By the late 1950s, things had gotten glitzier. After a few sales and shakeups-seriously, the place changed hands more often than a pair of dice-a new two-story hotel stood here with a sparkling Olympic-size pool and big plans for nightclubs and gaming. On opening night, you might have smelled pool chlorine in the air and heard jazz notes tumbling from the Jamaica Room. If the palm trees could talk, oh, the stories they’d spill about dazzling shows, high-stakes gamblers, and some lawsuits-because you never want a saxophonist to actually break a leg onstage!
But, just as the energy built up, trouble hit. By 1958, the owners owed money to meat companies-maybe they bit off more than they could chew with room service-and a famous sax man sued after taking a tumble. Federal agents marched in to collect unpaid taxes and even hauled off a few slot machines. Running a casino was no easy jackpot.
In 1963, everything changed. Ben Jaffe swooped in, gave the place a tropical makeover, and reopened it as the Castaways-a splashy, Polynesian-themed getaway. Imagine tiki torches flickering in the desert night and, most mysterious of all, a glittering replica of a Jain temple that drew curious glances and hopes for luck. The casino went through more closings and wild gambles, but in 1967, eccentric billionaire Howard Hughes bought it, adding a touch of Vegas legend to the address. Ultimately, Steve Wynn scooped up the property, and the Castaways bade farewell in 1987, paving the way for new dreams on the Strip.
So even though the neon has long since gone dark, when you stand here, you’re on the ground where fortunes faded, palm trees swayed, and history changed hands faster than a blackjack dealer after midnight. No doubt, what happened at the Castaways didn’t always stay at the Castaways!
