After years of working up the nerve to create this blog, I can assure you that this was not what I expected as my first blog post.  But the events last Sunday have made an impact not only on myself, but on my city, that I feel will be around for a very long time to come.   As Las Vegas is my home, this event was very close to me, and I could certainly use some writing to process it all.  It’s not ideal for a blog creation, but it is certainly what is most prevalent in my life right now, so it’s as good a place as any to start. 

On Sunday, October 1, 2017, Las Vegas was hit by what is now the country’s most record-breaking mass shooting at the Route 91 Harvest Festival, a country music festival attended by 22,000 people that night.  It took place at a festival grounds directly across the Las Vegas Strip from Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino, where my husband, Tony, works as a Casino Executive.  It is a festival that we have attended every year and had planned to attend that year as well. 

The first shot has been reported to have rang out at 10:08pm, and shortly after, Tony received a call from a high roller client who was not being allowed to gamble in high limit.  All I heard from the call were the words “Active Shooter” as Tony repeated what the guest was telling him. We had been asleep, but I sat up and turned on the news and began scrolling my social media sites for information while he calmed the guest on his phone.  My initial thought was that some drunk idiot had flashed a gun in the casino, and that the situation would be minor, under control in minutes, and we would be back to sleep with no incident.  The guest was upset he couldn’t gamble, so clearly there was no real commotion anywhere that he could see.  

There was nothing on any of the news channels, nothing on any of my social media feeds.  Having worked at the nightclubs at Mandalay Bay, Light and Daylight, and being married into the Casino Marketing department, I was connected with a lot of employees, so surely I would have seen their posts if this was a big deal.  When I couldn’t find anything I was relieved that we had little to worry about and was ready to settle back into bed. Then Tony read out loud from Twitter, “It’s at Route 91,” and opened a blurry live video of hundreds of people running and screaming.  My heart began pounding.  

That was where we were supposed to be at that moment.  I had attended the night before, and in my early pregnancy, I was too exhausted to make it out again for a late night.  Our VIP wristbands were sitting just downstairs on the kitchen counter. I had felt guilty about bailing on all of my friends from the night before, and now I was frantic to get ahold of them.  Not only was the group of girls there from the night before, but in this small town I knew of at least 50 people off the top of my head who were may all be there. 

 Neither of us said a word, instead we both immediately began desperately dialing and texting in silence.  Friends called us while they were mid-run assuming we were at the festival and asking where we were going and to report where they were running.  They were hiding behind walls, jumping fences, telling us to meet them in bunkers they had found.  They described it as a warzone, telling us there were machine guns being fired everywhere.  Meanwhile, we were reporting to them what we were now finally seeing on the news. “DON’T go back to Mandalay Bay!  A new shooter is reported at Tropicana! There’s a bomb reported in Luxor, run South! They just hit Bellagio!”  We assumed it must be entire groups of shooters on the ground; it must be the terrorist attack on the entire Strip that any resident of Las Vegas has been told was bound to happen at some point. 

For hours, it was chaos. People ran as far as McCarren Airport and beyond in one direction, and past Town Square in the other—both are miles from the site.  The fuzzy unfocused videos being posted were horrifying from their sound alone—rapid fire “pop pop pop pop pop” over and over.  On the news and the live feeds on social media hundreds of shots rang out for what felt like eternities at a time, and when they would pause the screaming would start again as the cameraman would take off running.  News interviews showed panicked attendees telling us they had leapt over and left behind thousands of bodies laying in the GA area of the concert, just in front of the stage.   

I didn’t sleep that night except for restless nightmare-fueled naps interrupted by updates and breaking news on the screen that illuminated our room.  I stayed glued to the news and my phone, waiting for updates and “Safe” check-ins on Facebook.  The other reports down the Strip were all false according to the news. The shooter was dead, they reported, and they were certain he was the only person involved.  As confusing as that was as an explanation at the time, it was enough to calm the feeling of panic that I had been experiencing for hours now.  But we were all awake, all of Las Vegas that hadn’t somehow slept through the news or calls from family and friends all over the country checking in to make sure they were safe.  Long lines began to be reported at blood banks around the city as early as 4am. 

It was one of the most horrific nights of my life, and will impact myself and everyone in this town for years to come.  Fifty-eight people died that night–fifty-nine including the shooter–and over 500 people were injured.  Somehow, everyone I know made it out safely.  I still can’t wrap my head around how massive a blessing that is, it shouldn’t be statistically possible. Las Vegas, and Mandalay Bay in specific, became the main story over the country and the world as we were suddenly the newest statistic, holding the highest death count in a mass shooting.  

More importantly to me though, was the outburst of caring, compassion, and coming together that followed in Las Vegas.  Anyone who lives here has heard the mumblings of what a shit city we are, that we are built on sin and drunk tourists and have no class or purpose.  As far as I’m concerned, my community put those rumors to shame immediately.  By 4am that morning the news was reporting that the lines at the blood banks were already hours long, and those lines have remained in place ever since.  Others are donating food to hospitals and law enforcement who are now working 12 hour shift all over the Strip and through the investigation. The famous “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign just next to Mandalay Bay has become a beautiful memorial to the victims.  Our city has raised over ten million dollars in a Go Fund Me to help the victims and that doesn’t include the numerous donations from individuals, casinos, and other companies who have offered massive donations in any other way imaginable: airfare, hotel rooms, counseling, funeral arrangements. 

As I said, this wasn’t the introduction I had planned for myself.  I assure you more posts will come to give you a clearer picture of me.  But Las Vegas is my home and this event overrides everything else in my life right now.  In the interest of sharing my experience as it happens, this is it. 

More to come soon. 

XOXO – Lindsey