My father, Joseph Stutz, died Dec. 5 at the age 95. My mother, Lois Stutz, passed away on April 25 at the age of 91. We knew in our hearts that dad and mom couldn’t be apart for long.
They were not gamblers and never ventured to the Strip unless my wife and I took them to a show or dinner. Their biggest wager paid off with a loving 59-year marriage.
Their passing has left me with a flood of memories and stories. Some of those anecdotes surround a family trip to Las Vegas in the early 1970s when I was teenager and the numerous times they visited the city before moving to permanently to Summerlin in 1994.
In the summer of 1972, my parents brought the family to Las Vegas. I remember flying into McCarran Airport and seeing how sparse the city looked from the air.
We stayed at the Las Vegas Hilton and Elvis Presley was performing that week. Dad said if he had won enough money in the casino, he would take us to the show. It didn’t happen. We spent the days hanging out by the pool and playing miniature golf.
One night, we had tickets to see Wayne Newton at the Sands. Dad found the maître d and dropped the name of my mom’s cousin by marriage, Dr. Mitchell Zweig, a Beverley Hills surgeon. “How is the good doctor,” said the maître d, as dad greased his palm with a few bills. We ended up in a wonderful booth to enjoy the show.
In some ways, I credit my parents with introducing me to Las Vegas through that visit.
Mom and dad supported my move to the city after college when I was hired as sports writer with the Las Vegas Sun in 1982. They visited often during my journalism and communications career.
A few weeks after I moved to Las Vegas, my parents drove up from Southern California to deliver some furniture and visit the Strip. However, it was New Year’s Eve and mom and dad spent the night of December 31 in a Boulder City motel. That now seems prophetic since they are to be interred next week at the beautiful Southern Nevada Veterans Cemetery in Boulder City.
They had a room at the original MGM Grand (now Bally’s Las Vegas) for New Year’s night where the three of us saw Mac Davis perform in the Celebrity Room. Before the show, dad handed mom $20 to play the slot machines. She returned about 20 minutes later in which dad remarked, “So you lost the $20?” Mom handed him back $20 and then showed him the $100 she won hitting a jackpot. The money went into her purse.
That same night, I decided to try blackjack. Mom stood behind me as I played a few $5 hands without much success. An older woman sat two seats over from us, smoking a cigarette while she gambled. After I busted on another poorly-played hand, mom half-jokingly scolded me, which I responded, “Ok mom.” The older woman looked at us and commented, “She’s not your mother.” When I explained I was her son, the lady took another a puff from the cigarette, and said, “That’s just how you two checked into the hotel.”
Mom and I shared a good laugh.
My parents loved the desert and I always thought they would retire to a house on a golf course in Palm Springs, Calif. Instead, they followed me to Las Vegas when my daughter was born. They found the economic and social benefits that drew many seniors to Southern Nevada in the 1980s and 1990s.
Dad occupied his time playing golf. He also marshaled at the Sun City Summerlin golf courses. He worked as a volunteer for annual PGA Golf Tournament. Mom played tennis, swam, walked and read.
They were especially proud when their neighbors would point out one of my gaming columns or articles during my nearly 12 years with the Las Vegas Review-Journal.
Dad and I often golfed together before and after he moved to town. In the early 1990s, they stayed at the Riviera and I picked up dad for our golf game early one morning.
He was laughing when I arrived and he told me how he had been propositioned by a woman, inviting him to go back to a room “for a good time.” He told her, “I have a better offer. My son is picking me up to play golf.”
My dad always had a good line.
Howard Stutz oversees corporate communications for Golden Entertainment, Inc.
