Looking Back – Las Vegas Arrival in 1977

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I arrived in Las Vegas in 1977, grabbed a waitress job at the pool at the Circus-Circus and set out to scour the newspapers for audition notices for the shows. One of those was “Bare Touch of Vegas” at the Marina Hotel. I auditioned but had not heard anything and so had written it off and resigned myself to cocktail waitressing.

My poolside boss at Circus-Circus (I’ll call him Frank) was a young, easy going fellow who loved to put on a fake French accent to talk to “the girls.” He kept us endlessly amused and used the accent often. This particular day, Frank told me his car had died and asked if he could call me for a ride if he couldn’t get it up and running. He promised not to call too late. Mai oui.

Sure enough, my phone rang in the early evening. When I answered, the French-accented voice said, “Leeza Brodeur?” I responded with similar flair. “Oui.” There was a pause and then he said, “This is Pierre Bezard. I am calling to invite you to an audition.” I giggled at how far Frank was willing to take this little charade and said, in a voice full of innuendo, “Oooh, what kind of an audition?” A longer pause. I started to feel a bit doubtful and said “Frank?” “No, this is Pierre Bezard. I am calling to invite you to a callback for ‘Bare Touch.'” OH MY GOD!

I went to the callback and although I was pretty good, I was told that I was 2 inches taller than the rest of the cast, so they decided on someone who blended in a bit more. As it turns out, Frederic Apcar, the producer of “Bare Touch of Vegas,” was also the producer of “Casino de Paris” at the Dunes Hotel.  A couple of months after the phone fiasco, I auditioned for and got a place in “Casino de Paris” and stayed for four years. Pierre was often around and at some point I fessed up to being the crazy girl on the phone call. Unperturbed, he just laughed and commented, “Ah, you are the one.”

Looking back, although I’d initially been devastated to lose a job because I was too tall (a rarity, I discovered), I was lucky to spend the next four years in “Casino de Paris.” I’ve often commented that “Casino de Paris” was the best dance show I ever did and that if I’d known I was starting with the best, I’d have retired after that. That’s not quite true, of course, because I subsequently spent three years traveling overseas to places I’d most certainly never have had the opportunity to see otherwise but, forty years later, “Casino de Paris” remains my favorite.

Vegas – the Early Years

In 1977, a year after graduating from college with a BFA in Drama/Dance, I headed for Vegas. I had spent that first post-school year living with relatives in Burke, Virginia and teaching various and sundry dance classes all over Virginia and Washington, D.C. – and I had hated it. So I drove across country by myself, settled in to a one-room apartment near The Strip and quickly secured a cocktail waitress position by the pool at the Circus-Circus Hotel. I also scoured the local paper for audition notices. It took me three months to land my first show in Las Vegas and little did I know that I started with the best – “Casino de Paris” at the Dunes Hotel. It remains the best show I ever did.

In the course of the show, we had a large lion that sashayed onstage for a brief appearance and then spent the remainder of the show lazily napping in a giant cage backstage. Between shows, his handlers would take him out for a walk in the back hallways. Most of us thought of Caesar as a sweet, harmless feline.

And that leads me the photo that I sent to my mother. New to the show, new to Las Vegas, new to the glitz and glamor, I was entranced with being a part of a lavish Vegas production where we had gorgeous costumes, fantastic choreography by Ron Lewis and exotic animals within reach. Like many others, I asked if I could get a picture with him. His handler, Ferco, assured me that he was approachable and when I kneeled down behind him (well out of his reach), he encouraged me to get up close and personal. So I did.

Lisa, Caesar and Ferco

I then sent the developed photo to my mother (well actually to everyone I knew who might be impressed) and waited for her response.  None came. I finally asked her if she’d received the photo. Her response was something like, “Yes and that’s so cute. Of course, I’d be concerned if I thought he was real.” It was great fun telling her he was, in fact, real and listening to the gasp.

I pooh-poohed her concern about being that close to a “wild animal” and assured her that “everyone did it.” Some of that bravado disappeared the night one of our male backstage dressers – I’ll call him Jim – came in the back door slightly inebriated (as I was told) and, like many of us, stopped to reach in the cage and greet Caesar. Most of us would ruffle his fur or pat him on the head but Jim apparently chose to scratch him on the nose. Caesar very calmly bit off the end of his finger. Gives a whole different feel to the photo, doesn’t it?

And I can’t say that any of us ever reached in the cage again or posed for up close and personal photos.

Lisa and Caesar