Paul Anka Does It “His Way”

PAUL ANKA SHOOTS CRAPS “HIS WAY”

I saw that Paul Anka appeared at the Las Vegas Fontainebleau’s grand opening, a few nights ago. Here’s a photo of him throwing dice for the cameras that was taken on Dec. 13, 2023. Kiss those dice! Toss a seven, Paulie, and I’ll be having you’re baby.

Note: Just in case anyone thinks I’m having Paul Anka’s baby, since that reference could be obscure to many readers, here’s the song referred to (quite possible the most horrific, greatest embarrassment in Billboard music history)….. 

Anka is 82 now. He’s one of the last of the classic crooners — Sinatra, Bennett, Como Sammy Davis, Dino, Liza….Anka belongs right there in the same spotlight with giant letters on the marques sign along with them. He even co-wrote Sinatra’s signature song, “My Way.” Elvis and Sid Vicious also did their own takes on Anka’s lyrics.

I met Anka once. Here’s the story.

In 1997, I got on the press list for most Atlantic City casinos. Got invited to lots of openings and shows. Great times they were. Trouble was, I had to be selective about which events I attended and wrote about because I was a 3.5 hour drive away, in Washington. I tried to go to one every few months, just to keep my status “active.”

In Atlantic City, the Golden Nugget became Bally’s Grand which then became the Atlantic City Hilton. Trouble for them was, this was the casino located at the far south end of the Boardwalk. It always had problems attracting a steady following because it was just too far to walk, especially in cold months. So, the Atlantic City Hilton was always a stepchild among the major casinos on the Jersey Shore. It was also small by comparison. Even its black glass and boxy look made the casino-hotel unappealing. However, when the “Hilton” name arrived into town, that was big news. It also helped that the Atlantic City Hilton retained most of the contracts with top entertainers.

The special event was a reboot —— the name change from Bally’s to Hilton, and that called for an big corporate extravaganza. So, I was invited to attend, was comped in the hotel, and given pretty much anything I wanted (aside from gambling). Now, here’s where the story gets good.

The re-opening was midweek. I believe it was on a Wednesday. Midweek on the Jersey Shore was a dead time. I think it was in February, the slowest time of year. So, after work on Tuesday (I worked a regular job), I drove from Washington to Atlantic City. Well, that was a drive from hell. Cold rain turning to sleet which made slush on the roads. Bad traffic. Everything went wrong. I was supposed to arrive by 9 pm but finally puled into the Hilton at past midnight. Would they even have my reservation? Would they honor it? We didn’t have cell phones back then.

The front desk apologized and told me they were completely sold out because of the grand opening on the following day, with lots of VIPs in town. No regular rooms were available. When I protested that I’d driven 200 miles midweek and was a member of the press (“don’t you know who I am!”), the clerk slithered to the backroom, I presume to call up the casino manager on the graveyard shift. A few minutes later, the desk clerk came out. “I’ve got some good news….you’re getting THE suite.” Not “A” suite. “THE” suite I guess they figured no high rollers were coming in after midnight in midweek, and well go ahead and throw this lowly writer a luxury freebie, at no cost. Nice hit. This trip is suddenly looking a lot better than 5 minutes ago.

I took an elevator to the top floor. Extra cards were needed and there was another guard or valet sitting there at another desk. There were only a few suites up there on the top floor. One was on the corner, overlooking the ocean. With the other casinos off on the horizon, this might have been the best hotel room in Atlantic City. As things turned out, it was even better. The concierge had escorted me inside, and he explained that was Sinatra’s suite, where he stayed when performing in the casino showroom. A huge living room. Full bar. A grand piano. Marble everywhere. Press a button, and a TV popped up out of the floor. Touch another button and a man showed up with extra towels. Fluffy bathrobes and white kitten fur slippers. Yeah, this was the life.

I think I was paid $100 for the article I was assigned to write. But they didn’t know that. I couldn’t believe I was getting this royal treatment, but the casino manager must have figured, give the best room away for a night (that was empty anyway) to someone who will appreciate, and probably even write about it (note: it worked, Im still writing about it 26 years later). The only other emotion I had other than being in awe after the Sinatra impact wore off was a feeling of emptiness, and even boredom. When I tucked myself into a bed late that night where the Chairman of the Board had had slept many times, it wasn’t really all that much fun. Marieta was back home. She couldn’t be here with me. No friends were around to share the joy, or the open bar. I couldn’t ENJOY it with anybody. It reminded me of very rich people who are actually very lonely. So, what was the point of all this? Yeah, I took a shower where Sinatra has fiddled with the hot and cold water, but given no one was there to share the moment, it became anti-climactic, very quickly.

The ribbon cutting was the following day. Maybe 10 am, but it was early. We are circled on the casino floor and a bunch of important-looking casino people were standing around. I was there next to them, and there was short guy in a tuxedo there, and another guy who was an older black man. So, who do you write for? No, I didn’t say that. The guy in the tux was Paul Anka. The older black man was Willie Mays.

The casino GM came out and I’m like 15 feet away. He is standing next to Paul Anka. The GM has a microphone. Anka also had a mic. They went back and forth with an exchange that was like a comedy routine. Minor insults. Seemed very spontaneous. Actually, very artfully crafted and fun. Everyone was laughing. It was a great little “free show.”

After it was over, I saw Anka reach in his pocket and he had a folded white piece of paper. No one was paying attention, so he scrunched up the paper and tossed it into one of those coin buckets that used to be stacked next to slot machines. I don’t know, but I was nosy. I wanted to see — what was PAUL ANKA throwing away? So, I went over and picked up the crumpled paper and opened it. It was the full script, verbatim, of the comedy scene we’d just watched. A PR person at the hotel apparently had scripted all this (nice job, by the way) and Anka was taking his cues. All he had to do was memorize a few punch lines, and his appearance fee was satisfied. I still have that paper in a file cabinet somewhere. Maybe when Paul Anka dies, I can get $27 for it on EBay.

We were treated to lunch, then happy hour, then another show. It was great event. The only downer of the entire Atlantic City gala was Willie Mays. What a prick he was. The guy was paid to be there and sign a few autographs. He struck me as a very bitter man. But Paul Anka was a shining star. He talked to everybody. Signed autographs. Posed for pictures. Told stories. The man was/is a pro.

And now, fast forward 26 years, and the end is near and we face the final curtain, while a new stage opens. At the Fontainebleau the other night, I was glad to see Paul Anka, still at it, and doing things —- his way.