Columnist Jon Ralston: Commission makes mockery of neighborhood casino law

Sunday, Jan. 23, 2000 | 9 a.m.

Jon Ralston, who publishes The Ralston Report, writes a column for the Sun on Wednesdays and Sundays. Ralston can be reached at 870-7997 or ralston@vegas.com.

In 1989 the Gang of 63, while they pondered weak and weary, decided to put an end to the blight of neighborhood casinos on the Las Vegas Valley landscape. Quoth the lawmakers: "Nevermore."

When ravenous gaming lobbyists later came tapping at government chamber doors, asking for a few exceptions, and nothing more, the municipal types shrugged and said, "What we meant was Nevermore -- sort of."

Eight years later legislators passed Senate Bill 208 and, for the second time, read the last rites to the specter of casinos near neighborhoods. Once again, they chanted: "Nevermore." But those birds of prey from the Strip, ever flitting, still sitting above those government chamber doors, asked and again received exemptions, as well as a loophole that allowed approvals with supermajorities of local boards. So last week, when the Clark County Commission approved what everyone but three mendacious commissioners could see was a neighborhood casino, they were making a very different pronouncement when it comes to these projects. Quoth the commission: "Evermore."

This is an all-too predictable story with the kind of horrific performances and gloomy plot line that even Edgar Allan Poe's imagination could not have conjured. But it is the kind of tale he would have enjoyed: No heroes, replete with fear, an unhappy ending.

By approving an eight-story, 300-room casino near Flamingo and Grand Canyon in western Las Vegas, three commissioners made a mockery not just of that 1997 law, which was something of a sham anyhow. But Erin Kenny, Mary Kincaid and Lance Malone succeeded in accomplishing something much more pernicious: They unfurled a red carpet for other neighborhood casinos. "We have our maps out today," one casino executive said the day after the vote, indicating it was time to start looking for fresh sites thanks to the pliable commission.

Advocates for the project proposed by the megadeveloper brothers Ghermezian insisted that SB208 was "not a prohibition statute," a comment echoed by Kenny but rebutted by Dario Hererra, who was in Carson City when SB208 passed and was the only commissioner to vote against the project. (Three commissioners abstained Wednesday. Adding to the absurdity is this: A supermajority in this case amounted to three commissioners, which actually is a minority of the seven commissioners because state law says you can't count the abstentions as being part of the quorum. Anyone have a bill draft handy?)

The prologue to SB208 clearly indicates that casinos should not be approved in "those areas best suited for residential living." What's more, the law mandates that applicants present "clear and convincing" evidence that residents will not be affected, which sponsor Mark James points out is a high bar, "almost to beyond a reasonable doubt."

"We're back in the same boat," the state senator lamented. "A casino in every suburban center instead of an anchor grocery store. I don't think that was the intent of the law."

Indeed. But James' law, and its 1989 predecessor, were less about planning than the lubricant that greases most high-profile zoning decisions: money. The Nevada Resort Association has masqueraded as the Neighborhood Revival Association during these debates, coming out against these projects unless one of their own happens to want to build one. So the wails from Coast Hotels and Station Casinos and the Fiesta have an empty ring. They care about getting theirs and squashing anyone else. Those three companies gave $60,000 to Malone last year, with little payoff.

That's not to say the other side hasn't played the money game, too. The Ghermezian's local affiliate, Triple Five, and executives with ties to the family business, were the single largest contributors to the commissioners during the last reporting period, giving an aggregate of $66,000. Malone received $19,500 from Triple Five and related entities while Kincaid raked in more than $30,000. These guys played the NRA's game and won.

If it weren't for money -- as in the $400,000 he has collected -- Malone might be in trouble because of the pit into which he flung himself. Indeed, the pendulum now has swung from his declaration of ignorance about a family friend's application for an airport concession -- "I didn't know it was that Gay Reber" -- to his assertion of untrustworthiness Wednesday: "All an elected official has sometimes is his word -- and this time I'll have to back off my word." Or, translated into Malonespeak: "I didn't know it was THAT neighborhood casino."

"That's a (campaign) commercial," said one stunned political consultant. "That's how you get opponents."

James insists that he is committed to revisit the issue in 2001. "We're going to stop this," he averred.

Really? And how many applications will be approved before then?

From now on when you hear politicians give their word or insist a neighborhood casino really isn't a neighborhood casino, and ask you to believe them, your retort should be brief: Nevermore.