Ellen is single, so it only reasons that I’d have more memories of her during my single years than I would of my other sisters who are married.  That’s not to diminish the times I’ve spent with Ellen, because they have been some of my favorite times of all, but I felt the need to explain why her name continues to pop up with more frequency than my other sisters.

Ellen and I have shared several vacations together, one of which we spent in Las Vegas.  I’ve since gone back to Vegas with Ellen, but our first trip was indeed my favorite.  I’m sure I’ll write more about this particular vacation, but since the current topic is live music, I’ll keep my thoughts to a particular memory of our trip.

Without checking through old plane ticket stubs (I’ve held on to those, too), I’d guess that my first trip to Vegas was in early 1995.  The MGM Grand still had its theme park open, the Bellagio; New York, New York; and the Venetian hadn’t yet been built on the strip, and they were just preparing for construction of the massive roof that would eventually encompass the street downtown.  This trip, we stayed downtown at the Golden Nugget.  It’s a fine hotel, but frankly, we didn’t spend much time there other than to shower and sleep.  We really only chose it because hotel fare was cheaper off the strip but we still wanted to stay some place nice.  The Golden Nugget turned out to be even nicer than I had imagined.

After about our fifth day, the lights, noise, and constant activity that defines Las Vegas began to wear on us, and then we began to wear on each other.  I decided to head out on my own and Ellen stayed in the room.  Before I got too far, only about a block away, I could hear the obvious rhythm of a live band.  The music was coming from a club called The Fremont Street Reggae and Blues, which unfortunately closed only a few years later in 1996 when its owner moved back to Omaha.  The club was dark and I couldn’t make out much from the street, so I started to forgo the ten dollar entrance price and walk away. I only walked a few doors away when the the allure of the club beckoned me back.  There was an adventure to be had and ten dollars wasn’t a lot to risk on a new experience. I walked up to the people collecting money at the door and it was only then that I discovered the money was being raised for a local cause. I reasoned that if the experience didn’t turn out to be worth ten dollars, I was at least contributing to something beneficial.

I walked in, took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer, and watched the show. The band was playing great, but as soon as the song was over, they thanked the audience and left the stage.  My disappointment ended quickly when the MC announced the name of the next band to take the stage.  It turned out that they were hosting many local bands who were all playing for the charity.  I don’t know if I ordered and finished a second beer or not, but I do know that I got my hand stamped at the door and ran back to the hotel to get Ellen.  She seemed a little reluctant to leave the room at first, probably because I had started grating on her even more than I had realized, but she eventually relented and followed me out and down the street to the Fremont Street Reggae and Blues where I eagerly paid her entrance fee.

I don’t know how long we spent in that dark club on that bright, sunny day, because it was one of those experiences where time seemed to have no meaning.  We watched many bands and we drank many more beers.  And when we finally did leave that club, whatever problems we had with each other were long left behind.  In fact, I don’t have the slightest idea what petty dispute or annoying habit caused us to go our separate ways in the first place.  All I do know is that I’m thankful I decided to stop into that bar, and even more thankful that I had the good sense to share it with my sister.  I also know that I heard the most amazing rendition of Magic Carpet ride that day that couldn’t be surpassed if Steppenwolf themselves came and played it in my living room.

"As life is action and passion, it is required of a man that he should share the passion and action of his time, at the peril of being not to have lived.”
Oliver Wendell Holmes