“I believed performing here would be far more thrilling than being a dancer in movies or on television. It meant I could dance every night,” recalled Picchi, who is now 79.

Nonetheless, for former performers of the Folies Bergere, like Picchi, the unforgettable memories of sequined costumes and camaraderie will endure forever.

A Las Vegas Landmark

“This particular entertainment style greatly appealed to visitors to Las Vegas,” shared Feder, who heads Entertainment Exhibitions, a firm specializing in entertainment and performance costumes. “The visual legacy of showgirls has really shaped the identity of Vegas, and the Folies Bergere played a crucial role in establishing that legacy.”

The first drink of the night often coincided with breaks between performances, as management encouraged the showgirls to dress elegantly and enjoy cocktails at the lounge.

“We had the freedom to indulge in whatever we pleased. If we chose to drink all night, we could,” Thorndike noted.

“You’d think after dancing all night, we wouldn’t want to dance anymore,” she said. “But it felt different when we went out.”

At that time, Clark County’s population was under 300,000, which contributed to a more intimate sense of community in Las Vegas. Thorndike noted that it was common to spot Mr. Las Vegas himself, Wayne Newton, waving as their cars passed, as he worked with her husband back then.

“That’s just how life was then. Everyone knew one another,” she reflected.

Living a Double Life

While their evenings were dedicated to performing and socializing, many dancers spent their days caring for their families or attending classes.

<pPicchi, who became a dancer while caring for her infant, would occasionally let her son play with toys under her dressing table during performances and would take him home between shows when the babysitter was available.

“Juggling motherhood with being a nighttime performer was challenging,” she explained. “But I wasn’t alone in that.”

Lauri Thompson, who was the lead dancer from 1985 to 1997, frequently traveled between Las Vegas and California five times a week in the ’90s to pursue a law degree at the University of San Diego.

In those days, round-trip flights were around $50, and with less strict airport security, it only took her two hours to travel from her home in Las Vegas to her classroom in California.

“I would study until the show began and also during breaks between shows,” she recalled. “Then I would wake up at 6, catch a flight, study on the plane, and continue studying on the return flight.”

Over four years of traveling back and forth, she only missed one Folies Bergere show, which was caused by a heavy fog that delayed her flight. When she returned to the Tropicana, she had to convince her boss to keep her job.

“I had enough savings to cover law school and my flights, but I wasn’t ready to stop performing. It had been my life since I was 9 years old until 37,” she explained.

‘We don’t give up’

Working six days a week fostered a strong bond among the cast members. They spent their time together both on stage and off, often enjoying outings to places like Lake Mead and Mount Charleston for leisure. With so little time away from work, they would celebrate birthdays backstage with cake in the dressing room between shows, shared Picchi, a former dancer.

“I still maintain friendships with cast members from the ‘70s,” she mentioned. “All of us—acrobats, male dancers, and showgirls—formed a close-knit family.”

Ron Dakar, the lead singer from 1985 to 1999, mentioned that a group of around a dozen individuals meet up “religiously.”

“We get together about every two weeks,” Dakar stated. “It’s just such a fantastic experience to be a part of.”

However, it wasn’t all enjoyable.

Alan Clancy, a former acrobat, recounted how performing two shows nightly on the original cement stage was taxing on their bodies.

“There was no cushioning. The impact went right through you, causing many acrobats to ruin their knees,” he recalled, noting that performers often received Vitamin B shots to combat fatigue. “The shows were incredibly challenging, but I loved every moment there.”

Feder of Entertainment Exhibitions noted that during her time as a guest curator for the Nevada State Museum, many showgirls reported experiencing neck issues due to the heavy headdresses they wore. She mentioned that one of the headdresses she weighed was about six pounds, made of wire, rhinestones, and feathers.

“Making it look effortless while still nailing the choreography is an art,” she said. “These performers are true athletes.”

Denise Rapuano-Kriese, a showgirl from 1982 to 2005, described the dancers as hardworking individuals.

“We never give up,” she said. “Even when feeling unwell, we had to perform. A stomach ache wouldn’t stop us.”

There was also the added pressure to maintain their appearance. Rapuano-Kriese remarked that showgirls weighed in upon employment, and management closely monitored their weight—particularly after the holidays. Those who gained a few pounds faced possible suspension.

“When you’re in a small costume, you can’t hide any weight,” she explained, sharing that she avoided her Italian family’s pasta for years to stay on a strict diet. “Some people developed eating disorders. I consider myself fortunate not to have had that issue.”

Working Under Mob Influence

Clancy, who performed as an acrobat from 1975 to 1980, described the Tropicana as a “beautifully managed casino.”

Some of the individuals in charge happened to have connections to organized crime.

Back in 1979, the FBI revealed a skimming scheme orchestrated by Joe Agosto, the producer of the Folies Bergere, that was sending cash to Nicholas Civella’s Kansas City Mob family. Following these events, the property was sold to Ramada Inns, yet Clancy reminisces about the mob-influenced era.

“Mafia members would drop by backstage, puffing on cigars and saying, ‘Nice job, everyone,’” Clancy recalled. He acknowledged that he had heard unsettling rumors about the Mafia’s activities but believed they treated their performers well.

“I’m not sure where they found their good taste, but they sure knew how to attract the right people to draw crowds to the desert,” he explained. “What’s the secret to bringing people to the desert? You present the most stunning entertainers and the best shows, which they absolutely did.”

Thorndike added that the city had a certain elegance when the Mob was in control, missing the days when patrons would dress up for outings to the casinos. Nowadays, she notices the casualness of guests, seeing hair rollers instead of elegant furs and jewels.

“Today, it feels more like a circus,” she commented. “I experienced the Mob era firsthand, and they would never have allowed this kind of atmosphere.”

However, the landscape has shifted. Corporations have taken charge of the Strip, with Cirque du Soleil stepping in as the main entertainment option, replacing the French showgirl spectacles. In April, the Tropicana permanently closed its doors, with plans for its demolition to pave the way for the new Oakland Athletics’ ballpark.

“It’s just so heartbreaking,” Thorndike expressed. “The Tropicana was like home to me for two decades.”

“This is devastating for all of us,” added Joe Macchiaverna, who performed with the Folies Bergere from 1983 to 1986.

Others view the Tropicana’s closure as a sign that Las Vegas is continuously transforming into a top-tier entertainment hub.

The three other hotels where Thompson used to work have already been demolished, paving the way for new and improved attractions in Vegas. For example, the Desert Inn’s demolition made way for Wynn Las Vegas, and the Hacienda’s fate led to the creation of Mandalay Bay.

“I’m excited about the future and what’s ahead. I want to see what can emerge next and build upon the foundations of the past,” Thompson remarked. “It’s thrilling to know this city will continue to thrive and reinvent itself, with entertainment remaining a vital element of our community.”

Clancy mentioned that the version of the Tropicana he cherished was already fading away long before its final closure became public knowledge. The venue, once touted as the “Tiffany of the Strip” due to its opulence and $15 million startup cost, no longer stood out amidst the flashy megaresorts that now dot the Strip.

“It was time to demolish it and move on. The memories will always remain,” Clancy added. “It’s similar to the Mona Lisa; it will never truly disappear.”