Being Oscar (31 page)

Then the Italian-Americans weighed in. They were certain that I was going to vilify them. I faced a lynch-mob-like crowd in a packed room at the Justinian Club and tried to assure them that they had no fear of defamation.

“The mob I was thinking of being featured in the museum,” I told them, “came from Bugsy Siegel, Meyer Lansky, Mo Dalitz,
Gus Greenbaum, Frank Rosenthal, and Oscar Goodman. It was the Jewish mob, and if this museum turns out the way I think it will, you’ll be begging me to let some Italians in.”

I was joking, of course, but it didn’t do much to assuage their feelings. I pulled a brilliant move, though, which cooled off all the naysayers. I was able to persuade Ellen Knowlton, who had just retired from the FBI, to become chairperson of the museum board. She went back to the Hoover Building in Washington, D.C., and convinced the folks back there that this was a worthwhile project. As a result, we’re able to display legitimate law enforcement memorabilia along with organized crime artifacts. We’ve got state-of-the-art lie-detector equipment, and we’ve got the barber chair where Albert Anastasia was killed. And we have the wall from the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, bullet holes and all.

We interviewed several individuals looking for the right person to “program” the museum. One of the candidates was Dennis Barrie, who came highly recommended. He had developed the Spy Museum in Washington, D.C., and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum in Cleveland. But for some reason, after interviewing him, I wasn’t impressed. I told Betty Fretwell, the City Manager who was also part of the process, of my concerns.

A few nights later I was channel surfing on TV. I usually watch television at night, primarily to follow a game or two where I might have a bet on the line. I came across a courtroom scene in a movie. It was called
Dirty Pictures
, and was based on actual events. James Wood, whom I had met during the filming of
Casino
, starred as a Cincinnati art museum director who was being criminally tried because he would not remove a controversial exhibition that featured photographs by Robert Mapplethorpe. Several of the photographs were sexually explicit and depicted nude children or sexual acts, including one of a man ramming his fist up another man’s anus.

The strain on the museum director, as portrayed by Wood, was overwhelming. You could see and feel what he was going through. He was defending art, and it cost him, among other things, his reputation and his marriage. I thought the movie was awesome. The museum director was the prototypical defender of the First Amendment. When I saw the credits at the conclusion of the film, I read that James Wood was portraying Dennis Barrie.

I reached for the phone and called him.

“You know, Mister Barrie, I was tepid about you,” I said. “Now you’re my hero. You are our man.”

I said the job was his, and he hasn’t disappointed.

When we had the grand opening of the Mob Museum, I got a call from Vinny Ferrara, my former client from Boston. He was in town with his soon-to-be bride, attending a boxing match. It had been a long time since I’d seen him, and I was genuinely happy he had been released from prison. We exchanged pleasantries, and he asked if he could attend the museum opening. I said sure. During opening ceremonies, Carolyn and I and Ellen were seated near the ribbon, which had been placed in front of the door. I looked out and there was Vinny in the crowd. Once the ribbon was cut and the festivities started, I lost sight of him. About an hour went by. There were interviews and photographs and lots of media. Then I saw Vinny come out of the building.

“How did you like it, Vin?” I asked.

“Oscah,” he said in that thick North End Boston accent. “It was great. But I’m pissed at you, Oscah.”

“Why?” I asked, since it’s not good having Vinny unhappy.

“Because my picture isn’t in it.”

Be assured, Vinny, your picture is now prominently displayed.

The museum has made a big difference to the city’s revitalization, but so have many of the other downtown developments. One of the first new buildings to go up was a modern bank building. The bank had been proposed, but then there was talk that it was going to be scuttled. I convinced the developer to stay in town and to build as originally planned.

We made the agora a cultural center, and it’s now a place where we have poetry readings, plays, and intimate concerts. It’s an intellectual marketplace where they give music lessons to youngsters. I walk by and I hear music wafting out onto the street. People sit by the urban river or in the park nearby, and they see children walking by with violin cases. I joke about that, comparing it to the old Las Vegas. Anytime I’m having a discussion about what’s happened, I’ll say, “This is not the first time violin cases have been seen on the streets, but this time the cases contain violins.”

I’m really proud of what we have down there, what we’ve been able to accomplish, and what might still be to come. But it took some doing, and at first I didn’t think it was going to be possible.

The river was a small step and it brought unexpected controversy. We got that little park together. I saw it as an oasis in the middle of a lot of rubble. But before you knew it, it was overrun by homeless people. This was part of the problem with the downtown area.

“What’s this homeless crap?” I asked publicly. “They’re ruining everything.”

I understand the homeless problem, and I think government has an obligation to address it. Many homeless people have chronic mental problems. Ronald Reagan didn’t do anyone any good when he cut back on funding that resulted in the closing of centers that were set up to address the issue. People poured out
onto the streets, and many of them don’t want to be anywhere else.

All cities have the problem. In Las Vegas, it’s a little different than, say, New York or Philadelphia or Chicago, because it’s always warm here. When people sleep on benches or in parks overnight, they’re not going to get frostbite. Nobody’s going to freeze to death. So we have to deal with it. If a homeless person has a mental problem, if a homeless person is someone who’s come back from overseas where he or she has served their country and now can’t take care of themselves, then the government has a moral obligation and should step in.

But there’s another segment of homeless who are able-bodied and of sound mind, but who just don’t want to conform to any kind of societal norms. They won’t use the social service centers available to them, like Catholic Charities, the Salvation Army, or the Mission, because when they use those facilities they have to leave their drugs and booze behind. I have no use for those people, and I said as much. They don’t want to work and take care of themselves. They’d rather stand on the corner all day with their hands out, almost daring people driving by in cars to hit them. I have no tolerance for them. “I’d like to run them out of town and all the way to the Pacific Ocean,” I said during one press conference.

The media went nuts. It attracted national attention, and after that I got voted the “meanest mayor in America” by some homeless advocacy groups. I didn’t care. I thought I was right, and I was going to speak my mind. I wasn’t elected to get re-elected; I was elected to lead the city. This situation with the homeless was a problem, and we were going to fix it.

Look, if you see somebody standing on a corner in an Army fatigue jacket and scarf in 115-degree desert heat, you know that person has a problem. We have to do something. I’m just
saying not all homeless people are the same. And as a government, we have to recognize the differences. That’s part of dealing with the problem.

I had another idea that added to the firestorm. There was an abandoned prison not too far outside of town on the way to the California border. I suggested that it be converted into a large shelter for the homeless. Take down the bars to the cells, and it’s not a prison; it’s just a building. You’d have a heated, airconditioned commissary and a medical facility there. The idea lasted two seconds. The headline in the local paper, front page, above the fold:

MAYOR GOODMAN WANTS TO SEND HOMELESS TO PRISON

Those were the kinds of things I had to deal with. Part of the problem with the media is that they jump for the headline without presenting the issue. Sometimes the press would rather have people shouting at one another instead of discussing and debating in a civilized manner and coming up with a solution or a compromise in order to get something done for the common good. I saw it during my twelve years as mayor, and I think we all see it on a broader scale in the national discourse. Or should I say, lack of discourse.

I had a chance to let the local newspaper know how I felt about its policies after I had been in office about a year. The
Review Journal
, the paper who ran the editorial “Anyone but Oscar for Mayor,” had an annual contest where their readers voted for “the best” and “the worst” in Las Vegas. The voting covered all kinds of topics, the best and worst places to eat, to drink, and so on. And they held a banquet where the results were announced.

I got a call inviting me to the event. I had a policy never to decline an invitation to a public event unless I had a scheduling conflict. So I said I’d attend, even though I believed I would be recognized as the “worst elected official.”

The banquet was at the MGM Grand. All the men were decked out in tuxedoes and the women in evening gowns. I sat by myself, drinking a martini. I hadn’t bothered to ask Carolyn to join me because I felt nothing good was going to take place. I didn’t like the people who were attending; they thought they were big shots. It just wasn’t my kind of crowd.

The event went on and on, boring as all get-out. And then I heard someone say, “Best Elected Official . . . Oscar Goodman.” I was floored. I took my drink in hand and climbed the stairs to the stage and looked out over a very surprised group of people. More surprised than I was, I guess. This was my chance to even the score. My acceptance speech, as best I can remember, went something like this: “Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight I am the happiest mayor in the world. This past year everything has been perfect for me with one exception. When I was elected, I had two small puppies at home. One passed away, and now I only have one puppy in the house. As a result, I don’t know what to do with the other half of the newspaper.”

Dead silence. No one knew what to do.

I raised my drink in a toast and walked off the stage. It felt great.

Then I went back to working on redeveloping the inner city.

I have a tendency to think out loud. It’s not carelessness on my part; it’s part of my Socratic training as a lawyer. You postulate an issue and look at it from all sides. You have to recognize that it may not be all black and white. Everything has a tinge of gray.

Another example: if you want a job in Las Vegas, you have to have a work card. When I took office, it was standard for the police to deny anyone with a criminal record the right to work in
the city. Criminal record? Work card denied. I called the cop who was in charge and said I wanted that to stop. I told him my philosophy. Las Vegas has always been a place for second chances; look at some of the Founding Fathers. If a business is willing to hire someone who has a criminal record—if the business owner is aware of this and still wants to give that person a chance—then the city shouldn’t stand in the way.

We got more people working that way. It was just the right thing to do.

But I was frustrated. I was six months into my first term and other than building the river, I hadn’t done much to get downtown moving. I wanted a Renaissance, but I was worried it was all going down the toilet. The thought occurred to me that I might spend the next three and a half years fighting a losing battle.