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Sunday, February 28, 1999
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal
COLUMN: John L. Smith
Time has come to remove El Rancho eyesore from Strip
You know me. I'm hooked on nostalgia.
I drink in tales of the way things used to be in Sin City the way a wino guzzles hootch. I can get foggy-eyed over a piece of Vegas past faster than you can say, "Duck, Bugsy." I can quote chapter and verse from the book of The Way Things Used To Be with the giddy zeal of a tent revival preacher.
But as I stood outside the locked front door of the El Rancho the other day, all I felt was revulsion. A peek behind the plywood wall at the edge of the property revealed one homely hacienda with a theme vaguely reminiscent of war-torn Beirut. The spumoni-pink El Rancho's faux Old West facade has been torn away, and the property's sign has more holes in it than a hobo's grin. If you buy a vowel, you can make out that the El Rancho was to become the "Future Home of Countryland," which figures to arrive with the next Ice Age.
If ever a place needed a gallon of gas and a match, or a gift certificate from Implosions 'R' Us, this is it. Why it is allowed to remain in this pathetic condition I don't know.
It wasn't always that way.
Back in 1948 when the Strip was better known as Highway 91, the land was the site of Marion Hicks' Thunderbird. One glitzy roadside attraction with a shimmering pool and 76 rooms, the Thunderbird opened on Sept. 2.
The hotel survived expansions, bankruptcies, repeated sales and a gaggle of oddball entrepreneurs. In the early 1970s, in a matter of months it changed ownership from Del Web Corp. to Caesars World and into the hands of executives from Valley Bank.
The Thunderbird became Major Riddle's Silverbird in 1976, but its financial fortunes continued to be shuffled between some of the more intriguing characters in Las Vegas history. By 1980, it had a reputation as an all-world bustout joint. A federal bankruptcy court annex ought to have been built there.
After closing in December 1981, the property was purchased by venerable Las Vegas casino man Ed Torres, whose gambling roots stretched all the way to Meyer Lansky's Havana casino days.
In August 1982, Torres' El Rancho was born amid one of the worst economic slumps in the city's history. It featured a hotel tower and a 52-lane bowling alley, but its location wasn't exactly red-hot even in those days. All it had in common with its predecessors was financial hardship and a nifty little place called Joe's Oyster Bar. The El Rancho managed to remain open a decade before Torres quit the game and locked the doors.
Then the real fun began.
Under the ownership of the Las Vegas Entertainment Network Inc., the El Rancho became the site of more unkept promises than a Hollywood casting couch.
First, it was going to be Countryland USA and would feature two enormous hotel towers shaped like cowboy boots. But its owners soon discovered those boots were impossible to fill without sufficient working capital.
Then it materialized as the $1 billion Starship Orion resort offered by Orion Casino Corp., a subsidiary of International Thoroughbred Breeders Corp. of Cherry Hill, N.J. The casino proposal called for 2,400 hotel rooms and 5.4 million square feet of party space.
But Starship Orion was an intergalactic illusion, and ITB had its own problems when its chief executive officer, penny stock maven Robert E. Brennan, was hit with a $71.5 million fine by the Securities and Exchange Commission. Brennan was jettisoned, but Starship Orion never left the launching pad.
A call to ITB on Friday to find out what big plans the company has next for the care-worn El Rancho was not returned. Something tells me the owners won't be doing anything without first creating a penny stock offering.
So, short of a miraculous recovery, it's time to say "Happy Trails" to the El Rancho.
The city of Las Vegas and Clark County employs dozens of workers whose sole purpose is to patrol blighted neighborhoods and harass residents into cleaning up their yards. It's time they hit the Strip.
If you have a Buick on blocks in your driveway, you're subject to fines and, in some neighborhoods, even a lien on your home. So how does the El Rancho get off the hook?
It's time the county began fining the owners until they clean up their glorified flophouse. Better yet, yank it like an abscessed tooth from the Strip's dazzling smile.
If even a hopeless nostalgia junkie like me can't generate a tear for the El Rancho, then it's one hapless hacienda. Tear it down, pronto.
John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. His columns also appear online at www.lvrj.com and www.lasvegas.com. He can be reached at John_L._Smith@lvrj.com or 383-0295.
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