Today was my Day of One Hundred Stars (well, ten anyway). I encountered celebrities, both genuine and faux, all through the day. After graciously returning some of last night's winnings to the Dunes via the blackjack tables, I attended an afternoon question-and-answer period at the Desert Inn. The featured guests were Jerry Lewis, hailed in France as comic genius, and the ever-perky Debbie Reynolds. Jerry and Debbie began a run Wednesday night in the Inn's Crystal Room and I suppose this gathering served to provide a little publicity.

I had the opportunity to meet Lewis before the show but regrettably, I was unable to glean any inside information regarding his hair and how it gets that way. During the Q & A session, he fed us his usual mix of humility and pomposity, name-dropping with alacrity and reminding us repeatedly how tough it can be in "this crazy business."

He did share one interesting story about his early days in Vegas that bears repeating. He and Dean Martin had just found popularity and were booked to play the Flamingo. They were earning $5,000 a week which, less their agent's cut, left each $2,250 in take-home pay. Lewis was around 19 at the time and he was enjoying himself immensely in the Flamingo's casino. So much so that, in less than a week, he'd run up a tab of $185,000. Bugsy Siegel called Lewis into his office and confronted him with the bill. "Where," he demanded to know, "do you get the nerve, the unmitigated gall, to run up a bill of that magnitude when you're taking home 2,500 a week?"

Lewis didn't really know who Siegel was; he didn't know his reputation but he sensed he was in deep water. At a loss, he decided to go on the offensive. "Where," he blasted back, "do you get the nerve to let me run up a bill like that? Your people know me, they all know what I make. Why'd they let me keep gambling?"

Siegel thought a moment and asked, "How old are you?" "19," came the answer. "Well, you almost didn't get to see 20. But you're right, we were stupid."

Siegel agreed to hold the bill until Lewis could pay it off; four days later, the mobster was gunned down. Lewis and Martin went on to take in six million dollars in the next 12 months, so the debt was repaid. In the years since, Lewis said, countless wise guys have come up to him to pay their respects for two reasons. First, that he had the nerve to stand up to the volatile Siegel and second, because he had been good for the debt.

Debbie Reynolds was a breath of fresh air; she takes herself much less seriously than does Lewis. Her chat was filled with much self-deprecating humor and warmth (and not a little gossip). She mentioned Nat "King" Cole as one of her favorites, so I asked her if she had known him well and did she have any remembrances to share. She recalled Cole as exceedingly gentle and kind, widely respected as performer and as a man. She said he wasn't bitter after the racial prejudice and rancor he'd encountered over the years. "It'll pass," she quoted him as saying. "The years will go by and it will all go away." I wish he'd lived to see the day; I hope I will.

After another delivery of chips to the Dunes' dealers, I attended a true Las Vegas extravaganza, the Legends in Concert show at the Imperial Palace. It's a revue featuring recreations of beloved performers, past and present. We saw Buddy Holly (mediocre at best), Roy Orbison (a little shaky), Tom Jones (feeble), the Blues Brothers (so-so), and Neil Diamond (looked like him, sang pretty well but absolutely nil in the energy department and that's Diamond's whole game).

Sammy Davis, Jr. was brought to life very well, as was Elvis. This man who would be King didn't really look like Elvis but his singing was right on the money. I was sitting right down front; the illusion was probably more effective for those seated a little further back.

The highlight of the show was the re-creation of Marilyn Monroe. The actress portraying Marilyn not only had the physical attributes and facial features to play Norma Jean, but she really captured her essence. I've always had a bit of a soft spot for Marilyn because, in her films, she usually went for the average Joe, the guy with the good heart. I know it's only the movies but still it's nice that someone appreciated the guy next door (or, as in The Seven Year Itch, the guy downstairs). Anyway, this would-be Marilyn brought some nebbish from out front up on stage and made a fuss over him. It might have been my imagination but it seemed to me that someone turned off the air-conditioning right about then; it got awfully warm in there all of a sudden.

The show was all flash: colored lights, smoke, lasers, and plenty o' dancers. Afterwards, the Elvis wanna-be was signing 8x10s in the lobby and kissing, upon request, some of the paying patrons. Pretty silly.

Next, it was back to the Dunes to drop off some chips to a dealer friend of mine. They offered an Elvis tribute show in the Oasis lounge, no cover, one-drink minimum so I thought I'd fall by. It was one of the lamest exhibitions I've ever witnessed. Now, as I've stated in these pages before, I'm no big fan of the King but if I were, a show like this would really tick me off.

Ron Hertel, the star of the show, looks a little like Elvis, I suppose, if you kind of squint your eyes but then again, put Woody Allen in a fringed jumpsuit and long sideburns and he'd look a little like Elvis. The worst of it was, the title of the show is Ron Hertel as Elvis Presley but he made precious little effort to portray the man. Between songs, he completely dropped out of character, making the sort of insidious patter Bill Murray did so well as Nick the Lounge Singer on SNL.

He sang to canned accompaniment, operating the tape deck in full view of the audience thereby totaling negating any slim chance he might have had of creating a sense of illusion. The performance didn't even have enough flair to be enjoyably bad. This bozo does five 25 minute sets each evening and if he receives 50 dollars a night for the bunch, he's vastly overpaid.

Next stop was the Stardust, where Rob Hanna does a Rod Stewart tribute show (I told you my day was filled with fake stars aplenty). He's got the hair, he's short enough, his voice has the appropriate rasp but he has a little trouble with pitch. Otherwise, not a bad show.

I've found that most of the dealers in Vegas are rather remote and aloof. This doesn't bother me particularly; most New Yorkers are the same way, I'm used to it. I met one at the Stardust, though, who was feisty, sassy, sarcastic, and even a little insulting but, in the end, quite charming. Naturally, I was smitten. Having a crush on a dealer is, of course, a dangerous state of affairs; it makes it difficult to leave the table when things aren't going well. Fortunately, I was able to summon enough will power to bid Terry adieu before too much damage was done, but I had doubled down on my heart and ended up with 22. Busted again.

Continue on the American Odyssey.
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