Columnist Scott Dickensheets: Finding meaning in statues a monumental task

"Every community in this country has got some piece of itself that needs to endure."

-- Bill Clinton, on saving America's monuments

CLEARLY, BILL hasn't spent enough time in Vegas.

Monuments? Listen to Frank Wright scratch his head. "I can't think of any," says the noted local historian. Sorry, people, Vegas Vic doesn't count. Nonetheless, inspired by the White House's "Save America's Treasures" initiative, a effort to rehab the nation's crumbling chunks of historic statuary, I decided to visit whatever large objects Las Vegas has that might pass for monuments.

I immediately ruled out neon signs, public art and purely commercial objects. Which didn't leave much. Among the many things I learned from this venture, this was the first: In a town with little appetite for its own history, we erect markers to our entertainers and characters instead: my list of probables included statues of Benny Binion, Elvis, Siegfried and Roy and Sammy Davis Jr.

I started my tour at Lorenzi Park, and this is the second thing I learned: Monuments can be impossible to find. There is reportedly a Sammy Davis Jr. memorial at the park's Sammy Davis Pavilion, but after much dutiful poking around, I couldn't find it. That certainly undercuts its monument status; easy public interaction is vital to a good monument.

My tour took me past the bronze likeness of Siegfried and Roy in front of The Mirage; I dismissed it immediately. It's meant to be monumental, of course, but it's really a commercial object and piece of propaganda, reminding me of nothing so much as those toppled Lenin sculptures.

What else did I learn? Well, that scale matters. For instance, the statue of Benny Binion on horseback at the corner of Ogden and Casino Center verges on monumenthood. It has a sense of history, commemorating the gunfighter spirit and new-frontier mythology poured into the foundation of this town.

Yet it suffers in comparison to that which it created: the towering buildings of the downtown Binion helped build are an even more enduring monument. Nestled in their shadows, the Binion statue looks like mere decoration, an oversize lawn ornament in search of a lawn.

The fifth lesson I learned: It's a long damn way from the Hilton's self-parking lot to its main casino. But, for the dedicated monument tracker, it has to be crossed, for within sits the object you figure must be the ur-monument of Las Vegas: a statue of Elvis.

And here he is! "The city's most famous and successful entertainer," proclaims the plaque where the King, cast in his svelte, guitar-slinging prime, stands in the Hilton's glass lobby.

And looks like a glorified casino greeter. Check-in's to your right, ma'am, thankya very much. Although the statue is a good 10 feet high, it seems disappointingly small, shrunk by its surroundings. This Elvis should be out on the Strip somewhere, greeting his people.

As I limped back to the parking lot with near-fatal shin splints, I decide this is what I've learned: nothing I didn't already know. Vegas isn't a monument town. Monuments are about enshrining yesterday, sentimentalizing the ties between then and now. Vegas is entirely about the present, no looing back. The only thing we're sentimental about is the economy.

In that spirit, perhaps the most valuable part of the trip became clear only when it was over: I had 19 big miles to add to my expense sheet.

archive