Worst Casino Stories
THE WAY IT WAS
By Barney Vinson
The trouble with Las Vegas is that it doesn't have any memories. It's as new today as it ever was. As soon as a building acquires some touch of character or personality, up roll the bulldozers to tear it down so something else can be put in its place.
Those who live here take it all in stride, and hardly notice the spindly cranes that hover over the landscape like prehistoric insects. Fallen casinos are yesterday's news. The El Rancho, Dunes, Landmark, Sands Royal Nevada New resorts catch the eye, crowd the sky, do or die. Mirage, Venetian, Paris, and Bellagio.. But when it's late, and the traffic's thin, and the workday's over, some of the oldtimers still meet for a cold one before heading home. They are all that is left of a bolder and bawdier Las Vegas, and they can tell you how it used to be.
There was the Grace Hayes Lodge, and the International, and the Cinedome. There was the Daydream Ranch, and the Village Pub, and the Playpen Apartments. There was the Jungle Club, and the Colonial House, and a neat cafe called the Dive. A fellow named Lou owned the Dive, and his hamburgers were a work of art. If you blanked at work, Lou would trust you for a meal -- just as long as you didn't stuff all your change in the pinball machine. The problem was that Lou trusted too many people. His old place became Battista's Hole In The Wall, and the new owner is a millionaire.
You took a right on the Strip to get to the Castaways. Built on a pie-shaped piece of ground across the street from the Sands, it consisted of a casino, two wings of rooms, a radio station out back, and a replica of an Indian temple that had something to do with 'transmigration of the soul.' Then somebody came up with the idea of putting a 1500-gallon fish tank behind the bar. It didn't have fish in it, either. A nude showgirl swam lazily through the water three times a day, holding her breath while everyone watching held theirs.
Maybe the tourists zipped right past the Castaways without slowing down, but the locals loved it. It was the only place in town where you could play a penny slot machine, and maybe win the big jackpot of ten American dollars. The bartender knew your name, and what you were drinking. The waitress dished out advice as well as menus. 'You've got to have a bite to eat, dear. You're going to be on your feet doing a lot of gambling.' Breakfast was 59 cents, and a steak was $1.95.
Most of the dealers were greenhorns, but at least they smiled sympathetically when you lost a bet and your chips went down another notch. They weren't there for the long haul anyway, but just putting in time until a good job came along. Consequently, every spring a new crop of dealers would show up at the Castaways for that curious Vegas ritual known as the job audition.
It was an unwritten law. You started downtown, then you got on at the Castaways before summer started, and you pestered the good places on the Strip until you got a job making some decent tokes. Passing that first Strip audition was the big test, and over the years it turned many a man to stone.
There was the time a dealer auditioned at the Castaways wearing a toupee. By the time the smoke cleared, his hairpiece had slid around sideways and his shirttail was hanging out in the back. All he could say to those who would listen was, 'I blew it, I blew it.'
Another dealer showed up early for his audition at a Castaways blackjack table. He stood anxiously to the side, watching with awe as the dealer on the game deftly arched the cards through the air. His eyes followed the cards as they landed in neat little stacks, and if somebody asked him later how many players were at the table he wouldn't be able to say. All he saw were fingers and chips and beer bottles.
Suddenly the pit boss nodded, and it was the young dealer's turn. The weeks of practice and study were blurred in his head as he took the deck from the other man. He cautiously stole a look at the pit boss as he began to deal the cards, and saw with alarm that there were now two pit bosses watching him. With that, the young dealer's eyes rolled back and down he went in a dead faint. Instantly, two elderly security guards broke into action. One dragged the dealer away from the table, while the other hobbled to a nearby office where a tank of oxygen was kept for such emergencies. Together they worked frantically over the fallen dealer, one holding his limp body down while the other inserted a dusty mouthpiece and turned on the oxygen.
Success! The dealer's feet began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster, and now his hands were clawing at the air -- hands that had abruptly turned bright blue!
'Check the oxygen,' hollered one guard to the other.
'Oh, no,' replied the second. 'The damn thing's empty!
By Barney Vinson
The trouble with Las Vegas is that it doesn't have any memories. It's as new today as it ever was. As soon as a building acquires some touch of character or personality, up roll the bulldozers to tear it down so something else can be put in its place.
Those who live here take it all in stride, and hardly notice the spindly cranes that hover over the landscape like prehistoric insects. Fallen casinos are yesterday's news. The El Rancho, Dunes, Landmark, Sands Royal Nevada New resorts catch the eye, crowd the sky, do or die. Mirage, Venetian, Paris, and Bellagio.. But when it's late, and the traffic's thin, and the workday's over, some of the oldtimers still meet for a cold one before heading home. They are all that is left of a bolder and bawdier Las Vegas, and they can tell you how it used to be.
There was the Grace Hayes Lodge, and the International, and the Cinedome. There was the Daydream Ranch, and the Village Pub, and the Playpen Apartments. There was the Jungle Club, and the Colonial House, and a neat cafe called the Dive. A fellow named Lou owned the Dive, and his hamburgers were a work of art. If you blanked at work, Lou would trust you for a meal -- just as long as you didn't stuff all your change in the pinball machine. The problem was that Lou trusted too many people. His old place became Battista's Hole In The Wall, and the new owner is a millionaire.
You took a right on the Strip to get to the Castaways. Built on a pie-shaped piece of ground across the street from the Sands, it consisted of a casino, two wings of rooms, a radio station out back, and a replica of an Indian temple that had something to do with 'transmigration of the soul.' Then somebody came up with the idea of putting a 1500-gallon fish tank behind the bar. It didn't have fish in it, either. A nude showgirl swam lazily through the water three times a day, holding her breath while everyone watching held theirs.
Maybe the tourists zipped right past the Castaways without slowing down, but the locals loved it. It was the only place in town where you could play a penny slot machine, and maybe win the big jackpot of ten American dollars. The bartender knew your name, and what you were drinking. The waitress dished out advice as well as menus. 'You've got to have a bite to eat, dear. You're going to be on your feet doing a lot of gambling.' Breakfast was 59 cents, and a steak was $1.95.
Most of the dealers were greenhorns, but at least they smiled sympathetically when you lost a bet and your chips went down another notch. They weren't there for the long haul anyway, but just putting in time until a good job came along. Consequently, every spring a new crop of dealers would show up at the Castaways for that curious Vegas ritual known as the job audition.
It was an unwritten law. You started downtown, then you got on at the Castaways before summer started, and you pestered the good places on the Strip until you got a job making some decent tokes. Passing that first Strip audition was the big test, and over the years it turned many a man to stone.
There was the time a dealer auditioned at the Castaways wearing a toupee. By the time the smoke cleared, his hairpiece had slid around sideways and his shirttail was hanging out in the back. All he could say to those who would listen was, 'I blew it, I blew it.'
Another dealer showed up early for his audition at a Castaways blackjack table. He stood anxiously to the side, watching with awe as the dealer on the game deftly arched the cards through the air. His eyes followed the cards as they landed in neat little stacks, and if somebody asked him later how many players were at the table he wouldn't be able to say. All he saw were fingers and chips and beer bottles.
Suddenly the pit boss nodded, and it was the young dealer's turn. The weeks of practice and study were blurred in his head as he took the deck from the other man. He cautiously stole a look at the pit boss as he began to deal the cards, and saw with alarm that there were now two pit bosses watching him. With that, the young dealer's eyes rolled back and down he went in a dead faint. Instantly, two elderly security guards broke into action. One dragged the dealer away from the table, while the other hobbled to a nearby office where a tank of oxygen was kept for such emergencies. Together they worked frantically over the fallen dealer, one holding his limp body down while the other inserted a dusty mouthpiece and turned on the oxygen.
Success! The dealer's feet began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster, and now his hands were clawing at the air -- hands that had abruptly turned bright blue!
'Check the oxygen,' hollered one guard to the other.
'Oh, no,' replied the second. 'The damn thing's empty!
Stories From Casino Dealership
All slots are written in the same musical key. Ever wonder why with all the noise of a casino, the. ATLANTIC CITY: When we opened up Resorts in AC it was a zoo, these East Cost wise guys knew the payouts on the bets before the dealer could figure it out, thus we learned quick! I heard a dealer ask a boxman from Vegas what an unusual bet paid and the boxman said. 'Keep paying him until he smiles.then take one back'.