Bumbling my way through a life of sin.

LAS VEGAS IS a town with a multitude of lessons to teach. From Bugsy Siegel to Tom Wolfe to Hunter Thompson, few thinking people can come away without learning at least a little bit of something about the world in the process.

Werner Herzog has often spoken about what he calls the "lines of force" that crisscross the nation. There are specific places, he says, in which these lines intersect and knot. Even the briefest visit to one of these places, and you'll learn all you need to know about the mindset of America at that particular moment-places like San Quentin, Disneyland, the New York Stock Exchange, Plainfield, WI, and, of course, Las Vegas.

I've only been to Vegas twice. The first time was in 1973, when I was eight, and the second time was just a couple of years later, when I was 12. Both visits were two-day stopovers during long road trips the family was making out to L.A. to see some relatives. The specifics of those two visits blur in my head, but I learned a lot during each. And I learned things, I think, specifically because Vegas was not a family-friendly place back then.

I remember the first time we were approaching the city after a day of driving through the desert. The billboards began popping up about 30 miles outside of town, and they fascinated me. We had billboards in Wisconsin, sure, but not this many, and those we did have weren't anything like these.

"What's 'Spice on Ice' mean?" I asked from the backseat. The sign sported the silhouette of a shapely woman on ice skates.

"Ummm?" my mom said.

Just before the sign passed from view, I caught the explanation printed beneath the show's name-"Nude Ice Skaters!"

I knew what that meant, but was still confused. "Wouldn't they get cold?" I asked.

"I'm sure they do," my dad said,

"I mean, what if they fell down? They'd freeze their butts!"

For the next few miles, I wouldn't drop the subject of Spice on Ice. I'd never heard of anything like it before. It was my first indication that I was about to enter a whole new world, one quite unlike anything I'd ever known in Wisconsin.

I also soon discovered that this new world was all but completely off-limits. My sister and I were forced to wait outside the casino while my parents gambled (which I didn't understand, either-we played penny-ante card games at home all the time. I didn't see what the big deal was.)

After eating breakfast at a Sambo's at the end of our first visit, I wandered over to the row of slot machines just inside the door as my dad settled the bill. There were slot machines everywhere in Vegas, but I'd never seen one up close. All those bells and lights and spinning wheels-what kid wouldn't be entranced? I don't remember if I tried to pull the handle, or simply got too close, but the restaurant manager suddenly began screaming. I backed away, frightened, again not understanding what the big deal was.

It was also on this trip that I saw my first bum up close. We were strolling down the sidewalk toward another casino, where my sister and I would once again wait on the sidewalk for a couple hours, when we passed a man dead asleep on a bench. He had a crew cut, was wearing a tired blue shirt and a pair of filthy work boots. One arm dangled over the back of the bench, and his head was hanging at an uncomfortable angle.

After we passed him, I kept turning back to look. This was something else I'd never seen before-someone sleeping in public that way. Finally I tugged on my dad's sleeve.

"Dad? What's wrong with him?"

"He lost," my dad said.

Our next visit started off a little brighter than that. Although I kept my eyes open for it, I didn't see the "Spice on Ice" billboard as we approached the Strip for a second time. But shortly after arriving, I did see another sign that got me even more excited-Roy Orbison was playing the Sands.

As the direct result of a cheap Candlelight Music television commercial, I was the world's biggest Roy Orbison fan. As soon as that sign rose into view, his name in red letters on the marquee, I began to scream.

My dad pulled over and let me take a picture of the sign, but that's as close as I got. The suggestion that we actually go see the show fell on deaf ears.

This time we were traveling with my Grandma Myrt and Grandpa Carroll-six of us crammed into the old Galaxie 500 to drive halfway across the country. I forget what special occasion got us out to L.A. that summer-a wedding, most likely-but the unspoken understanding was that this would be the last such trip either one of them would be able to make, so my sister and I were to be on our best behavior.

No one said anything about Myrt being on her best behavior, though. On the way out, she taught me how to give someone the finger in a hundred different ways (her favorite was the Crank). I liked Myrt a whole lot.

From my parents' perspective, another advantage to having them along was that when they went into a casino, one of my grandparents could be posted at a slot machine near a window, just so they could keep an eye on my sister and me, as we sat out on the median.

When the adults headed for the casinos at night, we stayed in the hotel (never anyplace terribly fancy), playing in the elevators and making runs down the hall to the ice machine.

I was 12 this time, and my body was undergoing any number of magical changes. That's why I was so disappointed that the "Spice on Ice" sign was gone. But there were plenty of other things to take its place.

For instance, this time around I saw my first real-live hookers. It was August, it was hot and the traffic down the Strip was thick. We weren't moving very fast. There wasn't anything to do for the time being but stare out the car window at people on the street.

I glanced over to the sidewalk and saw three women in halter tops, hot pants and high heels out for a stroll. I knew what I was looking at, but kept my mouth shut. Then Grandma Myrt said, "Well, wouldja lookit that?"

Everyone else in the car noticed them too. I tried to play it cool.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," my mom said, "if we saw one of them along here not wearing any top at all."

Again I kept my mouth shut, but my eyes went wide, and I immediately began scanning harder up and down the sidewalk. No luck.

That was in 1977, the last time I was there. Looking back, I realize that I only saw Vegas in the daytime. At night, I was in the hotel room. I never really had the chance to be awestruck by the lightshow. Fact was, Vegas in the daylight didn't strike me as all that different, really, from Denver or Salt Lake City (two other stops on the way). It looked kind of like a dingy strip mall.

It's probably also of some significance that I saw my first bums and hookers under the unforgiving glare of the August sun. There was nothing romantic or magical about them.

One of these days I'd like to go back. After its flirtation with becoming a kid-friendly theme park, I hear Vegas is getting sleazy again. That's good. I wouldn't want to go back and find kids underfoot.