Big Trouble in Barstow

Big Denny was in a foul mood. Correction: fouler than usual. "Look at dis, will ya, Maxey," he growled, waving a copy of the Barstow Bugle in my face.

I scanned the newspaper. There, in between reports about crop statistics, hog auctions, Cub Scout meetings, and the main headline story announcing the Barstow Ladies Knitting Society's annual cookie sale, was a news item about the Barstow Indian tribe petitioning for the right to establish a casino in Barstow, based on their ancestral rights.

"Well, a little competition is always a good thing," I said cheerfully, then quickly shut my mouth as Denny began drawing his fist back.

"Are you nuts? Dey're gonna ruin me, Maxey," he yelled. "Dis town ain't big enough fer both of us."

Gazing at Big Denny's gargantuan dimensions, I was tempted to inform him that the town wasn't big enough for him, period, but I wasn't ready to quit living just yet.

"Dey got some nerve tryin' ta butt inta my territory," he continued to rant. "I wuz here first."

"Well, I think you'll find that the Barstow Indians were here for a few thousand years before you," I corrected him.

"Yeah? Den how come dey didn't build no casino den?" he challenged me.

How, I wondered, do I get into these idiotic conversations? "Well, maybe they were afraid that all the dinosaurs that were roaming around then might eat their customers," I said sarcastically.

Big Denny rubbed his chin. "Yeah, dat might be it. Well dere ain't no dinosorries here no more – ceptin' maybe Dirty Wally an' his granddaddy Filthy Willy – an' I don't need dem an' I don't need no more new casinos. Anyways, what kin dey offer dat I can't?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, counting on my fingers. "How about cards that aren't marked, honest jackpots, rakes and collections that don't amount to highway robbery, chip runners who don't shortchange you, dealers who aren't all ex-cons …"

Caught up in his own murderous thoughts, Big Denny wasn't paying any attention to my jibes. "Look at dis place. It's gorgeous. Why would anyone wanna go anyplace else when it's just like home?"

Yeah, I thought, just like home if you're a cow. The casino, in point of fact, was nothing more than a converted barn and feed lot store, as evidenced by the bits of straw that would from time to time sprinkle down from the hayloft upstairs onto the heads of irritated patrons.

"Ya gotta help me do somet'in', Maxey. Hey, how's about ya write a nice story in dat column of yours sayin' as how Barstow don't need no more casinos when dey got Big Denny ta take care of dem?"

"Barry Shulman," I reminded him, "does not exactly run a nonprofit charitable organization. Somehow I cannot visualize Card Player trying to block some new mega-casino that might give them a zillion dollars a year in advertising."

"Hey," he protested, "ain't I a good advertiser?"

"Oh, sure. The advertising sales director told me you had him drive all the way down from Vegas and then offered him a trade-out deal: full-page ads on the back cover in exchange for discount buffet tickets to your Four-Star Buffet."

"Yeah, but dose were classy-lookin' ads I offered dem. Dey woulda got Card Player a lotta attention."

"Attention from the police, maybe. Nude pictures of Aunt Sophie with her saying, 'Come play with me at the Barstow Card Casino.'"

OK, let's hold it right there. What you've read so far was the start of a column that I was in the process of writing. And then, as so often happens in life, reality intruded. I happened to come across a story reporting that not just one, but two Indian tribes were competing for the right to build a casino in Barstow.

The story reported that the Chemehuevi Indians from the Needles area (in the high desert near Barstow) said they had been working for years with Barstow, the state of California, and the federal government to build a casino near the city's sprawling outlet mall just off Interstate 15. Then, they just discovered that the Los Coyotes band of Cahuilla and Cupeno Indians from Northern San Diego County had "won the city's blessing" to build a casino in the same area.

The Los Coyotes proposal is for a $150 million casino with a 180-room hotel, 1,500 slot machines, and 25 gaming tables.

The story went on to describe the competing claims and political infighting, and mentioned the possibility that the tribal warfare might end up killing both proposals.

But what if one of the tribes did prevail and eventually did build a facility? Where would that leave me? Do you think Card Player would allow me to keep joking about a city that housed a large casino? "Read 'Em and Laugh" may be the magazine's best read and most culturally acclaimed column, but Card Player wouldn't hesitate for a moment to trade me for a half-page ad.

So, what can I do? Move Big Denny to another location? I don't think that would work. To quote a line from Hamlet, the phrase "Big Denny's Card Casino" rolls trippingly on the tongue. What other city would sound so right? Big Denny's Maywood Card Casino? Nah. Big Denny's South El Monte Card Casino? Forget it. Big Denny's Beverly Hills Card Casino? Yeah, right. And without Big Denny, I'd pretty much be out of business writing for Card Player. And there would go my six-figure income (six figures if you count the two numbers after the decimal point, that is). Goodness gracious, I might even be compelled to dismiss my valet and drive a smaller Rolls-Royce.

Oh, well, with any luck, by the time one or another of the tribes might get the go-ahead and build a casino, I'll be dead.

Stay tuned.