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  We were both buzzed about the auction. An older Las Vegas establishment, the Paddlewheel stood on a six-acre lot, a few blocks midway between the Strip and the Convention Center, and had 196 rooms. My head was spinning from the numbers. If we could buy the hotel for $2 million, it would still take a lot of money to create a showroom and museum in addition to renovating everything else in the place. Richard told me that he could and would handle this. After all, real estate development was his business. And I was his partner.

  The hotel was already crowded with other prospective buyers when we arrived. I’d been going to auctions for decades to build my memorabilia collection, and each one had its own personality. The Paddlewheel auction was full of business­people. Since it was taking place in Las Vegas, I imagined each of us as taking a gamble.

  There were about twenty bidders to start. I raised the paddle in my hand high as the offer went from $1 million to $1.1 million. Suddenly only ten people were bidding. And then four. When the bidding reached $2 million, it was only me and one other person. The tension made me light-headed. The person bidding against me went to $2.1 million. The auctioneer announced the final bid. I looked to Richard, then raised my hand.

  “Two million, two hundred thousand,” the auctioneer announced, and paused.

  I held my breath.

  “Going once. Going twice.” Gavel down. “Sold!”

  Adrenaline rushed through my veins—or was it fear? Excitement?

  All of the above.

  There was a moment when I had doubts about taking on this enormous project. With the help of all my savings, Richard and I had bought a hotel in Fabulous Las Vegas. My $200,000 deposit was nonrefundable, and now we needed another $2 million. Richard again assured me that we could get the financing we needed, on my name alone.

  After Richard and I won the Paddlewheel, a piece of property next door to the hotel went up for sale. Seated beside me at the auction was Ralph Engelstad, the owner of the Imperial Palace Casino, which was famous for housing his huge automobile collection. He leaned over and asked me if he could borrow my paddle. (He’d come to the auction to see what everything would bring and hadn’t planned on bidding, but on impulse he decided to buy the lot.) I was taken aback but gave him my paddle, feeling like a real schnook. Mr. Engelstad won the lot for $800,000—in my name. He always thanked me for letting him use my credit line to buy it. Even so, I remained nervous until his secretary hand-delivered his check to me the next day at my new hotel. If he’d changed his mind, I’d have been in real trouble, since my purchase of the hotel had cleaned me out.

  Shortly after the auction, Richard and I went back to Roanoke for a visit. Our friend Bootie Bell Chewning picked us up at the airport.

  “We bought a hotel! We got it! We got it!” I called out, waving enthusiastically to Bootie as we came down the escalator.

  “You’d better cover your ass,” Bootie advised me quietly as we hugged.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” I assured her, wondering why she would say such a strange thing. “Richard and I have it all covered.”

  Now that we owned the hotel, the real fun began. There were meetings, meetings, and more meetings. Richard was in charge. I was the movie star wife, showing gentlemen into the office. I was never invited to sit in, but I went ahead and let him do that because I felt he knew more about running a hotel business than I would as an entertainer. We were both so excited. Richard was like a kid in a toy shop because he held all the reins.

  One of the first things we did was enter into an agreement with Edward Coleman and Ronald Nitzberg to arrange financing for the hotel and bring their expertise to selling some of the hotel rooms as time-shares for people or companies to use for a designated amount of time each year. Coleman, an attorney, would also serve as general counsel for the hotel. As part of Coleman and Nitzberg’s generous compensation, they received salaries, commissions on the time-shares, and stock in the venture, as well as positions on the board of directors. They arranged for a Canadian company to lend us some of the money we needed. The hotel would be renamed the Debbie Reynolds Hotel and Casino.

  While Richard tended to the business and financial end of things, I threw myself completely into every detail of the creative planning. My dear friend Jerry Wunderlich (famous Hollywood set designer of films such as The Exorcist and Ordinary People, my film The Singing Nun, and episodes of the TV shows M*A*S*H, The Twilight Zone, and The Man from U.N.C.L.E.) dropped everything and moved to Las Vegas to help. Billy Morris, another friend from our MGM days, came along to assist with the design and installation. Our plan was to open the hotel rooms by the following June, in time for the 1993 summer tourist season, and to qualify for a gaming license. Once that was done, we’d add a showroom where I could perform, and then a museum to display my Hollywood memorabilia collection.

  We had one overall goal: make it fabulous!

  The theme was Hollywood. Since the front of the hotel already included a giant paddlewheel, we transformed it into an enormous movie reel, with a “strip” of “film” that stretched around the facade. Each frame was a huge color image of a different famous star that we bought for a song from Bally’s Hotel and Casino. Previously known as the MGM Grand, Bally’s was getting rid of the former hall decorations as part of their ongoing renovations. There were so many pictures that I was also able to hang some throughout the hotel.

  There was so much work to be done. Every inch of space needed renovating. I wanted the front lobby to be welcoming and elegant. Jerry converted it from a dingy, dark cavern into a beautiful showplace, replacing the old wooden floor with white marble. Warner Brothers gave me huge ottomans that I had reupholstered and positioned under huge crystal chandeliers that had been used in Gone with the Wind, Marie Antoinette, and many other famous MGM movies, all from my collection. My son, Todd, redid all the lighting. My brother, Bill, restored the chandeliers, which sparkled against the newly painted powder-blue ceiling. Jerry used crystal candlesticks as ornaments. He created a huge floral arrangement in a large silver vase that Harry Karl had bought for $8,000 for our house when we were married. Other treasures from my decades of collecting found new lives in my hotel. I moved silent film star Harold Lloyd’s Steinway player piano into the lobby to play music all day, with a seated wax figure of Lloyd himself on the bench.

  It wasn’t all flower arrangements and beautiful music, however. When we took possession of the hotel, the kitchen was flooded with standing water. There were rats and mice in all the pipes, some not such good swimmers. I put on high yellow rubber waders and went in to help clean up the mess. The switch from movie star pitchwoman to kitchen help came more easily than I would have expected.

  The entire hotel received a face-lift worthy of Hollywood. Every room had to be refurbished. Steve Wynn had recently bought the Dunes and planned to liquidate its contents and implode the building to make way for the Bellagio. At the end of January 1993, Jerry and I went to the Dunes auction to see what we could find that might be right for our place. We bid for and bought booths for the showroom and chairs, tables, and lamps for our hotel rooms. All the income from my Los Angeles dance studio—every penny I earned—went into overhead, furniture, and fixtures.

  Meanwhile, Richard was preoccupied with the retail space. For some reason, he was treating the hotel like a mall. He leased out the restaurant, all the retail space, and even the casino. We hadn’t gotten a gaming license yet, so we hired a gaming firm to run the casino. They gave us a tiny percentage, less than 10 percent. All this in addition to leasing out some of the hotel rooms as time-shares. Richard kept me busy greeting all the folks he lined up to invest. I was part of a great dog-and-pony show as he made deals faster than I could count them.

  Richard brought in people from Virginia to help with the work. Our neighbor Anne Bell, who had been so kind to me during Richard’s hospital stay in Roanoke, came and created murals, cutting life-size figures out of wood and painting portraits of our favorite stars on them. We installed these
in the hallways on every floor. Anne is a wonderful artist, and I was proud to have her beautiful work at our hotel.

  Many of my friends also pitched in to help. Donald Light, a good friend from New Jersey, came for a visit and never left. He quit his job back east and moved to Vegas to run the hotel gift shop. His mother, Agnes, came along to keep Donald company. She passed the time knitting in the shop while Donald worked. Everyone thought she was my mother. I loved having her there because it gave the hotel the welcoming, homey feeling I ultimately wanted to convey to the guests.

  So many people were working for us. The transformation process was exhausting. It was also exciting and a lot of fun.

  As expected, there were also problems.

  There was confusion about getting a valid license for construction. Richard had a Virginia license, but it was no good in Nevada. When the Las Vegas Building and Safety Department asked Richard to take a test to be certified, he refused. Instead, Todd and his friend Victor Smith got a general contracting license so we could do our own work at the hotel, but Richard insisted on being in charge.

  Richard brought in three young men from Roanoke to refinish the doors for the individual rooms. They poured paint stripper down a drain that went through the kitchen out into the street. People in the neighborhood began complaining to the Nevada Division of Environmental Protection, which traced the pollution directly back to us through the sewer lines. This resulted in fines of more than $52,000. We had to use 55-gallon drums to clean up the hazardous waste. I could have bought new doors for every room for that price. Before I could ask Richard to fire the trio, the FBI stopped by and picked them up. Apparently they were wanted for various felonies back in Virginia.

  Richard hired someone to paint over the mirrored elevator doors with gold leaf. The painter took a lot of time to complete his painstaking designs. After a few days he was finished. Then Richard hired someone else to come in and paint over the beautiful gold leaf with plain gold paint.

  Richard asked the man who did the stucco work on the hotel exterior to renovate the swimming pool. Todd was the first person to swim in it. As his foot hit the bottom, bubbles of gray gunk rose to the surface. Todd reached his hand out to the wall of the pool; it fell apart under his touch. Instead of concrete, the man Richard hired had used stucco to line the pool—another $30,000 literally down the drain. I went over Richard’s head and hired Frank Basso, a contractor who had done work for me in Vegas for years, to redo the pool properly. Frank was our favorite concrete guy. He’d already done a lot of good work for us around the hotel.

  It was hard for me to keep track of everything. I saw a lot of questionable activity, but Richard got so defensive when anyone challenged his authority or judgment that I thought it best not to upset him by doing so myself. Like all of us, he seemed to be working so hard to get the hotel opened. The fact is, I was still color-blind when it came to red flags.

  But my faith in Richard’s ability to build our dream hotel was crumbling like the stucco in that pool.

  I’m so happy to have this drawing, as I truly loved my little hotel. The Paddlewheel Hotel became the Debbie Reynolds Hotel and Casino.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE STAR THEATER

  YOU CAN IMAGINE MY RELIEF when the Debbie Reynolds Hotel and Casino finally opened the last weekend in June 1993. Not every room was ready for occupants, but we were in business. We still had to build the showroom, and then we had to think about the museum—one thing at a time.

  My friend Rip Taylor, the comedian, was our first tenant. He’d agreed to be my opening act. As soon as we started refurbishing the rooms, we’d broken down the walls between two rooms on the first floor to create a one-bedroom suite for Rip. While we were building the showroom, Rip and I performed in a little lounge on the first floor we named Jazz and Jokes. I would spend my days circulating in the hotel and greeting people, signing autographs, and doing whatever I could to personally encourage business and get the word out that my hotel was special. In the early evenings, I’d be onstage in our Jazz and Jokes lounge after Rip. Sometimes we’d sing a song together after I came on.

  Jazz and Jokes featured a wonderful trio of musicians: my pianist, Joey Singer; my drummer, Gerry Genuario; and Bob Badgley on bass. They played all the great music from the 1930s to the present. There was no cover charge; people just paid for their drinks and had a good time. Word got out that our hotel was a fun place to visit, and everyone stopped by. Steve Wynn came in one night with Bob Wagner and Stefanie Powers. Norm Crosby would stop by and tell jokes and ad-lib with me. I wasn’t taking any salary for performing, but I enjoyed making everyone happy. And it was the only place where I could perform until the showroom was built.

  Todd and me at the Star Theater. This is a jewel of a theater. I loved performing there. Great memories.

  I wanted my son to design the showroom, which would be on the first floor of the hotel and which we decided to call the Star Theater. Todd had toured with me since he was a child, when I did my act around the world. He was an expert at sound and lights. But Richard was reluctant to have anyone else oversee the work, as he had been with the renovations. I didn’t think I had to give my husband Todd’s credentials, but we agreed to meet and discuss it over dinner at my favorite restaurant, Piero’s.

  Dinner started off pleasantly enough. We chatted about the hotel as well as the progress that Todd was making on his ranch in California. Todd was willing to stay in Vegas to help build the Star Theater.

  “What do you know about building a showroom?” Richard challenged him.

  “I’ve seen the inside of hundreds of places with my mom,” Todd answered calmly. “She’s played every place from the Palladium in London to big Broadway theaters and little shitholes in Nowhere, USA, and everywhere in between. I’ve spent years on the road with her. I know where she was happy and where she wasn’t. What do you know about sound? Or lights? And what do you know about showrooms?”

  Richard responded that he planned to buy the sound equipment from the Dunes.

  “No way,” Todd said. “That stuff is old and worthless. Mom needs a great sound system.”

  Richard became agitated and started yelling at Todd. Todd hadn’t ever worked with Richard, so he was as surprised as I was by Richard’s vehemence. Finally, Richard reluctantly conceded that Todd knew more about showrooms than he did.

  “But I don’t want you in my business,” he told Todd, just a bit too loudly.

  “Why would I be in your business?” Todd responded. “You’re working in the rest of the hotel. I’ll just be building the showroom.”

  Everyone agreed that Todd would stay out of Richard’s “business” and build the showroom in a few months, to open the last Saturday in October.

  There we were again, taking on big projects with short deadlines.

  Todd plunged head-on into construction. He asked me about my favorite places to perform, which were the Desert Inn in Las Vegas and the Crystal Room at Harrah’s in Lake Tahoe. Todd measured the showroom at the Desert Inn, then flew to Tahoe to do the same at Harrah’s. He was determined to build a “picture frame” for my show. “You’re the painting,” he said. “I want the frame to be beautiful too.” He envisioned a room with five hundred seats, which would resemble the Rat Pack rooms where Todd’s father, Eddie Fisher, had sung and where I also enjoyed performing. We had purchased black booths from the Dunes that had to be completely rebuilt with maroon upholstery to fit the Star Theater’s decor. Our showroom was bigger than the showroom at the Dunes, and we had to build additional booths from scratch. I like to connect with my audience like Al Jolson did. Todd built ramps and railings around the booths, so I could leave the stage and walk through the theater to talk and joke with the people who came to see me.

  Things were moving along at a breakneck pace, and there was more than enough work to keep everybody busy. The hotel was doing well enough for the time being. Rip Taylor and I entertained in Jazz and Jokes, singing and telling jokes for hours every da
y. It kept the guests happy, and I loved doing it.

  Suddenly, Todd began to get calls and visits from folks with the Las Vegas Building and Safety Department, about noncompliance with codes. He was pulling permits and using professional, licensed contractors, and we couldn’t understand why we were being interrupted all the time to answer their questions. Todd dealt with them so often that he became friendly with them.

  “Who’s Richard Hamlett?” someone from the code office asked Todd one day.

  “That’s my mom’s husband,” Todd answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “We’ve been getting complaints about your construction.”

  Todd wasn’t surprised to hear this, because Frank Basso had told him something similar. So much for staying out of each other’s business.

  Todd settled that with Richard and left me out of it.

  But there was something more serious that he couldn’t keep from me. One day in the showroom Todd was talking with a young man who worked for Billy Walters, an associate of Richard’s. This person was bragging about how the hotel belonged to him and how Debbie would be working for him. Todd called me to ask if the hotel was in my name.

  “Of course it is,” I said.

  Todd told me about these statements. Billy was one of the people who’d lent us money. Every paycheck I’d earned for personal appearances since we’d bought the hotel had gone into this venture—plus as much as I could borrow by taking out mortgages on my dance studio in LA and my other properties, plus loans from all my friends. I had sold my jewelry and my artwork and borrowed against my many antiques. My share of the investment was in the millions. Todd said he would go to the title office to find out what was going on. When he came back, he told me that Billy’s assistant was listed as the owner of my hotel.