Being Oscar: From Mob Lawyer to Mayor of Las Vegas

by Oscar Goodman

  “A bottle of gin,” I said.

  They had no idea what a bottle of gin was. I took several other questions, said goodbye, and headed back to City Hall. As I was leaving, the principal said she, the teachers, and the students really enjoyed my visit.

  By the time I got back to the office, the phones were ringing off the hook. Reporters from newspapers, television, and radio were calling.

  “How could you tell fourth graders to drink gin?” they wanted to know.

  Again, it was a question of taking some information and getting it twisted so that it would make a better story. I don’t know who turned me in. There were some other politicians and elected officials at the school that morning, and I think one of them called the media. So now I had to deal with another controversy.

  I decided the best way to address it was head-on.

  “I gave an honest answer,” I said. “I’m the George Washington of mayors.”

  Not everyone was happy with the answer, but a few days later I was speaking at a Rotary Club luncheon and one of the cocktail waitresses came up to me and said she appreciated my honesty. Then she laughed. She said if someone had asked her husband that question, he would have said “porn.”

  I think people want their elected officials to be honest. They can see through the bullshit. The problem with politicians today is they’re so worried about getting re-elected that they focus more on polls and worry more about public perception than about doing their job.

  I loved being mayor. And I loved the fact that people liked me. For years when I was a defense attorney, I lived in a cocoon. Part of it was the nature of my job and the people I had to deal with. Not only was the job time-consuming, but I had to worry about law enforcement trying to entrap me, so I became ultra-cautious and maybe a little paranoid. But paranoia doesn’t mean you aren’t being targeted.

  When I was involved in criminal defense, I would wake up, go to my office, go to court, go home, have a martini and dinner, and go to bed. Then I’d get up the next day and start it all over again. If I had a case out of town, I’d fly out on a Sunday night and wouldn’t be back until Friday evening. I talked to my clients, I dealt with judges and prosecutors, and I spent lots of time in my hotel room prepping for the next day’s court session.

  I’d have dinner in my room or in the hotel restaurant, and then I’d have a martini or two at the hotel bar. It was a regimented existence based partly on the nature of my job, which I took very seriously, and partly on my distrust of the way law enforcement played the game. I was an advocate for some high-profile criminals and, as a result, I became a target.

  Being mayor was an entirely different experience. For the first time in almost thirty years, I was able to interact with everyone and anyone. I could say and do what I wanted. If I made a mistake—and as much as it pains me to admit it, occasionally I did—it could be corrected. If you make a mistake in a criminal trial, your client ends up in prison. You usually don’t get a “do-over.” But in politics and government, you always have a second chance, and sometimes a third chance. It’s a work in progress.

  I really came to enjoy that. And let’s be honest, I also enjoyed the public adulation. There were times when I’d feel like a rock star. I’d show up at a casino or a local restaurant and people would come up to shake my hand, to get a picture taken with me, to ask for my autograph. I billed myself as the “happiest mayor in the universe,” and while that was a branding device, it also was true. The attention was like a narcotic. I was on a high and always wanted more. Anybody who says they don’t enjoy that is lying.

  We made fake casino chips with my caricature on them inscribed with the words “Happiest Mayor of the Greatest City in the World.” I would give those out wherever I went. During my three terms in office, I think there were more than twenty bobblehead dolls made in my likeness. There was the pinstriped suit and baseball bat. Another was a pinstriped suit and a martini. You can also see me in tennis togs and in a hula skirt, among other things.

  All the attention was remarkable, and I loved it.

  Gin and martinis are important to me; I don’t try to hide that. And a few years after I became mayor, I was able to parlay it into a windfall. I was asked to be the spokesperson/pitchman for Bombay Sapphire gin. My friends Larry Ruvo and Michael Severino set it up, and I jumped at the chance.

  The deal included a payment of $100,000. I donated half to the Meadows School that Carolyn had founded, and the other half I gave to a program set up to combat alcoholism among the homeless. I’m still out there pitching for Bombay, although I haven’t brought the topic up with any other fourth graders recently.

  But I do try to mention gin or a martini in any adult conversation I’m having. It’s my way of being a good representative for Bombay Sapphire. I did just that while I was in Washington, D.C., at a U.S. Conference of Mayors’ gathering, and was asked to go on a radio talk show with Mayor Pat McCrory of Charlotte, North Carolina, who is now the governor.

  The topic of the conference was a plan by the federal government to designate Yucca Mountain, which was located about ninety miles from Las Vegas, as a nuclear waste site. I opposed the plan, and eventually fought it and won. Even when I stopped actively practicing criminal law, it seemed like I was still battling the federal government at every turn. They wanted to dump nuclear waste at the site and they offered no safety guarantees—at least none that satisfied me. They also planned to transport this stuff virtually through the city of Las Vegas. I said I would lay down on the railroad tracks or the highway to block any train or truck that was moving nuclear waste through our city. It was another example of the feds trying to do whatever they wanted to whomever they wanted. This time it wasn’t a criminal matter, although you could argue, and I certainly did, that what they planned was criminal, not to mention potentially life-threatening and environmentally devastating.

  So we were on the radio talking about that topic, but somehow the conversation drifted. I had been on the Atkins diet at the time, and I started to rave about how effective it was. I ended by saying, “It’s the only diet I’ve ever been on that allows me to drink a quart of gin a night.”

  The next day, when I got back to Las Vegas, there was a huge basket stuffed with Atkins food products and diet books, and a note from Dr. Atkins thanking me for the nice things I had said about his no-carb diet. I got on the phone and called the doctor to thank him in return for the basket of goodies. We talked for awhile and then he said, “Where in the world did you get the idea that you could drink a bottle of gin a night?”

  I told him I had read that in the back of his book. “It says that gin has just a trace of carbs,” I told him, quoting from his own work.

  He laughed and said the next edition would have an asterisk next to that with an Oscar Goodman disclaimer.

  Those were just some of the perks that came with being mayor. In fact, “perks” is probably not the right word. These were really opportunities, rather than the gratuities I used to get as a criminal defense attorney. But as mayor, I was happy to take advantage of them.

  I also tried to establish my own sense of Las Vegas history.

  Steve Sebelius, a Las Vegas political pundit, accused me of creating the founding date of the City of Las Vegas on May 15, 1905 so I could be assured that the city centennial would take place while I was in office. He insisted the real date was in 1911 when the city was officially incorporated. I told him to go jump in the lake, and we celebrated the centennial in 2005.

  Another opportunity—and this was the greatest one yet—was a chance to do a photo shoot for Playboy. I’m not much of a photographer, but I jumped at the chance when they asked me to be the first elected official to work as a “guest” photographer. They told me no other politician would think of doing it.

  “That’s for me,” I said.

  The shoot was to take place in the “Playboy Suite” of the Palms Casino-Hotel. You can imagine what the room looked like; a huge bed, lots of mirrors, and this big picture o
f Hugh Hefner on the wall behind the headboard. I got there early, and the staff could see I was a little nervous. You see, I knew I would have to answer to a higher authority—my wife.

  There was a whole crew in the room and then in walked Irina Voronina, the Russian model who was the playmate for January 2001. Blonde hair, blue eyes, in perfect shape. Not a blemish on her body—just gorgeous. She was wearing a red satin robe.

  The crew was making small talk, trying to get me to relax. Someone poured me a martini. Irina and I chatted, and I tried to focus on her face and have a discussion. I relaxed a little. I can do this, I thought. Just aim and shoot. Out came the cameras, and off came her robe. Then very slowly she took off her bra and then her panties. I figured she did this slowly so as not to shock me and cause my heart to burst through my chest.

  I was determined to make this work and not to take any pictures that would embarrass my family. Then I looked up and saw Hefner staring at me. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t focus. His portrait was distracting. They hung some of Irina’s undergarments over the picture, but that didn’t do any good. So we took Hef’s picture down off the wall and put it in the closet.

  After that, I was fine. The shoot went off without a hitch, and I got some nice pictures. Before we left, we took Hefner’s portrait out of the closet and put it back up on the wall behind the bed.

  When I got home that night, Carolyn greeted me with a kiss, handed me a martini, and said one of the misanthropic pundits from the local media had called her and asked, “What do you think of your husband taking pictures of a naked lady?”

  Carolyn is sharp. She was ready.

  “All I can tell you is that Oscar came home with a smile on his face,” she told the reporter.

  Later I got invited to the fiftieth anniversary party of Playboy at Hefner’s mansion. It was awesome; game rooms, tennis courts, a zoo, and a stunning pool area that included a patio, a grotto, a sauna, and a bathhouse. The event was packed. Hollywood movie stars, athletes, movers and shakers, all in various stages of undress.

  Hef took the stage and made a speech. Then he said, “I want you all to meet my good friend Oscar Goodman. Oscar’s the guy who put me back in the closet.”

  Being mayor wasn’t all fun and games, of course. But I also enjoyed the battles that came with being in office. I like to say that my twelve years were “Biblical”—there was feast and there was famine. The economy played a big part in that. Las Vegas always is at risk when there is a downturn, and the horror of September 11, 2001, was also a factor.

  I had always been a staunch supporter of organized labor, and the unions in turn had largely supported me politically. I refused to attend the grand opening of the Hofbräuhaus, a massive restaurant and beer hall that opened in 2004. Both the Jewish Defense League and the Carpenter’s Union were picketing the place—the JDL because Hitler had begun planning the Third Reich at a meeting in the original Hofbräuhaus in Germany, and the Carpenters Union because of some labor issues in the construction of the place.

  I honored the union’s line and wouldn’t attend the grand opening.

  In another instance, the Culinary Union, which has more than 70,000 members in our city, had thrown up an invisible picket line around Sheldon Adelson’s Venetian Hotel. The Jewish Federation wanted to hold a fundraiser there with me as the honoree. I refused to cross the picket line (even though, because it was “invisible,” there were actually no union members marching with picket signs). They moved the event to another hotel. That resulted in bad blood between Adelson and me, but I hope that time has begun to heal it.

  I believed in what unions stood for, or at least in what they used to stand for: protecting the worker and making sure he or she got a fair deal in exchange for an honest day’s work. I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore. I think unions have become vehicles for their leadership to wield power and leverage deals for their own benefit, rather than for their membership.

  I clashed with the Culinary Union over development plans for downtown. Specifically, we went to war over a proposal to build a new city hall. The union packed a city council meeting at which this project was being discussed. I looked out and saw this sea of red-shirted union members. I’m not sure they knew why they were there, but their leadership had called them out.

  We intended to use city redevelopment funds to pay for the cost of the next city hall. It was a crucial part of the downtown revitalization. Redevelopment funds were also crucial to other projects that were planned for that area. But the union, or at least its pseudo-intellectual leaders, decided to rail against the proposal, arguing that taxpayers would foot the bill for these projects. That wasn’t the case, but that didn’t stop the union leadership from calling the plan “financially irresponsible” and claiming that taxpayers would be “on the hook” if the plan went forward.

  The union decided to petition for an “initiative,” which would have put the plan up for a public vote. This not only jeopardized the new City Hall plan, but all the projects for downtown. If every one of them had to be decided by a public vote, we’d never be able to move forward. The easiest way to get a “no” vote is to claim that whatever is planned is going to increase taxes. The claim doesn’t have to be true to be effective. That’s what we had to deal with.

  I spoke out against the initiative and the union. “They’re evil,” I said of the proponents of the initiative. “There’s no question in my mind that the leadership of the Culinary Union is using this as leverage. They’re trying to blackmail the city. They want us to guarantee them jobs in all this new development. This has nothing to do with a new City Hall.”

  Right after that, Carolyn’s and my cars were vandalized. Two large boulders that decorated our front lawn next to our carport were heaved through the back windows of our cars. We had the windows repaired, and two days later the boulders were thrown through the windows again. They were so big it would have taken more than one person to lift and throw them.

  After a court fight and a lawsuit, the union backed away from its plan for an initiative. But the whole process soured me on organized labor. This redevelopment project was going to create new jobs and generate new taxes for the city. Why would an organization that represents workers—any kind of workers—oppose something like that when the economy was tanking and people were losing jobs? I just didn’t get it.

  Today I question whether unions have outlived their usefulness. Many are now tools of their leaders, a few self-aggrandizing jerks who make decisions without consulting the rank-and-file. When they are doing what they’re supposed to do, unions help advance the public good. But today, unions, and particularly those leading unions, have lost touch with reality.

  I came up against the unions again when they represented the city workers. It was another battle that we fought and won, but the fact that we had to fight at all is what bothered me. We were in tough economic times—not just Las Vegas, but the whole country. We can argue forever about how we got there and who was to blame, but part of being a leader is to address the problem. When something goes wrong, you can either try to fix it, or look for somebody to blame. Playing the blame game may be good politics, but it’s not good government.

  I told the unions that we had to make cuts. If the unions were willing to make concessions—we were looking for something like an eight percent cut in wages and/or benefits—then I would guarantee that there would be no layoffs. This wasn’t a complicated issue, and I figured the union membership would go along. You take a cut to save your brother and sister union members’ jobs.

  It’s about sacrifice, another concept that seems to have gotten lost in the world of politics and government today. The union rejected my offer. I called them “selfish” and they called me a bully. I said I intended to fire everyone and then rehire based on the economic realities we were facing. This created panic, not only with the workers, but with the city attorney, who told me if I did that we’d spend the next twenty years fighting all the lawsuits that would be filed
and that would bankrupt the city.

  So I backed off, not because I thought I was wrong, but because the city attorney’s legal position may have had some merit. The only other option was layoffs, and I said that’s what we would have to do. The economy, the numbers, just didn’t add up. There had to be some cuts. The workers understood this, and they knew I meant business.

  Eventually the union came to the table, and we worked out a deal that saved everyone’s job. But the entire experience reinforced my thoughts about organized labor. Union leaders don’t really represent workers anymore, they just use them as leverage. They’re like politicians; their only goal is to stay in office. They care more about their salaries and benefits than they do about the wages and jobs of their members.

  You would think someone in a leadership role in organized labor would wake up and address that problem before it’s too late. Look around: governors in Wisconsin and New Jersey have developed huge followings in part by bashing unions as unreasonable and unrealistic. It’s a message that resonates with taxpayers, particularly taxpayers who have lost their jobs or had their wages cut. That’s reality, and elected officials and union leaders need to recognize it.

  CHAPTER 16

  TO ROME, WITH SHOWGIRLS

  I accomplished a lot of the things I set out to do when I became mayor, but one of the things I wasn’t able to get was a professional sports team. It’s a battle that I’m still fighting.

  If Las Vegas is going to be a world-class city, and I think it should be, then we need a professional team. It’s not about helping the economy. There’s no guarantee that a team will attract more visitors, generate more tourist dollars, create jobs and employment. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t. But what a team will do is add to our sense of identity, and that can’t be measured in dollars. It’s an intangible, but one that I’m willing to fight for.

  As I’ve said before, I’m a degenerate gambler. I have been all my life. I’ll bet on anything, anytime, anywhere. I grew up playing sports and following sports, so I guess it was natural that I liked to bet on sports. I don’t see anything wrong with it. I’m not influencing the outcome of a game, and I understand that over the long haul, I’m not going to win. That’s the bottom line. I know that going in, but I still love to bet. Maybe I’ll figure out a winning system; it’s every gambler’s hope.