Despite common assumptions, the city of Las Vegas, over which Goodman presides, begins at the northern end of the Strip, about where the Stratosphere casino-hotel is. The part of the neon-trimmed highway that houses mega-resorts like Caesars Palace and Bellagio is a separate jurisdiction.
The gregarious, flamboyant (some might say outrageous) Goodman is a perfect fit for his town. After all, he's a guy who feels under dressed if he's seen in public without a hand wrapped around a martini glass and an arm around a showgirl.
His office is hardly what you expect to find in a city hall: Visitors are greeted by a floor-model replica of the iconic Las Vegas sign bearing the inscription, "WELCOME TO FABULOUS MAYOR GOODMAN'S OFFICE."
The anteroom is lined with large display cases boasting numerous pictures of Goodman with the likes of presidents Obama and Clinton, singer Michael Jackson and actors Tony Curtis and Steven Seagal. There also is an impressive array of personalized sports memorabilia, including a pair of boxing gloves from Muhammad Ali and an Eagles helmet.
His spacious personal office is crammed with more pictures, awards and countless tchotchkes. His desk is a huge, cluttered semicircle of dark wood upon which are two 1.75 liter bottles of Bombay Sapphire gin, for which he's served as a celebrity spokesman.
Behind the desk is an ornately carved wooden chair that extends at least a foot above his head and looks far more like a throne than a standard-issue executive seat.
"There is a clown component to Oscar," said John L. Smith, political columnist for the Las Vegas Review-Journal and author of "Of Rats and Men: Oscar Goodman's Life from Mob Mouthpiece to Mayor of Las Vegas" (2003, Huntington Press).
"He can put his foot in his mouth as quickly as anyone I've ever seen. And Oscar can't resist the crowd."
