Gays and lesbians
are streaming into Vegas to start new lives. But are
they really happy with what they find?
Tommy
Fontenot’s typical day begins in the dead of night.
The gay 36-year-old works the late shift as a
blackjack dealer, handling $25,000 bets at one of Las
Vegas’s most glamorous casinos. When noon rolls
around, Fontenot gets in his truck and drives to his
brand-new 1,800-square foot house in southwest Vegas.
The Louisiana native and former paramedic has lived in
Sin City for four years, and it’s finally
starting to grow on him. “I didn’t like Vegas
at first,” he says. “If you’re
looking for a place just to be gay, this isn’t the
place. But that’s not why I moved here.”
Thousands of gay
people like Fontenot are escaping burned-out factory
towns and priced-out megalopolises for a better life in
America’s 21st-century boomtown. Some are
scooping mashed potatoes at the Stratosphere buffet,
others are squeezing Cher into a bustier for her
upcoming show at Caesars Palace; all are helping fuel Las
Vegas’s $80 billion economy and turning the
formerly red state of Nevada purple.
Just like
transplants proliferating in New York, Los Angeles, and San
Francisco, many people in Las Vegas are not from Las Vegas
-- the city was only incorporated in 1911, when it had
about 800 residents. But the gays streaming into
southern Nevada have little in common with the urban
pioneers who descended on the Castro or the Village 40 years
ago. Seeking safety and freedom, young gays crashed
these coastal cities, helping forge the identities of
their neighborhoods, art scenes, and political
dynasties. The gays moving to today’s Las Vegas
arrive with less lofty but no less valid goals --
finding a job and enjoying a decent standard of
living.
“People
tended to move to these gay urban meccas in order to
‘become’ gay,” says Jay Groth, a
36-year-old Las Vegan. “It just seems the people
I meet in Las Vegas are so beyond that.”
Groth, a flight
attendant who’s lived in the city for 10 years,
shares a spacious home with his partner in the Green
Valley neighborhood. Groth loves his adopted city for
its ethnic diversity, affordable housing, and shopping
and dining options but holds no illusions about its gay
community.
“People
come here expecting the gay scene to be on the same level as
San Francisco, L.A., Chicago, New York,” he
says.
“They’re not going to get it. They’re
just not. We don’t have the established
community that those other cities have. It’s still
very much in its infancy. But [residents] are becoming
less transient and are a little more willing to invest
in the community.”
Among U.S.
cities, off-the-Strip Las Vegas most resembles Los Angeles
or Phoenix -- it’s a sprawling suburban-style
city built in the 20th century. But while Los Angeles
and Phoenix have pockets of urbanity,
Vegas—with a metropolitan-area population of over 2
million -- does not. Most residents live in enormous
subdivisions and drive to work. This isn’t
necessarily a bad thing, according to author Richard
Florida, who in his book The Rise of the Creative
Class says successful cities are ones that attract a
young, educated work force, including a healthy number
of gays and lesbians. These people typically work in
“creative” fields like architecture,
theater, and engineering.
“A
downtown core is not the key element of success in the
creative economy,” Florida writes in an e-mail.
“The most important factor in attracting and
retaining quality young talent is creating a sense of
place and community.”
As part of his
urban studies, Florida rates American cities on indexes of
creativity, tolerance, and gay-friendliness. Las Vegas
scored among the lowest in creative positions but
slightly better in tolerance and gay-friendliness.
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