Columnist John Katsilometes: California gaming was pretty gamy

John Katsilometes' column appears Tuesdays and Sundays. Reach him at 259-2327 or [email protected].

When I lived in Northern California a group of us would hustle off for weekend jaunts to Reno. Whenever we wanted to experience adrenaline-fueled thrills and chills we'd organize a Reno road trip. Nothing could compare.

We'd happily and loudly discuss our Reno road trips for days. We'd spend long lunch hours carefully planning how and where to gamble. We'd practice blackjack, playing for pennies, and pore over football betting lines.

About a half-dozen of us would embark on a Reno road trip. We'd take off after working a late-night shift at the paper, drive for three hours while gulping coffee, and roar into Reno in the dead of night. We'd book a single room at Cal Neva for $49 a night and occupy a blackjack table until, one by one, members of our entourage would gas out and slink away for a power nap.

(It was during a Reno road trip that two members of our group, both reporters, lost track of time and actually slept through the O.J. Simpson verdict, quite likely the only journalists in North America to do so.)

By the end of the trip, as one Reno road-tripper poetically noted, our room reeked of a "lingering, fetid, tobaccoey, stink smell." Unkempt, unwashed and sleep deprived, we'd stagger home like a gaggle of gnomes. But two months later, our health and bank accounts fully recovered, we'd again hit the road. (Someday I'll tell little Johnny Jr. about these trips and say, "Don't do this.")

We planned on our punishing trips to Nevada because at the time our state had no casinos. To wide-eyed Northern Californians, places like the Reno Cal Neva (home of the $1.50 Heineken and hot dog special) were grand cathedrals. But we loathed the drive and wondered if California would boast major casinos in Cal Neva's class.

Then it happened. In 1993 an Indian gaming property called the Win-River Casino opened on the outskirts of town. We were abuzz as the casino construction neared completion, and a couple of us ventured into the Win-River soon after it opened.

What a dump.

Ventilation in these smoke-enveloped properties is optional. The house takes a quarter for every blackjack bet. Bingo is king and no liquor is sold or permitted on the premises. It's little more than a spacious warehouse full of sad citizens frittering away paychecks, not nearly as romantic as a late-night run to Reno.

But there seemed to be hope for California casinos like the Win-River when state voters passed Proposition 5, which would allow California tribal casinos to expand previously outlawed forms of video gaming, particularly money-sucking video poker machines. My friends in Northern California wondered if the gush of profits would someday put the Win-River on the same plane as Cal Neva.

They might never find out.

Last week the California Supreme Court cut down Proposition 5, ruling it violated the state's constitutional ban on Nevada-style casino gambling. California Gov. Gray Davis is negotiating with distressed California tribal leaders to continue operating casinos at status quo.

It's a huge hit for California gaming interests, because the state is stuck with dreary casinos like Win-River. Clearly, any Nevadan wary of gaming competition from California can rest easy. Forget Las Vegas; the Golden State is still being dusted by Reno.

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