The History of the Barstow Card Casino

From time to time, I get irate e-mail from people who have stopped by Big Denny's Barstow Card Casino out of curiosity after reading my column, only to discover that the experience was as frightening as it was costly. My standard response is that I am just an objective reporter, so please don't blame me.



Recently, however, I got a message that wasn't as easy to slough off. It was from Phil Hellmuth. He bitterly complained about being cheated in a $20 crazy pineapple tournament there. Time after time, he said, he flopped nut-nut, only to have his low counterfeited on the turn, and then his high outdrawn on the river. Furthermore, after making three rebuys, he had to use the ATM machine, and was shocked to be hit with a $50 "courtesy" charge. He said he blamed me for publicizing the casino, was planning to sue to get his money back, and wanted me to provide as much information as I could about the background and history of Big Denny and the Barstow Card Casino.



This wasn't too easy, because Big Denny isn't exactly noted for being either forthcoming or reliable, but after doing a lot of research, here's what I discovered.



Let's start with the town of Barstow, a quiet little community of some 23,000 souls, located off Southern California's Interstate 15. A few thousand years ago, geologists tell us, the area was covered by massive lakes, a fact that came to light with the unearthing of ancient marinas, outboard motors, and the remains of Indians in bathing suits. It's now the Mojave Desert, and the only water to be found is in bottles.



The area experienced something of a boom in the 1800s with the discovery of silver, and later, borax, but eventually the mines played out. It regained some notice during the Great Depression as a railroad terminal and the jumping-off place for destitute Dust Bowl farmers migrating to California and looking for work, as dramatized in John Steinbeck's classic novel The Grapes of Wrath. Today, Barstow's main claim to fame is that it lies halfway between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, and has become a handy site for destitute tourists returning from Sin City and looking for a railroad bridge to jump off.



For years there was nothing much to do in Barstow. It's located near the Calico Ghost Town, and all of its annual celebrations seem to be based on that fact. In February, there's the Calico Ghost Town Civil War re-enactments. In May, we have the Calico Ghost Town Spring Festival and Chili Cook-Off. In October, Barstow has the Calico Ghost Town Ghost Haunt. And in December, there's the Calico Ghost Town Heritage Fest. After a while, even the ghosts began getting bored.



Then came the Barstow Card Casino, but that wasn't exactly an earth-shaking event, either. It was originally called Farley's Feed Lot, a shabby, run-down barn where farmers could buy feed and board their cows. It soon became a hangout for rustics looking to get away from their wives for a while and play a little red dog. As travelers looking for action heard about the place, Farley began putting in poker tables and moved the boarding cows into the overhead hayloft. Thus was born the Barstow Card Casino, a small but comfortable gaming establishment where patrons could get a fair shake, as long as they didn't mind the smell of cow manure and the occasional straws drifting down on their heads from the overhead hayloft. Enter Big Denny, a thuggish ape and star graduate of various reform schools who had been gainfully employed as a "collection agent" for mob extortionists. "Pay up or Big Denny will sit on your head" became the most dreaded phrase in the business. Denny ended up serving a prison term when he sat on one head too many, splattering on the floor the brains of an uncooperative gentleman who had fallen a bit behind in his payments.



But he managed to get his sentence commuted by turning informant on his mob bosses and entering the witness protection program. Figuring that Barstow would be the last place anyone would look for someone like Big Denny, the feds relocated him there, getting him a job as a security guard at the casino.



Law enforcement was not a very good fit for the big guy. Barstow, a peaceful town where crime had been virtually nonexistent, suddenly began experiencing a rash of break-ins in the casino parking lot, along with an occasional mugging. It wasn't hard for Farley to put two and two together. Never happy with being forced to hire Big Denny in the first place, he informed him that he was out of a job.



"I got a better idea," Big Denny replied. "How's about ya just turn da joint over ta me?"



Farley's laughter abruptly ended when he found himself pinned to the floor under Big Denny's rump. A document transferring ownership was then drawn up and hastily signed by Farley, followed by Big Denny's "X." No one ever saw the former owner after that. Denny told everyone that Farley had decided to retire and relocate to Florida. The conventional wisdom around Barstow, however, is that Farley had been relocated to a hole in the ground in the desert, somewhere off I-15.



Now in control, Big Denny immediately embarked on an "upgrade" for the Barstow Card Casino. He fired all the dealers and brought in a crew of ex-cons whom he had met in prison. They were taught how to deal seconds to confederates, and then put on commission, getting a percentage of everything they could snatch out of pots. An illegal dice table was installed in the backroom and stocked with loaded dice. Patrons entering the parking lot were "encouraged" to valet park for usurious fees to prevent their tires from being slashed. In return for payoffs, Big Denny gave cheating teams free rein in tournaments and side games. Chip runners not only shortchanged patrons, but also sidelined as loan sharks.



Today the casino is regularly raided by the Barstow Police Department, but Denny's place in the witness protection program earns him a certain amount of immunity. And, of course, patrons who complain too vigorously seem to have a habit of suddenly disappearing.



Well, Phil, I hope this information is helpful. There are even worse details I could provide, but I don't want to push my luck. And if I were you, I'd think twice before taking Big Denny to court. You might not live long enough to win your 11th bracelet.