COLUMN: John L. Smith

     A block from Fremont Street, the handsome bronze image of cowboy Benny Binion sits astride his horse and surveys the casino range he played an integral part in shaping.
      The statue honors the patriarch of Binion's Horseshoe, one of the nation's best known casinos.
      But Benny Binion was not just a plain-spoken cowhand who got lucky in Las Vegas. His skill with cards and dice was not developed on a cattle ranch, but on the streets of Dallas, where he was a gun-toting racketeer and bootlegger who killed his share of enemies.
      Like the grand old man in a Faulkner novel, Benny Binion spent the last years of his life holding court in the Horseshoe coffee shop and keeping his family together through sheer will and uncommon savvy.
      Before discussing the odd story of Lonnie "Ted" Binion, who Thursday was once again recommended for ouster from the casino industry by the state Gaming Control Board, take a moment to remember his father. In his way, Ted Binion is not so different from his tough old man.
      That is, of course, part of his trouble.
      Over the years, Teddy Binion has mixed with the minor leagues of the underworld, indulged in narcotics use and had numerous scrapes with the law. Horseshoe insiders also recognize that he once owned one of the sharper gambling minds around. On the casino floor, he still knows the games inside and out.
      It is his street games that have come back to haunt him, and he has made his critics' job easy by failing to recognize that his father's freewheeling days are long gone.
      Not that he hasn't tried to change. Binion has struggled with drugs for years, but has managed to pass 160 straight drug tests in the past 12 months as his attorneys have strained to portray him as the Comeback Kid. But then Binion goes and hooks up with local mob associates Herb Blitzstein and Pete Ribaste, and the lawyers' work goes down the drain.
      Blitzstein used Binion's juice at the Horseshoe to cash insurance checks. Binion also did business with Any Auto, a car repair shop Blitzstein operated. Today, Teddy needs a seance to talk to Blitzstein, who was shot to death gangland-style in January.
      Then there's Ribaste, a topless bar bustout with federal convictions and connections to the Civella mob family. Ribaste has borrowed money from numerous local citizens, but the biggest loan he received was $100,000 from Ted Binion for a share of an automobile lot.
      The loan was made without paperwork.
      Hey, it could happen.
      Binion's attorneys had the dubious duty Thursday of explaining how he knew Ribaste well enough to hand over $100,000 but not well enough to know the Kansas City transplant was acting like an extra from "Casino."
      "We complied with everything absolutely, and they were bound and determined to try to find a way they could recommend against him even though he's in full compliance," attorney Richard Wright said. "Mr. Ribaste, whatever he is, isn't a notorious person."
      Not to Teddy Binion, perhaps, but law enforcement would beg to differ.
      Ribaste, it should be noted, also has credit lines at several Las Vegas casinos. If he is good enough for them, why isn't he good enough for Ted Binion?
      It's a question Wright and fellow counsel Mark Ferrario and Harry Claiborne plan to ask when the Nevada Gaming Commission reviews Binion's status next week. Meanwhile, the attorneys have some work to do.
      "It's not easy, but he's a remarkable personality," Wright said. "He's old school. He has had bad luck with his relationships."
      Wright gets my vote for uttering the understatement of the year.
      But Binion also is the sort of fellow who admitted loaning $1 million to an acquaintance without drawing up the standard documents.
      "That's Ted," Wright said, suppressing a chuckle.
      And that's the problem.
      But the problem is complex and transcends one man's licensure. Anyone who reads the paper knows the nation is watching how Nevada regulates its largest industry. With a national commission poised to study the casino culture, the last thing the Gaming Control Board and Chairman Bill Bible are going to do is let a licensee maintain open ties to mob associates. He's made their jobs easy.
      For a guy raised at the knee of the great Benny Binion, Ted Binion has been a certified mark for street sharpies and state gaming regulators.
     
     John L. Smith's column appears Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday. He can be reached at John_L._Smith@lvrj.com.