I’ve been to the promised land, and now it may be impossible to go back to coach. Or back to the airlines that seem to hate passengers more and more.
By the picture you can see I’m talking about flying in a private jet in comfort and 614 miles an hour. It was a rare treat for me, but a friend was flying to Telluride for skiing, and she invited me along for the ride on a brand new Guflstream G200.
He was wearing an ankle length mink coat and chomping on a cigar the size of an ax handle.
Joe Conforte had to be well into his 60’s as he stood there surrounded by a large group of short, stocky men on a dark and narrow street in an ancient Sicilian fishing village known as Augusta,
He was the dirt poor prodigal son who had left this seaside town as a youth and now had triumphantly returned after hustling his way to a truly obscene fortune in America.
If the stogie and fur stole weren’t proof enough of Joe’s Conforte rather twisted American success story, the big bosomy redheaded girl–clinging to the old man’s arm like wallpaper–sort of drove the point home like a hammer to the side of your head.
Subtlety was never part of Conforte’s schtick. .
Indeed the flamboyant Joe Conforte had made millions and millions of dollars as the owner and operator of Nevada’s most notorious brothel, the Mustang Ranch–at the time the oldest and largest legal whore house in America.
And now Joe was making his annual pilgramage back to the place of his birth–to share his good fortune with old friends and old-world family members–and more importantly to stroke his yearly check to the local Sicilian priest–for as I was to learn on that very memorable trip to the Mediterranean, pimp-master Joe Conforte took great pride in being the number one benefactor of the Augusta’s Catholic church.
I first met Conforte in the late 80’s when I was dispatched by my pimp-masters, my bosses–the producers of the t.v. show “A Current Affair,” to go to Nevada to do a story on Conforte. It was a stupid story. Conforte, ever the showman, was very publicly talking about taking his business public and selling stock in his whore house. It was all stunt. Conforte was in deep trouble with the IRS at the time and this gag was clearly a way of diverting attention from his more serious issues. I did, however, come up with a couple of fairly funny lines for the story like “Blue Chip Brothel” bringing as whole new meaning to the term “bare market.”
Like all pimps, Conforte was a pig–an exploiter and abuser of women–a reprehensible little con man who had gotten into the prostitution business by marrying an older woman who was already a well established madam. Joe, a hustling taxi driver, married this woman named Sally and together Joe and Sally Conforte built the Mustang Ranch into Nevada’s largest and most illustrious house of ill-repute. It was a hell of a spread. Just outside Reno, the place had its very own exit off the freeway….more to come….mw
I’m back safely from the Consumer Electronic Show, and my head is still swirling!
Another powerful winter storm left much of Northern Arizona blanketed with snow this past weekend. I know many of us desert-dwellers are looking for a place to go enjoy “the white stuff” so I thought I’d post a suggestion. The Wing Mountain Snow Play Area is just north of Flagstaff and offers an organized play area with easy parking and concessions. You won’t find another spot like this one that offers sled rentals, hot chocolate and a dedicated play area for smaller children. Here’s their website for more information, a snow report and directions. Happy snow day!
http://www.snowplayaz.com/
