In September 2014, Norm Clarke and I headlined The Smith Center for the Performing Arts.
By “headlined,” I mean, we were invited to share the stage at Reynolds Hall for the Nevada Sesquicentennial All-Star Concert.
Smith Center President Myron Martin asked us to represent Nevada’s newspaper history. We were nonplussed, agreeing immediately, before Myron arrived at his senses.
This show was loaded. Jerry Lewis and Wayne Newton were in this show. Appearing in the spectacle were Penn & Teller. The cast of “Jersey Boys.” Human Nature, five years into their run on the Strip. Cirque du Soleil artists. Bob Anderson as Frank Sinatra. Frankie Moreno as … Frankie Moreno. Susan Anton. Phil Fortenberry, “The Man at The Piano.” Clint Homes with the Las Vegas Mass Choir, joined by Antonio Fargas, aka Huggy Bear from Starsky & Hutch.”
A tribute to lounges with Deana Martin (Dean’s daughter), Earl Turner, Sonny Charles, Ronnie Rose, Dennis Bono and Lorraine Hunt Bono. Vegas pageant queen Ellie Smith sang the national anthem, a Mark Twain tribute actor narrating Nevada history, and a costumed cowboy reciting frontier poetry.
Was there an Elvis? You know we had an Elvis.
Under normal circumstances Norm and I had no business being in such a lineup, unless these folks were walking the red carpet. But we were happy to be involved, especially because we were so fond of The Smith Center and of Myron.
The day after we learned we’d be in the program, Norm called and said, “I think we should meet and figure out what we’re going to say.” I agreed, “We have to come in armed with shtick.”
We met at the Griddle at SLS. We wanted privacy (cough). Norm opened a notepad and we built some back-and-forth for the stage. “We should mention personal experiences,” he said. “I was married at The Smith Center.”
“I was single at The Smith Center,” I answered. And he scribbled into the notepad. “This is some good shtick.”
That was to be our opener. We worked through our exchange, as if in rehearsal, making sure to be nice and concise. We didn’t want the guy who invited us to give us his “wrap” signal.
We met before the show and took over a hightop in the hallway leading to the stage. Norm had the notepad, repeating, “OK, ‘I’ve been married at The Smith Center …” We were literally knocking our heads together. We felt good about the work and were walking off to schmooze with all these column-dwellers. I needed to find Newton, so we could make sure we had the right pronunciation of “Sesquicentennial,” which he nailed in the show, adding, “Say THAT three times fast.”
As we finished, Myron approached and said, “You guys ready?” and then, noticing Norm’s notes, “Oh, I see you have a script.”
“That’s our shtick,” I explained. But Myron had already written a script for us. No one told us of this. We thought we were asked to do this because we knew how to write.
So we merged the shtick with the script. We walked out and I elbowed Norm, “We have to do a selfie,” and took one together, crowd in the background,, another unplanned move.
Our finely honed routine landed great. We might not have been Marin and Lewis, but we registered five stars on the silly meter. It was one of those great Las Vegas experiences we shared over the years.
I’m often asked what it’s like to have replaced Norm on Page 3A. You don’t. Norm was a phenomenon, and so much his own thing. To be “Vegas Confidential — The Sequel” would have been pointless.
I have always said that Norm’s ownership of the fast-hitting, sightings-driven format forced me to expand my own variation of a man-about-town column. He made necessary the long-form stories, a deep dive into the lounges, single-topic columns, video presentation, a radio show at KUNV for seven years and recurring TV and radio appearances that have dominated my life since 2009.
Norm was the last living person who really understood how to make this type of column work, while maintaining your sanity.
Norm’s work ethic was especially inspirational. The man with the patch just dug and scratched for information. I envied how important contacts called him with tips rather than vice versa. I once had a prominent entertainer actually ask me for Norm’s number so he could provide him a tip. I said, “Man, I have some work to do.”
We once talked of an interview he conducted with Steve Wynn, on the phone, where Norm was having trouble hearing. He asked the same question like a half-dozen times before Wynn growled, “Do you have your answer yet?”
Just last week, after he was moved to hospice, I asked Norm for his most memorable interview. “You first,” he said.
“I usually say Steve Wynn,” I said. And he replied, “Same here. That guy was (expletive) brilliant.” Take it for what it’s worth.
Norm could be feisty. I can’t be maudlin about his temperament. When I was at the Sun, we had a guy writing gossip (since passed) that Norm found intolerable. And he never mended his friendship with Robin Leach, which was sad to me, the rivals passing with myriad unresolved issues.
But we shared more than tales and this column space. We had a passion for the beat, and a love of Vegas. We were both sports writers originally, starting work at our hometown papers, him in tiny Terry, Mont.; and myself in Chico, Calif., reporting about our communities.
We also both grew up in the Intermountain West. Norm enjoyed my posts from Idaho (where I was raised before Northern California), especially Lava Hot Springs. This is a town of about 400, roughly the same size (with probably with the same number of traffic lights) as Terry.
I always felt our states might have been same state, if borders were drawn differently. But there is a kind of toying tension between Idaho and Montana, which has reminded me of our own competing columns.
And when you know someone long enough, you pick up on their manner, their shtick. One night years ago, Norm was to interview burlesque legend Tempest Storm on her 90th birthday. The event was held at the home of Vegas icon Cindy Doumani, for a regal gathering.
I was asked to introduce Norm for this chat. When I stood, my pant leg was stuck and it looked like my slacks were about four inches too short. I kicked at my own calf, to no avail. So I just introduced Norm. He takes the mic and says, “Kats, I can help you adjust your suspenders if you like.”
I called back, “Suspenders? Who wears suspenders, Cowboy?”
I thought of that reference just last May, when Norm told the story of the accident that eventually cost him his RIGHT eye. When he was a kid, a buckle broke on his suspenders, snapping him in the face. It was as if “suspenders” were his go-to accessory. That accident led to the eye patch, the column, everything.
Norm’s passing closes an era in this city’s history, and in my life. We have always used the exclamation mark in the title as a tribute to Norm!, which I reminded him of in our last conversation. I was happy to be in the show and proud to share the stage.
John Katsilometes’ column runs daily in the A section. Contact him at jkatsilometes@reviewjournal.com. Follow @johnnykats on X, @JohnnyKats1 on Instagram.
