Tuesday, April 17, 2001 | 8:14 a.m.
Susan Snyder's column appears Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at [email protected] or 259-4082.
Well, another group of people is analyzing Las Vegas.
They're looking at Neonopolis -- the $100 million malling of public money that's supposed to pump people and fun into downtown. A group of University of Phoenix students in Arizona are the ones probing the project.
They sent e-mails to a couple of Sun staffers asking for information about the original contracts, the name of construction company building the thing and what the organizational chart looks like.
Why, they asked, did construction go forward after Mann Theaters filed for bankruptcy protection and backed out of the deal?
"It appears as though construction on the garage continued based on promises from (World Entertainment Centers -- a key stakeholder) to secure a new anchor tenant. But after four ultimatums by the mayor, it seems a bit ridiculous that construction continued," one of the students wrote.
Maybe the school's public relations department can use the resulting research paper as an extra-credit assignment: Make this project look good and you get an "A" for life.
The real wreckage of broken Neonopolis dreams are people like the guy I met outside the Race Rock Cafe, which closed April 9. The Orlando-based "Supercharged Restaurant" with an auto-racing theme sits directly across from the site where the Mall Without a Store races ever skyward.
With the din and clatter of steel beams being erected and concrete being poured behind him, the man stood outside Race Rock and peered at a sign taped to the door. It gained the attention of about every third person who walked past:
"If circumstances allow it, we expect to reopen our Supercharged Restaurant when Neonopolis opens in our block of Fremont Street early next year. However, we cannot continue to sustain the significant operating losses we've been experiencing until that happens."
"They didn't give us any warning," the man said.
He wore a black Race Rock polo shirt and cap. A pack containing something very large was slung over his back.
"They said they tried calling everybody at 6 o'clock that morning, but I don't have a phone."
The man, who didn't want his name printed, said he worked as a bus boy on the restaurant's "pit crew." He says when his shift ended April 8 no one said anything about it being the last one.
"I showed up for work Monday, and I saw this," he said, pointing to the sign. "I was just shocked. It was a really nice place to work."
But the promise of Neonopolis is still only that. And it's being made by some people who obviously have money to lose -- not busboys.
The man lingered and watched a pair of tourists who pressed their noses to the Race Rock's dark windows, read the sign, then squinted into the sunlight at the tangle of beams across the street.
"They say we can get unemployment, but that won't happen for two weeks," the former busboy said.
"Now I'm going to pawn my VCR so I can pay my rent," he said adjusting the backpack. "It's in here."
He walked off toward a Fremont Street pawnshop.
Well, the promise of Neonopolis is bringing somebody some business.
archive
