by John Branston
GREENVILLE, Miss.-- "You having any luck?"
The
old woman in the floppy hat standing on the Greenville public boat launch
shakes her head no, as she dips a cane pole into muddy Lake Ferguson. A
short cast away, gamblers aboard the Lighthouse Point riverboat casino are
trying their luck at the slot machines and craps tables.
This Greenville snapshot is not one to bring smiles to the faces of casino executives. It underscores the image of Mississippi riverboat casinos as the bush-league backwater of the glitzy gambling industry that prefers the term "vessel" to boat.
But Lake Ferguson really is a backwater of the Mississippi River, and Greenville is one of the oddest and most isolated gambling venues in America. Tunica has Memphis to supply over half of its customers. Vicksburg has Jackson. The Gulf Coast has Alabama, Florida, and Louisiana. A single casino in Coahoma County between Greenville and Tunica catches most of the Little Rock market. Greenville has Bolivar, Leland, Alligator, Greenwood, and Rosedale -- all in all, one of the poorest parts of the United States not on an Indian reservation.
"We've got three casinos operating in what, realistically, is a one-and-a-half casino market," says Jack Newton, general manager of the Las Vegas Casino in Greenville.
In contrast to gaudy Tunica casinos which appear to rest high and dry in man-made lagoons far from the river, Greenville's two casino barges and one actual boat are unmistakably wet. They share the waterfront with people who fish for dinner, not just for sport. Bringing in a big one here can mean either a 10-pound catfish or a $100 jackpot. And casino customers are strongly advised not to park within the yellow lines that mark the public boat-launching area between the casino parking lots. Even at midnight, a diligent city policeman writes down license-plate numbers. The ultimate Insult-to-Injury Special: Lose your money in the slots while your car is being towed away.
Welcome to the "Queen City of the Mississippi Delta," straddling its aristocratic heritage and an uncertain future hitched to casinos. This is the hometown of writers such as Shelby Foote, Walker Percy, Ellen Douglas, and Hodding Carter, who won a Pulitzer Prize in 1952 for his book Where Main Street Meets the Mississippi. It has one of the nicest country clubs and most elegant Main Streets in Mississippi. Its newspaper, The Delta-Democrat Times, and federal courts were forerunners of desegregation in the 1950s and 1960s. For decades, powerful Delta legislators like former state Rep. H. L. "Sonny" Merideth and the late U.S. Sen. James Eastland brought home the bacon from Jackson and Washington.
But most of the old lions have died, retired, moved away, or sold out. Among Greenville's current 45,000 residents are thousands of poor people who live in block after block of shotgun shacks in neighborhoods minutes from the casinos. Bracketed between Tunica and Coahoma County to the north and Vicksburg to the south, and 75 miles from the nearest interstate highway, Greenville has slim hope of attracting patrons from beyond the rural Delta counties of Mississippi and Arkansas.
"We have no venture capital here," says Barthell Joseph Jr., a local businessman who helped bring casinos to Washington County. "Our only assets are our people and our heritage."
After the Mississippi legislature legalized dockside casinos in Mississippi River counties in 1990, opponents here forced a referendum in Washington County, which they narrowly won. Two years later, however, casino proponents prevailed by just 290 votes.
Las Vegas Casino, Lighthouse Point, and Bayou Caddy Jubilee, all small, little-known operators, are fighting over what is estimated to be a $70 million annual market. In comparison, Tunica casinos gross about $800 million, the Gulf Coast $750 million, and Vicksburg about $175 million annually. Greenville's closest competitor, Lady Luck Coahoma, (just across the river from Helena, Arkansas) grossed $89 million in 1996.
"If our casinos divided the market evenly, all three would go broke," says Joseph.
Befitting their unusual location, the Greenville casinos have rewritten the book on how to do business. The Las Vegas Casino restaurant is in a converted train depot on the dry side of the levee, and Lighthouse Point's restaurant is in a separate building between the casino and the parking lot. In the casino business, this is like serving dessert before dinner, only worse. Protocol is to make patrons wander through the casino to get to the restaurant, or climb a few flights of stairs, as Jubilee does for its popular Tuesday-night $6.95 all-you-can-eat fried catfish buffet.
Lighthouse Point's new Fairfield Inn Hotel, a shuttle ride or long walk from the casino, is attracting more corporate customers than casino patrons so far. In June, Lighthouse Point, which is getting about 20 percent of the market, changed general managers just six months after opening.
Jubilee and its predecessor, Cotton Club Casino, have managed to operate since 1993 without building any permanent landside development, as required by Mississippi gaming regulations. A renovation of the old Levee Board Building into a hotel is supposed to begin this year.
Other peculiarities have been more lucrative. Newton and the Las Vegas Casino pioneered the wholesale introduction of nickel slots to the Mississippi riverboat market. A specially designated "Nickel Paradise" section of the casino is usually packed, often while dealers at the table games below stand idle. "Nickel Paradise" has been profitable and prophetic. Statewide, the "handle" or amount bet on nickel slots now tops $125 million a month and is the fastest growing component of the business.
Regulars visit the casinos three or four times a week, and Newton says business is "noticeably heavier" around the first of the month due to government assistance checks. The casinos will cash paychecks but not government checks.
Area residents are the backbone of Greenville's casinos on both sides of the supply-and-demand equation. Not yet four years old, the casinos already employ around 1,700 people, making them easily the biggest employer around.
"This was my first job out of college," says Johnny Ware, 27, an Alcorn State University graduate from nearby Indianola. As a slot-machine technician, he earns about $12 a hour.
The casinos' most visible impact is on Greenville's downtown, which is right next to the levee. Several businesses, including homegrown Stein Mart and football legend Charles Conerly's Name Brand Family Shoe Store, have moved east to the highway. Residential growth has spread southward. Banks, the federal courthouse, and city hall give downtown some pedestrian life, and colorful banners boast "Greenville Pride -- Catch It." But Walnut Street along the levee is a dispirited collection of pawn shops, bars, and empty buildings.
In the absence of any other flagship businesses, architectural landmarks on the order of The Peabody hotel, or wealthy downtown angels, Greenville Mayor Paul Artman is counting on casino investment and tax revenue to help change things.
"It's given us an extra $2 million a year to work with," says Artman, elected in 1995 on a promise to support tourism. "It's great for the revitalization of Walnut Street, but retail is still slipping and a lot of mom-and-pops blame casinos. Yet our overall sales-tax figures are up."
Some public improvements are beginning to show up. Walnut Street will soon sport new sidewalks, planters, street lights, and possibly a folklife center tied into a Smithsonian Institution project. The idea, however, is not original. Helena already has a similarly themed museum, festival, and riverwalk without much catalytic effect on its downtown.
"We're leading them to the development we think that we need," says Artman.
It is not always clear, Artman admits, who is leading whom. And some early casino opponents like Charles Bevil, owner of Delta Hardware in downtown Greenville, have seen nothing to make them change their minds.
"Some money is going into city coffers but where is it going?" asks Bevil. "Our infrastructure is falling apart. The casino money doesn't even turn over. It goes out of town to Atlantic City or Las Vegas. The only thing that turns over is the employees' paychecks."
District Attorney Frank Carlton, whose office is on Walnut Street, has already seen one improvement.
"There has been a definite decrease in violent crime that I attribute to casinos," says Carlton. "Before, a lot of people were gambling in places that were not regulated. Disputes were settled with knives or guns. Now they can go in an air-conditioned casino and get free drinks. If you blow up in there they throw your ass out."
Bad-check and property crimes have increased "a little," says Carlton. And he has prosecuted a few cases involving cheating by casino patrons or employees.
"Overall," says Carlton, "I think the casinos have probably been a plus."