and-white celebrity pictures on every inch of wall space.

The fare was just what we were looking for: southern Italian goopy cheese-and-tomato dishes, big portions, lots of courses and all the Paul Masson red you could drink. For $25.95, I got veal parmigiana, thick minestrone, garlic bread, mostaccioli and a cappuccino so rich it doubled as dessert. For $2 more, Bobbie ordered scampi.

At 10 p.m., we lined up at the Stardust in front of Wayne Newton Theatre, which opened Jan. 24. We weren’t serious fans of Newton, but he was Mr. Las Vegas. We had ordered tickets six weeks in advance and got front-row seats.

For two hours and 20 minutes, Newton sang rock, he sang country, he sang ballads, he sang his heart out. He played the guitar, the banjo, the piano, the violin and the harmonica. In the middle of the show, while the 23-piece orchestra played “Suspicious Minds” for a good 20 minutes, Newton leaped into the audience, shook hands with two dozen men and kissed at least 100 women, singling out the young and the beautiful.

For a little nostalgia, on Sunday morning we drove downtown and returned to the county office where we were married. I introduced myself to a couple filing papers with a clerk.

The groom was Daniel Cortes, 22, soon to wed Nicole Claybrooks, 19, both of Kingman, Ariz. Cortes was more laid-back than I was during my last minutes of freedom. He said they were getting married here because it was “easy, 1-2-3, bang-bang-bang.”

Bobbie and I walked three blocks north to Fremont Street and Binion’s Horseshoe, which we had picked for a quick experiment in gambling because it looked old. The casino was paneled in dark woods and suggested an earlier, though not more innocent, era.

Bobbie sat down to play a slot machine. This was her first time, after a lifetime of thrift. She put in three quarters and got five back. “I’m going to take the money and run,” she said nervously.

We found a roulette table with a friendly-looking dealer named Bob. Neither of us had played a table game, so we asked Bob if he could help us bet $5 on black 28 in honor of our anniversary.

“Would you like your winnings in nickels or quarters?” Bob asked, tongue in cheek.

At 10:23 a.m., Table W-2, Bob spun the wheel on our first bet. The ball landed on black 28.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could do that!” Bobbie said. “OK, we’re ready to play.”

“Uh, ma’am, you just won $175,” Bob said.

I tipped him $10, and Bobbie ran to the cashier. She said we might not have to wait another 28 years to go to Las Vegas again.

*

Barry Zwick is a Times assistant news editor.

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Budget for Two

Air fare, Burbank to Las Vegas: $302.00

Algiers Hotel, 1 night: 70.85

Rental car: 47.58

Liberace Museum: 13.90

Elvis-A-Rama: 9.95

Tickets, Wayne Newton: 89.90

Drinks, Riviera lounge: 7.50

Lunch, Fong’s Garden: 11.65

Dinner, Battista’s: 66.81

Other meals: 14.94

Parking: 19.00

Gas: 9.66

Tips: 16.00

FINAL TAB: $679.74

*

Algiers, 2845 S. Las Vegas Blvd., Las Vegas, NV 89109; tel. (800) 732-3361 or (702) 735-3311. Liberace Museum, 1775 E. Tropicana Ave.; tel. (702) 798-5595. Elvis-A-Rama, 3401 Industrial Road; tel. (702) 309-7200. Newton tickets, (800) 824-6033, Ext. 6325.