Coin is still king at classic slot machines
Jeanette White gripped five quarters with dirt-stained fingers and plopped them into a boxy video poker machine named Fortune 1: Clang! Clang! Clangclangclang!
The machine’s glowing screen, with graphics evoking the antique arcade game Pong, wished her “GOOD LUCK.” She pressed some buttons — tap, tap — and ended up with a pair of eights and another of kings.
She was rewarded with the satisfying sound of a win: Clinkclinkclinkclinkclinkclinkclink!
The Eastside Cannery, a hotel-casino east of the Las Vegas Strip, has earned White’s loyalty — and a notable amount of publicity — by recently dedicating part of its gaming floor to classic slots — those that actually use coins. Maybe 15% of U.S. casinos, mostly in older and smaller markets, still offer the throwback games, according to the Assn. of Gaming Equipment Manufacturers.
The Cannery’s 50 poker, keno and reel-spinning machines belch nickels and quarters. They also epitomize a fading era, a Vegas of glittery showgirls, smoky gambling halls and 99-cent shrimp cocktails.
Now shrimp is pricier, and showgirls rare. Time-worn casinos have been imploded in favor of sleek resorts. Slot machines are as businesslike as ATMs: swallowing dollar bills, spitting out paper tickets. No need for “slot gloves” to shield hands from black coin muck. No clatter of metallic jackpots.
The changes embody cultural shifts that some residents never quite endorsed. Old-timers often talk fondly of “when the mob ran Vegas” — a reference to the intimacy that arguably vanished during decades of breakneck growth and recent economic decline.
To White, a 73-year-old retiree, the coin machines remind her of years spent at the humble Nevada Palace.
The Palace was a longtime anchor on the “Boulder Strip,” a stretch of plebeian casinos interspersed with RV parks, pawn shops and extended-stay motels. Well-to-do residents often snicker at its replica of the better-known Strip’s “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” sign.
Like many locals, White lauded her neighborhood casino as a second home. A Palace cook gave her his recipe for crab cakes.
When White learned the Palace would be bulldozed and replaced by the Cannery, she begged officials to hang on to the coin-operated slots. White so enjoyed them that she had switched to carrying black pocketbooks after coin grime ruined one made of blue leather.
“I find the noise thrilling,” she said.
In the last decade, casinos have sprinted away from coin games. Ticket machines are cleaner and allow gamblers to bet more frequently. They woo younger players with showy bonus rounds and graphics akin to an Xbox game. They also don’t squander winnings. (In 2007, when technicians broke down slots at the Nevada Landing casino, they unearthed almost $10,000 in change.) Still, many mimic the noise of jangling jackpots.
The Cannery opened in 2008, a more upscale addition to the Boulder Strip, with 300 hotel rooms, a bingo hall and a top-floor lounge with breathtaking views. The casino kept about eight Fortune 1 coin-operated games, a sliver of its roughly 2,000 machines. Devotees waited in line to play them and, when Marty Gross was hired as general manager last year, he noticed ever-present discarded quarter wrappers.
“There’s a small group — bigger than we thought — still playing these games,” Gross said he realized.
So Gross cleared out a near-empty VIP room and packed it with coin games. The casino added a machine to swap change for dollars and an attendant to tame unruly games. Casino billboards advertised the return of “clang, clang, clang.”
Something clicked. Or clinked. The classic slot room is, on average, two-thirds filled; on Friday nights, players often have to wait for an open seat. Even the History Channel show “Modern Marvels” took notice, featuring the Cannery on a recent episode.
One morning, White settled in front of a favorite machine, wearing a pink button-down and gray Eastside Cannery sweatshirt. She worked through a plastic bucket of quarters, greeting employees and regulars with cheery hellos, but not handshakes: Her fingers were stained from coins.
“I didn’t think I was going to like it here until I found these machines,” she said, but she’d cottoned to the casino enough to celebrate her 53rd wedding anniversary here.
She continued nudging quarters into the game, smiling at the racket:
Clang! Clang! Clangclangclang!