These days, Washington is looking a little too much like Las Vegas of the early '80s. Neither place should be flattered by the comparison.
Working as a kid journalist in Vegas back then was like finding yourself at the opera — not in the audience but onstage, surrounded by prima donnas playing out a high-stake drama of power, greed, sex and murder.
Headless bodies were appearing in the desert. Cars were getting blown up. A local federal judge publicly attacked federal law enforcement as "a bunch of crooks." Mobsters were not just part of the community, they were public figures, and they would call favorite reporters to plant stories about their rivals or discredit cops they couldn't buy off.
And everyone who thought of themselves as players — mobsters, politicians, businessmen and not a few journalists — traded information, access and anything that might bring them that most treasured of Vegas commodities, "juice."
"Juice" was power. "Juice" not only meant you got your phone calls returned, it meant you got free seats for Frank's show at Caesars. Juice meant you knew people who knew people; losing juice was the worst thing that could happen to you.
Well, other than ending up out in the desert without a head. And the crazy thing is, everybody in town acted as if all this was perfectly nice and normal.
http://www.commondreams.org/views05/1017-27.htm