Reno's Recession

It's sad to see a city in decline. Twenty-five years ago or maybe a few more than that, we stayed at Circus Circus with our two kids. Then crowds crushed against the railing to watch acrobats somersault overhead and trained poodles side-step through hula hoops... younger children on tip toes in the front, little ones on the shoulders of daddies, and everyone craning necks to see.
Monday night Andy and I went to the circus. One minute before showtime, the audience of four lolled near the railing.
"Come to the greatest show on earth!" blared the public address. "Incredibly talented performers straight from the People's Republic of China here for your entertainment!"
Four young girls stepped from behind a velvet curtain to balance and toss plastic drums with their feet for seven minutes. The lights flared once, the girls bowed, and it was over. An hour later the same four rode unicycles and tossed plastic hats. This time the show was six minutes for an audience of ten. I must admit, the performances of Russian comedy acrobats and American dog routines on Tuesday and Wednesday were more entertaining, but the longest one lasted five minutes. And they were spaced 50 minutes apart, a clever ploy to keep parents spending money on arcade games in between circus acts. We watched it all and played nothing.
"Even the football game from years ago that I played to win stuffed animals for the kids is gone. How things change!" Andy said.

We strolled through the Eldorado Casino on Monday night. "Adults hang out here," said Andy. One middle-aged man in jeans and a lumber shirt sat at a Wheel of Fortune slot machine in the non-smoking section, mindlessly pushing the "spin reels" button. Lights twinkled red and gold in the empty VIP poker room. A few more disinterested players sat at machines on the smoking floor, silent save for the boop, boop, boop of Texas Tea and Wild Taxi slots. Game table after table sat empty. Granted, lots more people gathered on Wednesday. But years ago I had marveled at all the bells and whistles, sucked in my stomach to squeeze down crowded aisles between slot machine rows and scanned the floor for stray quarters.

"The most fun then was the clink of coins dropping down as winnings," said Andy. "Now half of the casinos have gone belly-up and the coin machines are gone."

"How times change!" I told him.

But we noticed the biggest difference of all outside. Streets alive with cars and pedestrians now harbored shadowy characters in black hoodies and grizzled, homeless derelicts, male and female, begging for quarters. Time had not been good to Reno; gambling downtown was dying.

Andy teased me about tensing when we were outdoors at night. "Why are you clutching your fanny pack?" he asked, knowing full well I expected to be mugged at any minute.

We walked the entire new River Walk along the Truckee twice during the day, admiring the art, the Italian Renaissance mansions and gardens clinging to one bank and the neatly crafted rock walkways and bridges, but we veered away from the graffiti-ridden skateboard park with at least 30 teenage boys and the boarded-up motels and casinos. Even Fitzgeralds flashed "closed for renovation," on the marquee, but we were told it has been closed for nearly three years. "Reno has really changed," said Andy.

Instead of "the biggest little city in the world," it's a sad turn on poverty row.