Willey was one of the dozens of former Sahara employees who assembled Thursday at the Palace Station for their annual reunion. (The meeting room was provided with an assist from casino industry icon Frank Fertitta Jr., who once dealt at the Sahara.) To look at it nowadays, as it stands on the boulevard in the metaphorical shadow of the Strip's mega-resorts, you might not think the Sahara would engender such warm sentiment. But the people I spoke with cherish their memories of the casino and hotel that was once home to lounge legends Louis Prima and Keely Smith as well as a host of Hollywood celebrities.

Willey, for instance, broke in during the early 1950s about the time the old Club Bingo was renamed the Sahara. He worked there off and on for more than a decade. He retired in 2006 from the Tropicana.

For a moment Thursday evening, Willey was lost in a neon memory.

"You'd go to work, and everyone was dressed fit to kill," he said. "Women wore their minks. Men wore tuxes. Movie stars came in. I was in ga-ga land. You'd say, 'Holy cow. What kind of place is this?' "

The Sahara, in fact, was the place where Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack regularly took over the lounge after finishing their last show up the street at the Sands. Back when Don Rickles was a puckish young comedian working on his nightly catalog of insults, the Sahara was on full tilt.

Mike Gnatovich's neon memory starts in his Steubenville, Ohio, childhood. As a young man from one of America's great gambling towns, Gnatovich felt the magic at an early age. His older brother was among the original crew at the Desert Inn. After receiving a $20 money order from his elder sibling, 11-year-old Mike decided then and there to give up all thoughts of college and conventional living. He knew when he was old enough he was going to Las Vegas.

"It was fabulous," the 68-year-old said of his stints at the Sahara. "It was the greatest. It was the Roman Empire, and it was fun. We never took responsibility for anything. We knew we'd make money the next day."

For a long time, they did.

Allen Poe came to Las Vegas from Alabama by way of Galveston and Havana, Ray Ferrero from outside Springfield, Mass., and Nick Nicholson from Los Angeles, but they all became Vegas guys as dealers at the Sahara. I listened as they told stories of dealing to everyone from Johnny Carson and Telly Savalas to a generous Milton Berle and Jack Benny. The dealers were at ground zero when the Sahara was filled with electricity.

The rules of the town were a lot looser, the prices just a tad more reasonable. A breakfast at the old Bonanza Club was 19 cents, and the singing DeCastro Sisters were firecracker hot until 4 in the morning. Nicholson laughed at the memory of being able to park in front of the Strip casinos and run inside to catch a drink, meal or show.

Was it yesterday, or a million years ago?

As the reunion rolled on, Ernesto Del Casal showed me one of his prized possessions. Del Casal followed his father, Ernesto Sr., to work at the Don the Beachcomber. Young Ernesto started as a busboy and gradually rose to waiter at the best tables in one of the town's hippest restaurants. During our visit, he showed me a leather-bound celebrity guest book from the restaurant jammed with famous names. From astronauts and politicians to movie stars and singing sensations, they were all there.

"It was an unbelievable place," Del Casal said. "It was almost like living on a movie set. For many years, it was 'the' place."

For a few hours Thursday, the neon memories sizzled and the Sahara was 'the' place once more.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call (702) 383-0295.