Question of the Day - 13 July 2023

We too have always been fond of the stained-glass dome (technically, "Tiffany-style" glass) that provides the ceiling above the main pit at the Tropicana.

It was installed in 1979 as part of a major investment by the Ramada Corporation, which took over the Tropicana that year after a succession of underworld owners and scandals led to the deterioration of the casino that, when it opened in April 1957, was known as the Tiffany of the Strip (perhaps where the Tiffany-glass misnomer originated for the domed ceiling).

The ceiling encompasses 4,000 square feet and was said to have cost $1 million to install (around $4.2 million today). The leaded stained-glass was so heavy that engineers had to suspend it on pneumatic shock absorbers to account for building vibrations from the air-conditioners; in effect, the ceiling remains stationary and the casino vibrates around it. It made quite a splash when it was unveiled; Las Vegas wasn't exactly known for stained glass at the time and still isn't.

The demise of the ceiling has been rumored at various times over the years, as plans to renovate the Trop have come and gone. The last time, as we recall, was in 2013, when a big redo (mostly a 300,000-square-foot shopping mall and food court) was announced. Didn't happen. What did was that the ceiling was "refreshed" (mainly dusted, repaired, and colors added) a couple of years earlier. It's been exactly the same ever since.

As for what will happen to it when, or if, the Tropicana goes through its next incarnation as the Oakland A's MLB stadium is, or isn't, built, necessitating the razing, or not, of the Trop casino and towers is anyone's guess. It's perhaps one of the smaller details of the A's, Bally's Corp., and Gaming and Leisure Properties' plans for the post-stadium property. 

But if we had to guess, we'd say it probably won't survive. As we mentioned, none of the plans for the Trop over the years has included the ceiling and it's hard for us to imagine today's casino corporations dismantling it piece by piece, packaging it, and storing it. For what? Who'd buy it? And where would it go? It certainly doesn't have a place in Major League Baseball and it probably doesn't in any new incarnation of the Tropicana, which according to the absurdly out-of-scale renderings of the stadium show the casino to be about the size of this writer's house. 

It would be a shame to lose it, but that's the way of the history-averse or, at the very least, non-sentimental casino industry.