I remember what happened as if it occurred yesterday. However, it was 30 years ago on February 10, 1981, when my wife and I were having dinner with the marketing manager of what was then known as Gate City Savings and Loan Association (today, the institution is called Gate City Bank). We were having a memorable dining experience, but I didn’t realize how memorable it would become.

I do recall how great the food was, and the service was exceptional. Our guest had just ordered her favorite desert, something JoAnne and I hadn’t tasted before; she called it “burnt cream.” Today, it’s commonly referred to as crème brûlée, and I’ve enjoyed it a number of times since. But that is the exact point when my memory bank shifts from our dinner fare to capturing a whole new scene, a drama that would be played out on the then-new CNN and other national networks.

While we waited for our desserts, the waiter came over to our table. He said, very quietly but quite seriously, “You’ll have to leave the restaurant. There’s a…” and then he said real quietly, “…a fire on the other side of the building, and we need to evacuate this restaurant. Follow me, please.”

I remember how every guest at every table stood up in unison—thinking back, the move reminded me of the Concordia Choir reacting to director Reneé Clausen’s signal to “rise” during their Christmas Concert last December. So, as we all moved single file toward the restaurant’s main exit, I commented on two things: that Las Vegas hotel people were paranoid about even the hint of a fire since the burning of the MGM Grand Hotel less than four months before, when 85 people, including a Fargo physician, lost their lives. My second thought was “We haven’t received or paid our check yet.” Realizing that, I concluded this must be some kind of false alarm or fire drill and we’d be back at our table just in time to pay for the meal.

If you haven’t guessed it by now, we were having dinner at the Las Vegas Hilton, in a main floor (thank goodness!) restaurant located in a dining complex between the hotel’s casino and convention center. As we came out of the restaurant, fire alarms were going off all over the place, and as I glanced down toward the casino, I saw something I thought I’d never see in the gambling capital of the world during an early evening: The casino was empty.

Because the fire was in the hotel, not in the area where we were, security had cleared out 2,783 guest rooms, the restaurants within the hotel and the casino, prior to evacuating our concourse restaurant. The main showroom, too, had been cleared. Trust me, no one yelled “Fire!” in that packed theater where singer Andy Williams and dancer Juliet Prowse had just begun their 8:00 p.m. performance. We had tickets for their 11:00 o’clock show. In fact, we also had an invitation to a cocktail party on the 25th floor of the Hilton. Had we attended, instead of going to dinner, there’s a very good chance we would have been evacuated by helicopter from the 30-story structure.

Most Hilton guests were not in need of the hospitality the Red Cross immediately provided; what we really wanted was another hotel room. The Hilton was totally out of business, and the Savings and Loan convention we were attending was canceled. The Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Bureau provided an instant “reservation center,” and in short order, we received emergency Red Cross overnight kits and were all headed to new digs at various venues around town. My wife and I ended up at The Dunes, just across from the then dark MGM Grand. Our Gate City guest wasn’t so lucky. She was sent to a less desirable place called The Hacienda, now defunct. Those who stayed there that night correctly predicted that it would go out of business—the indicators were there three decades ago.

The reason all this came to mind was a recent article by Brian Haynes in the Las Vegas Review-Journal. About a month ago, he interviewed Philip Cline, the person a jury found responsible for the Hilton fire and the resulting eight deaths. Cline says: “A lot of people…think I did it on purpose, and it wasn’t done on purpose. I did it. I’m responsible for it. I admit it. But it wasn’t meant to hurt anybody.” Haynes writes: “But for many, Cline’s words ring hollow.” Apparently, a jury agreed. You’ll find Haynes’ excellent article at www.LVRJ.com.

Las Vegas doesn’t take kindly to anyone who kills their hotel guests through arson. Cline is now serving eight consecutive life sentences with no possibility of parole. And as Hilton guests, who could have been fatally trapped in our rooms or at that reception toward the top of the building, we agree: The perpetrator of this crime is exactly where he needs to be.