Mar 24 2004

The Pirate on Page Three

by Megan Edwards

I can’t forget the first time I opened a Las Vegas Review Journal and caught sight of the guy with the eye patch. “NORM!” the above-the-fold headline shouted. Too silly, I told myself as I scanned the short paragraphs crammed with names in bold-faced type. Why should I care whether Don Rickles ate lunch with Oscar Goodman while listening to Charo? But the next day, I was back for more “celebrity gossip,” quickly becoming addicted to Norm’s column. A cross between Hedda Hopper and Herb Caen, Norm Clarke manages to capture the daily flavor of the glam class. Norm is my hero now, the guy who hangs with paparazzi so I don’t have to.

Norm Clarke came to Las Vegas from Denver, where he wrote for the Rocky Mountain News. He arrived in September, 1999, and hit the ground running. By the time I began reading his column in December of that year, he was already alluding to his army of spies—people he could count on to let him know if they saw Britney Spears.

I mention the former Mouseketeer because Norm’s report on her lunch at Gordon Biersch in December, 2000, remains one of my favorites. Britney obviously underestimated Norm’s intelligence network when she failed to tip a waiter for running across the street to get her a vanilla frapuccino at Starbucks. Actually, it was worse than that. She didn’t even pay for the frapuccino, which meant, as Norm put it, that “it cost the server $4 to wait on the superstar singer.”

That column whipped up a furious interchange between Norm, Britney’s handlers, and the owners of the brewpub. By the time it died down, I had been thoroughly educated about one aspect of my new hometown. The hospitality industry rules, and the fastest way to become despised in Las Vegas is to fail to leave a tip. The reverse is also true, and because of Norm’s column, I know that Ben Affleck and Drew Carey are good tippers. J-Lo is not.

Then last year, Norm informed Las Vegas that Celine Dion went shopping at a Henderson Wal-Mart not far from her Lake Las Vegas home. What made that factoid potent was that it inspired a would-be songwriter to buy advertising on a bus stop bench nearby. He hoped Celine, perhaps on a subsequent journey to buy laundry detergent, might see his plea for consideration and give him a break. Celine didn’t see the bench, but she did read the item about it Norm included in his column. The result was a meeting and a genuine chance for the songwriter to pitch his stuff.

And there’s so much more, like when Norm figured out that the “old woman” sneaking into his neighbor’s condo was really Michael Jackson. He also broke the news that a DNA test proved that Sean Astin (one of the hobbits in “Lord of the Rings”) is the son of a Las Vegas publisher who was married to Patty Duke for a few days. We’re still awaiting the results of a similar test that’s supposed to prove that “Big Elvis,” a lounge singer at the Barbary Coast, is Elvis Presley’s love child.

Of course, quality gossip is scant sometimes, even in Las Vegas. That doesn’t stop Norm. He dusts off stories out about the Rat Pack when necessary, or Howard Hughes. These bits may not be his most riveting, but I admire a man who can breathe life into mummies when he needs to, and I’ve learned quite a few fascinating facts about people like Benny Binion and Oscar Goodman’s former clients.

Norm also keeps his column topped up by extending his bold-faced type to local heroes. Thanks to his coverage of slightly-less-than-super stars, I know what Kelly Wiglesworth is doing since “Survivor,” and that Review Journal sports columnist Joe Hawk appeared on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire.”

Since that first morning, when I dismissed Norm Clarke’s column with a smirk, I have evolved into a true fan of the pirate on page three. When I pour my cup of coffee and sit down with my morning paper, I know I can count on Norm Clarke to pour the juice.

To read Norm Clarke’s columns online, click here.

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