For this answer, we turned to our resident analyst-philosopher, Deke Castleman, who’s been writing about Las Vegas on a daily basis since he joined up with Huntington Press in 1991, but and about Nevada, including Vegas, since his first guidebook to the state was published in 1989. (And to think he’s only 29 years old.) Take it, Deke.
From a strictly historical perspective, I say no, Las Vegas should definitely not be the capital of Nevada. Carson City was indisputably destined to become the seat of the Silver State, as anyone familiar with its founding can attest (as interesting as it is, that’s a story for another time). However, let me predict here that Carson City’s destiny is so strong, it’ll remain the capital for the near and far future, even after Nevada secedes from the union and becomes its own country (which is also a different story).
In addition, I’m not convinced that political power should be concentrated with the people and the money. In fact, it might be the exact opposite. But we can argue the fine points of power versus liberty someday in Amsterdam, if you get my drift.
From a strictly symbolic point of view, on the other hand, I’d venture to say that yes, there is a case to be made for Las Vegas to be the capital of Nevada. Why? Well, to me, Nevada has always been a state of illusions.
Perhaps the grandest illusion is that Nevada is a state at all. A little more than 70 million acres comprise the seventh largest of the United States, of which the feds lay claim to 60 million -- a whopping 87.3% of the total land area, first of 50 in federal dominion. In addition, a huge chunk of central Nevada, roughly the size of Connecticut and nearly 5% of the state, is actually off-limits to civilians. Less than 13% of the state is privately owned (and most of that is by local governments, railroads, and large mining and ranching operations; only 4% is in the hands of small business and private individuals).
So what’s Carson City the capital of? The answer to that, not much, isn't meant to disparage the part of Nevada, of which I'm extremely fond, that isn't Las Vegas. It's just a commentary on how little of the land within the straight lines that define Nevada is owned and operated locally.
However, in terms of the economy, the capital is intricately tied to Nevada's primary industry, a house of cards based on castles in the air and rainbows in the sky. And here’s where Las Vegas is, as you suggest, the true capital of the Illusion State.
Though casino gambling is touted as a benign form of indoor recreation, the price of admission is both hidden and high. And though that’s the second worst-kept secret around -- everyone knows the house edge is a sleight of hand, a veritable carnival trick -- nearly 40 million out-of-staters annually succumb to that illusion. The handling of and catering to the hordes account for almost half of the taxes that make up the state’s General Fund.
The Wizard of Odds hides behind the curtain, of course, using smoke and mirrors to rake a little jack out of (almost) every bet in the house. If little is as it seems in the Illusion State, then the casino is the perfect symbol of it.
The players come in all shapes, sizes, and costumes, but they have one thing in common: They’re all pretending that losing doesn’t hurt (the compulsive gamblers are all pretending that they’re not hooked). But even the winners find out that the dream is not all it’s cracked up to be. In the rare event that you get struck by lightning, hit the big jackpot, and win a million, you can expect to clear a mere $35,000 after taxes annually for 20 years. Or, if you take the lump-sum payout, you might find that the instant fame is unwanted and the instant fortune is more destructive than productive.
Or when you see a pro win a million-dollar tournament, you can bet the rent that the latest trophy-clutching hero is cut up a dozen different ways and has to duke off half the grand prize to people who have pieces of him -- including the second-place winner, with whom he has a side deal going. And the next afternoon, they’ll both be sitting at the table, looking like everyone else.
And is it any wonder that the most prevalent form of entertainment in Las Vegas is based on magic? Lance Burton, David Copperfield, Mac King, and a score of lesser illusionists pack ‘em in by making things, big and small, disappear, or appear not to be there at all.
Meanwhile, Elvis lives, by way of hundreds of impersonators, some of whom (the Asian, African-American, teenage, and geezer varieties, for example) don’t seem overly concerned by the finer points of imposterism.
And showgirls? No matter what their shining eyes and brilliant smiles and skimpy G-strings and exposed mammaries might lead you to believe, they’re not available.
(Conversely, the "darlings of the desert" in Nevada’s legal "houses of joy" are nothing if not available, though you wouldn’t confuse one with a showgirl. Besides, they’re illegal in Las Vegas -- though their accessibility is the first worst-kept secret in the land.)
Golf is another example. Talk about trickery! Nearly five dozen duffers’ dreamscapes dot the southern state with lush greenery in the drab scenery, one of the driest locales on the planet. Among the most famous, Shadow Creek is surrounded by the scorched Mojave, while the Wynn’s links are right on the Strip, adjacent to sizzling megaresorts.
Bottom line: Nevada thrives on its make-believe business and Las Vegas is its true headquarters. So yes, when it comes to cherished illusions, Las Vegas might as well be the capital of Nevada.
