Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

CHANGING TIMES: Bye-Bye Bingo

Bingo fans' options of places to play dwindling as casinos phase out halls

Glenda Bissonnette, a bingo agent at the New Frontier, calls numbers during a recent game. Photo by Clint Karlsen. Las Vegas resident Gerry Dally calls "bingo" at the New Frontier recently. Dally plays bingo at the hotel almost every day. The bingo hall at the New Frontier draws a crowd of both tourists and locals, says manager Pauline Caruso. A poster on the outside wall at the New Frontier displays the bingo hall hours. At one time, bingo was a major draw for casinos, says the Frontier's bingo hall manager Pauline Caruso. But its popularity has faded and now the New Frontier is the last Strip casino to offer it, she says.

Local resident Gerry Dally, 70, sat at her favorite table in the New Frontier bingo hall surrounded by some of her favorite things: her best friend Marcie Van Zeeland, several colored daubers, her "Grandma" good-luck charm and perhaps her most favorite of all, a winning bingo card.

As the attendant counted out the jackpot in $20 bills and a handful of tokens, Dally shrugged.

"A hundred dollars. It's a start."

And a decent one at that. At 1 p.m. on a recent Wednesday, it was the women's second bingo session of the day and marked the first of four wins between them. They did the equivalent of a high five in bingo, each touching the jackpot money for good luck, but that was it for the celebration. These women were bingo buffs, not prone to celebratory outbursts. They had a game to play.

Like many of the approximate 50 people in the bingo hall that day, Dally and Van Zeeland, 88, have been playing bingo at the New Frontier for years. They are among a dying breed of gamblers on the Strip, where casinos have been phasing out their bingo halls in favor of nightclubs, fancy restaurants and the other latest trends. Gone are the halls at the Sahara, Riviera and other Strip resorts, which attracted large followings among locals. About the only casinos that offer it now are in neighborhoods, Dally says.

"It's a shame all the new hotels are doing away with bingo. I guess it's not cool enough for them," Dally says, scanning a keen eye across her 12 cards and electronic bingo machine. "If Trump takes over here, we're not going to have bingo either. We play other places sometimes, but we like it here. We don't go chasing power balls like other people."

That's the real shame for these two women, as their near daily outings to the New Frontier, specifically to play bingo, have become a central part of their lives and essential to their social support systems. They've met many friends both say they cherish: Susie Painter, the "very best" cocktail waitress in town; Glenda Bissonnette, an attendant who walks among the tables during games, verifying wins and delivering jackpots; and others they don't know by name. The players get to know each other, the employees. They talk about their children, husbands, wives and misfortunes. Too often, they go to a fellow bingo player's funeral.

"If I had a quarter for every funeral I've been to," manager Pauline Caruso says, shaking her head, her sentence trailing off. "It's like a social club. They come in the morning, have free doughnuts and coffee. Every day, the same people. I think bingo is really wonderful for old people. It gives them a reason to get dressed and get out."

Caruso, a native of New York, has worked in bingo halls throughout town for 33 years. She has been at the New Frontier for the past 13 of them. Of the 9,000 to 12,000 people who play bingo every month at the casino, the majority are elderly, she says, which makes her work a bit sad but rewarding.

One regular hasn't been in for some time -- her husband's in the hospital, Caruso says. Another regular doesn't come in as often since his Alzheimer's disease worsened. Just the other day, his daughter brought him in and was heartened to see the care and concern these apparent strangers showed to him, she adds.

"It's a great job. You gotta know how to handle old people. You have to be a little bit social worker, psychiatrist and case worker rolled into one," she explains. "The customers, they really become your friends."

Dally says she has made several friends who have taught her a thing or two about bingo. Her Massachusetts friend taught her to never leave winnings on the table as it chases away money. Every few months, her Michigan friend returns for a time.

"Bingo people are the most superstitious people you'll ever meet," Dally says, fiddling with her good-luck "Grandma" figurine.

It's after sessions, which run every odd hour starting at 11 a.m. and ending at 5 p.m., when the players socialize. During the game, the room is silent save for the sound of the bingo announcer's voice and the rhythmic "poomp" of daubers against the table as players dutifully stamp their cards.

Dally and Van Zeeland kept a running dialogue with Painter, the cocktail waitress, during this 1 p.m. session. They exchanged advice about bursitis and other ailments that haven't kept them away.

"I had hip-replacement surgery on a Tuesday and I was back in bingo for Monday. People didn't have time to sign my get-well card," Dally says. "I've got to say, we need our bingo. A lot of places are doing away with it. What are old people supposed to do?"