This Town Ain't Big Enough

A few years ago I heard that two Indian tribes were battling each other for the right to open a casino in Barstow. I then wrote a column, wondering where I might move Big Denny in case I had to relocate the Barstow Card Casino.



Big Denny's Maywood Card Casino? Big Denny's Beverly Hills Card Casino? Big Denny's Cucamonga Card Casino? Nothing seemed to sound and work nearly as well as the Barstow Card Casino, so I just forgot about it.



Then a while back I encountered my friend Doomsday Don. "Bad news, Max," he greeted me.



"Do you ever have good news, Don? What is it this time? More mad cow disease? An impending earthquake? A Martian invasion?"



He ignored my usual sarcasm. "Barstow. Kaput. Too many for Denny."



Doomsday Don's speech comes in staccato bursts of jargon, a mannerism he copied from Walter Winchell, an old-time newsman whom he revered. Winchell was a New York newspaper gossip columnist who also had a popular weekly radio program that he would begin by breathlessly announcing, "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press."



"Don," I said as politely as I could, "what the hell are you talking about?"



Doomsday Don handed me a newspaper clipping. He was always handing or mailing me clippings, usually convoluted stories on international crises about which he felt I had the urgent need to be informed, and which I never bothered to read.



This one was different. The two hairs on my head stood up as I read a story reporting that Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger had struck a deal to have not one, but two Indian tribes build adjacent casinos in Barstow. One would be operated by the Big Lagoon Rancheria and the other by the Los Coyotes Band of Cahuilla and Cupeno Indians.



"Forget Barstow funnies," Doomsday Don said, vigorously shaking his head. "Shulman won't allow it. Might jeopardize new casino ad money."



"Mr. Shulman is a respected publisher who believes in editorial integrity," I declared. "He is not influenced by petty monetary concerns."



Certain of my ground, I met with Barry Shulman and asked permission to keep writing about Big Denny in Barstow even if the Indian casinos were built.



"Can't allow it," he replied. "Might jeopardize new casino ad money."



"My fans won't like this," I warned him.



"Both of them?" he laughed.



I didn't think things could get worse, but they did. A short time later I was hunted down by Windy Waggy. The snoopy dame had found out what had happened and offered her condolences. "But not to worry, Max," she reassured me.



"Arnold is an old and dear friend and confidant of mine. I will do an economic feasibility study that will convince the governor to move the casinos elsewhere. I would only charge you – she scribbled rapidly on a pad – a mere $20,000."



"Twenty thousand?!" I screamed. "I couldn't make that much writing for Card Player in 100 lifetimes!" We negotiated and she finally agreed to accept $20 and two autographed copies of my book as payment.



A month went by and I heard nothing, so I phoned the governor's office to see if they had received Windy's feasibility study yet. "Windy Waggy?" the governor's secretary replied frostily. "We have strict orders not to accept any phone calls from her."



I decided to take matters into my own hands. I informed the secretary that I had an urgent matter I had to discuss with Schwarzenegger.



"I'm sorry," she replied, "but the governor's appointment book is completely filled for the next three years."



"How about if I wanted to see him about making a big contribution to his next election campaign?"



"Would tomorrow morning be soon enough?"



I flew up to Sacramento the next day and was ushered into the governor's office.



Schwarzenegger was as charming in real life as he was in his movies. "OK, baldy," he greeted me. "Vot do you vant und how much money vill you be contributing to me?"



"Let's talk about that later. Right now I have an urgent problem I have to discuss with you."



"You have der problems?" he laughed. "My approval ratings are down, der studio signed Adam Sandler instead of me for der new Terminator movie, und people still are accusing me of doing der groping," he added, sliding his hand up my leg.



I moved to another chair. "I'm sorry to hear that, governor, but I have much worse troubles. You can't let those Indian casinos be built in Barstow. If they are, I won't be able to write about Big Denny's Barstow Card Casino anymore. It's not fair. He was there first."



"Let me giff you der history lesson," Gov. Schwarzenegger lectured me. "Der Indians, dey ver here millions of years before Colombo discovered America."



"Colombo? That was a TV show. Peter Falk was Colombo."



"Peter Falk discovered America? Are you choking me?"



"Choking you? I'm not even touching you."



"No, no, choking, as in ha, ha funny."



"Oh, you mean joking. No, I'm not joking. It would be a disaster if Big Denny had to close his casino. He might sit on your head. And all those people thrown out of work. Take Michael Wiesenberg's dear old Aunt Sophie. If she lost her job as a cocktail waitress, where could she find another one? She'd have to go back to hooking."



The governor's eyes lit up. "Aunt Sophie? Does she still charge $10 for der night?"



"Never mind," I said. "Look, governor, there's no reason to build new casinos in Barstow."



"No reason?" Schwarz-enegger rummaged through all the muscle and girly magazines on his desk until he found the document he wanted. "See," he said, pointing to some figures, "the tribes estimate dat each vill generate $86 million to $109 million annually over der next seven years. If der state gets 20 percent of dat, it comes to … comes to … anyway, a lot of dough. Do you vant I should be depriving der good citizens of California of all dose dollars? Of course, if you vould make a nice contribution to my next election … "



"There isn't that much money in all of Barstow!" I argued. "Even with all his crooked games, Big Denny barely makes enough money off those farmers to break even. Why don't you move the casinos to someplace more affluent – like Pasadena, for example."



Schwarzenegger scratched his head. "Pasadena? Vere is dat?"



"Are you kidding? It's an important city in your own state – near Los Angeles. Don't you know that?"



"Vell, I'm still new at dis job und still am doing der learning." He glanced at his watch. "Now, if you vill excuse me, I haff my hourly gym workout to go to."



He had a final word for me: "Der casinos stay. Remember my campaign pledge. I vill pump up der economy."



"Yeah, well pump this!" I yelled, storming out.



Oh, well. I wonder how Big Denny might like living in Cucamonga.