Excerpt from Halls of Fame

And There Was Evening and There Was Morning

Las Vegas has a city-wide knack for smoothing over the gaps between day and night, literally and metaphorically. Days, it seems, outnumber the nights here. Outlast them, too. Slipping us seamlessly into afterhours with its light, Las Vegas can shut all our nightmares out. Nowhere else in America have I seem whole families by the dozens walking down the sidewalk of a large city such as this — holding hands, taking photos, laughing, drinking, buying souvenirs at 4 a.m.

To come to Las Vegas is to gorge one's senses to the point of ecstasy. It is a light-happy world in which darkness — spiritually, ethically, and literally — does not exist. All liquor in Las Vegas, for example, is free. All the all-you-can-eat buffets are nearly free. The hotel rooms are practically free. Sunshine's constant. Water's ever ready. Sex is as easy to grab as the escort pamphlets passed out by kids along the Strip. It is the fastest growing city in the United States and, according to Money Magazine, boasts the largest number of college graduates who park cars for a living, earning an estimated $70,000 per year, net. Ancient Egypt shares a block with medieval Europe, across the street from New York City, beside a little Italian village, a pirate's cove, a circus tent, ancient Rome, modern Paris, Venice, Rio, New Orleans, the Titanic in its glory before "that dark and dreadful night." And all of it is spotlit by theatrical light wizards — from the largest hotel in the world, to the kiosks selling t-shirts. The residents, businesses, and visitors to Las Vegas use almost $800 million worth of electricity every year. And it is this electric light that sets the terms for experience here. Light sets the stage; we all know our cues.

Tonight, across the street, a man's been wandering among the traffic in the intersection, the busiest four corners in the world, I'm told. He's not saying anything, just swerving around cars. He's been wandering for a half-hour, nearly struck several times. When the cops finally arrive they sit the man down on the curb, take his name, home address, make sure he has a place to sleep tonight, and then leave. They don't arrest him or cuff him. They don't do anything about the man because he's done nothing wrong. He isn't drunk, isn't high, isn't mentally deranged. The man's just tired, the cops tell me before they leave. He's a tourist from Europe and hasn't slept in three days — overstimulated by the crowds, the pace, the lights, they say. It's a condition among tourists that's nearly epidemic in this town, known in local precincts as "Vegas Syndrome."

Copyright 2001 by John D'Agata. All rights reserved