The curse that is part of a long life is that you watch your friends pass on. Bob Stupak was a friend of mine. We helped each other in business and shared many personal moments. Bob was a character of the first order, a unique and creative individual far beyond the crowd of his peers. Sometimes he annoyed people with his ideas.

Sometimes he showed the world that he was right, and that public opinion wasn't. Bob passed away on Friday, September 25, a victim of leukemia. I didn't get the word until the next Monday, so this memorial message is late, but still heartfelt. I will miss him. For those of you who never had the privilege of knowing him, your loss is greater than mine.

Whenever I came to see him, and that was quite often, I would ask, "How's business?" Bob's standard answer was, "Every day is Christmas!" He loved what he did. What more can a person ask for? Perhaps the words of Paul Anka's song, My Way, is as good a description of Bob's life as one might find. Although he liked being referred to as the "Polish Maverick," to most people he was just "Stupak."

On several occasions our families had Thanksgiving dinner together, at his home in Vegas and mine in Encino, California. On many occasions he would comp me to a steak dinner in his little restaurant at the old Vegasworld casino. We talked there often, over dinner. I recall some poignant moments. He had just divorced his second wife, Sandy. He shocked me by telling me how well a financial deal he had made with her, while he got to keep the casino. A few months later, when I visited him again, he was bemoaning the fact that he had the divorce, and wanted Sandy back. He said he would give up the hotel to get her back. I believe this is the first time anyone, other than my wife, has heard this story. I felt so bad, wishing that I somehow could do something to bring them back together, but Sandy had already moved to Australia.

Once, when he realized that I had a list of customers for our books and subscribers in excess of 500,000 names he became very interested reaching these people through direct mail. He rented my list more than a half-dozen times. One of my Gambling Times Board members, Harvey Brody, and I taught him how to use direct mail ... and use it well he did. I think he made more money from my customer list than I did, using some of those funds to help build his Stratosphere tower. I told Bob that no one who is not a public entity can afford to build such a tower. The costs of building such an edifice can only be justified by rentable space... all the way up. I even wrote a column in Gambling Times magazine trying to dissuade him from this project. Well, when Bob made his mind up, there was little anyone could do to change that.

The financing of the tower is what eventually caused him to lose his interest in the hotel. Lyle Berman, a mutual friend, tried to help him out, but, the numbers were just not there. Carl Icahn eventually managed to acquire the property at a bargain price. Although Bob ended up losing the hotel and tower, he has clearly left his mark on Las Vegas. It is near impossible to visit Las Vegas and not see this monument to Stupak's vision, rising above all. It will probably be there still, when all who read this are gone.

Bob was often thought of as a modern version of P.T. Barnum, because of his very colorful showmanship. He loved Las Vegas and did much to be acclaimed by its citizens. He was a great example of an entrepreneur. He was also the consummate gambler. He defied the odds often... and won. When he had a motorcycle accident about 10 years ago, he defied the doctors who said he wouldn't make it. But no gambler wins every game he plays. In the end, leukemia won the last hand. You can be sure of one thing, if there is a gambling casino in heaven, Bob is running it.