Locals flock to Arizona in lottery rush

Jeffrey Libby

Friday, Aug. 24, 2001 | 11:55 a.m.

For the past seven days, ever since the multistate Powerball lottery hit $150 million, a warped, clapboard roadhouse about 30 miles south of Hoover Dam has absorbed waves of Las Vegans, who, of all things, are traveling in carpools.

It's apparently part of the madness that accompanies 80 million-to-one odds.

People have formed groups, and they've driven to Arizona for what is an infinitesimal chance at a jackpot that could approach $300 million by Saturday night's drawing.

Except for those in Mesquite who can head 10 miles north to Littlefield, Ariz., the closest stop over the border is Rose's Den, a cafe, bar and gift shop with an eight-seat lunch counter and long, unobstructed views of the White Hills and the Black Mountains.

Rose Larsen, who has served mostly miners, travelers and truckers since she arrived from Singer Island, Fla., in 1984, says she's been selling about 60,000 tickets a day for the past week.

On Thursday afternoon almost every car parked in the dirt lot carried Nevada plates. But few waiting in line were looking for Rose's homemade meatloaf, barbecue ribs or beer. With temperatures hovering at 100 degrees in the shade of the front veranda, most wanted soda or water.

They wanted Powerball tickets, and they waited an average of two hours for service.

Rose's nephew and head cook, Chuck Myers, assessed the situation while taking a long-awaited break from shredding potatoes. He was armed with a .44-caliber Magnum on one hip and a stout knife on the other.

"Most of the (bar's) crew is mentally crazed by now," he said. "They've reached their individual levels of incompetence. As for the people, they're happy. We're talking about a quarter of a billion dollars. That's talking money. That's even enough to buy a top-notch security system and screen out the undesireables, keep everyone at a good 50 feet."

Others were thinking about how many people that kind of money could let in.

Esther Luna, a housewife, drove south from Las Vegas at 11 a.m. with her husband and daughter. Her sister had called from Rancho Cucamanga, Calif.

"I was in luck," she said. "I was cooking a salmon dinner, and it was almost done. I just turned off the oven, left the salmon and said, 'Let's go.' "

If she and her husband, a postal worker, win the lottery, she said she will help pay bills and finish house payments for her five sisters and two brothers.

Then, she'll donate to charity. "Especially starving kids," she said. "I'll always dream of that, that I can help them. And the church. Never forget him," she said.

Theresa Upton and her husband, Ed, were poised on the first hole of a Summerlin golf course, across the street from a hotel-casino, when they decided to head south to buy tickets.

Upton, a retired bank administrator, also took along her brother and sister-in-law.

Like Luna, she said if she won she would first help family. Then the homeless.

For the locals who live in small, but growing enclaves in the foothills on either side of the high valley around Rose's, the crowd, which snaked through the bar and out the cafe, resembled the one in 1998. That year the Powerball jackpot climbed to a record $296 million.

Dave Speer, an excavator who was having a beer at the bar with a friend, said the crowds slowed service a bit the past few days. He and his wife had come for dinner Wednesday, he said, but finally took pity on Rose and went home for a can of soup.

Speer bought his usual $3 in tickets for the week. If he wins, he'll bank the money, and his eight children will live off the interest, he said.

Down the road about 20 miles to Dolan Springs, there wasn't much of a line at the Star Country convenience store. But even there the optimists, against all odds, had the day. Jackie Healy, who purchased 250 tickets for herself and a group of Hoover Dam employees, said any prize money would go to family and to pay school loans.

"Somebody's going to win it," she said.

There was at least one skeptic, however.

Mark McTavish, a Dolan Springs mechanic en route to filling his 500-gallon water tank at the public well, said he wouldn't buy a ticket. Not even for his mother , who lives with him.

"I didn't, and I wouldn't. And if I'm the only one, then I'm the only smart one," he said.