I’m a history buff. I’m not the fact-spewing, expert on the “Battle of the Bulge” kind of history buff. I love the stories behind the stories. Those stories that reveal the humanity of our revered heroes and reviled villains. I’m drawn by the ability to connect with the times, the people, to imagine what it really was like. I have been on a somewhat tumultuous journey this past year to discover the truth about the history I was taught, the reality of the history I wasn’t, to give context to what was, to get a more complete picture of where we have come from. It’s the best way to understand how we got to where we are.

Last year at this same time, Jeff and I took another trip to Vegas. At drinks one night we mentioned to our friend Joey, who has spent a lot of time in the area living and/or working, that we wanted to go out for a great steak dinner. He said, “I’ve got the place, but you gotta trust me.” As we left the bright lights of the strip behind and headed towards an older part of town, I must admit I was a little concerned. That concern grew when he pulled up in front of what was basically a strip mall right on Sahara Avenue. Joey continued to reassure us as we hesitantly walked into the dark restaurant. The woman who greeted us asked if we were there for dinner and I said, “We haven’t decided yet.”

She smiled and said, “Best steak in town. You won’t regret it.”

We said our goodbyes to Joey as the woman led us to our table. What we didn’t know at the time was that Joey was secretly arranging to pay our bill as an anniversary gift. Our hostess motioned towards our booth and said, “Here we go, this is Sammy’s booth. But would you like me to give you a tour before I seat you?”

I asked her what she meant and she began to tell us the fascinating history of the Golden Steer.

Back in the late fifties, when the restaurant first opened, Las Vegas was one of the more segregated cities in the west. Sammy Davis Jr. was performing nightly, headlining at the Frontier Casino, but was not allowed to stay at any of the hotels or eat in any of the fine restaurants on the strip. He was good enough to perform for them, but not acceptable to dine with them. He, along with other African American performers, were relegated to the off-strip boarding houses and restaurants. It just so happened that the Golden Steer was conveniently located near where Sammy stayed, and welcomed him. It soon became one of his favorite hangouts. He eventually introduced his Rat Pack buddies (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Joey Bishop) to the Steer and they also became regulars. With Frank came some of his “associates.” To this day you can still rent the back room where some of the most significant mafia meetings in Las Vegas took place. The room had a secret exit, but it has since been closed off due to drunken bachelor/bachelorette parties getting out of hand. As I stared at the long table, I couldn’t help but wonder whose murders were planned there, how much cash was counted, what nefarious plots were plotted.

Muhammad Ali celebrated his birthday here not too long ago. And OJ made the Golden Steer his final meal before entering prison. You won’t find that kind of helpful information on Yelp.

After a tour of the various booths (“That’s Marilyn’s booth. After she and Joe DiMaggio split, he would sit in the booth across from her while she tormented him with the amorous encounters of her latest suitor.”) we were seated back in Sammy’s booth. Even though thousands of other rear ends have planted themselves on the original leather that still covers the seats, there’s just something special about knowing that a true legend once sat there. We soon realized that, not only was the food amazing, the staff was also part of the living history of the restaurant. Many have been there for 30-40 years. The bartender once wooed Sinatra’s girl right out from under him back in the 70’s. Walking through that door feels like going through a time warp back into another era.

This year, when trying to decide where to go for our anniversary dinner, it was an easy choice. As we told the hotel bell-hop who flagged our taxi where we were going, he gave us an approving nod and said, “Now THAT’S the place to go!”

The same hostess from our previous visit greeted us and led us to our booth. I longingly passed Sammy’s and Dean’s, Frank’s and Marilyn’s. I imagined what this place was like back then. I could still see them.

 Marilyn and Joe having dinner at the Golden Steer

We scooted in and Jeff asked her, “Whose booth is this?”

She replied, “This is Mr. Baxter’s booth,”

Didn’t ring a bell. I’m a huge fan of old movies and music, and I racked my brain but couldn’t think of anyone named Baxter.

She saw our confusion and said, “Mr. Baxter began coming here 55 years ago, when he was a teenager. He courted here, proposed to his girlfriend here, and they were married here. They are still married to this day. He’s spent a lot of time and money here, so we gave him his own booth. ”

Although mildly disappointed that we weren’t at Elvis’ booth (apparently a favorite of Motley Crue when they are in town)it was kind of cool that we were celebrating our anniversary  in the booth of this long-married couple.

A short time later our hostess came by again and said, “It’s Mr. Baxter.”

Jeff, thinking she had forgotten that she had told us that, said, “Yes. Mr. Baxter’s booth.”

She replied, “No. Over there. That’s Mr. Baxter and his wife. It’s his booth that you’re sitting in.”

Suddenly sitting there felt very wrong. “Doesn’t Mr. Baxter want to sit in his own booth? Should we move?” I asked.

She said, “No, he’s perfectly fine back there in DiMaggio’s booth.”

This had changed the whole dynamic of our meal. We couldn’t stop sneaking glances at the infamous Mr. Baxter. Was he annoyed we were in his booth? There was an instant need to rise to the occasion of being in Mr. Baxter’s booth in front of Mr. Baxter. I found myself laughing a little louder. Look Mr. Baxter, we are enjoying your booth. I am sitting with my best posture. I am using my best manners. We are worthy to sit in your booth.

Jeff whispered, “Mr. Baxter looks a little like Jack Nicholson.” He did.

Jeff whispered again, “Mr. Baxter has a flip phone. Like old-school Nokia flip phone. ”

Me, whispering back, “Like 90’s?”

Jeff, “No, not that old. But old. And sturdy.” Like Mr. Baxter. Maybe Mr. Baxter was able to eat here all the time because he was so frugal with his phone.

After dinner we waited for our cab in the bar, which is also the entry to the restaurant. One of the people at the bar was a woman who worked there, but had come in on her day off, just to hang out. After Mr. and Mrs. Baxter left, the woman said to the bartender, “You should let Mrs. Baxter fix you up. Then the six of us can go out.”

The bartender replied, “She’d fix me up all right. With the devil.”

How do you not love a place like this?

Coming soon- Three Musketeers, Superman, Kurt Cobain and Wayne Brady is No Joke (Vegas part 3)