Now am I the only one who's noticed this, but why is it that, in almost all casino advertising, everyone is grinning like hyenas, and yet when you actually visit the gaming areas, there is no grinning? Look at a woman entranced by a slot machine, a man engrossed in a craps game--this is grim shut-out-the-world concentration, complete with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Even the occasional comedian who cracks jokes at the roulette table is not likely to have his repartee returned. Gamblers don't grin. Gamblers look like they're in the middle of brain surgery. I have yet to find a casino that looks like "The Love Boat."

Anyway, the number one grinner on the cover of the Argosy brochure happens to be Heather Renee French, better known as . . . Miss America 2000! Unfortunately, Heather is not too happy about that. Back in 1998, when she posed for the pictures, she was a student at the University of Cincinnati and a freelance model, but since then she's become Miss Kentucky, then Miss America, then the bride of Kentucky's millionaire orthopedic surgeon Lieutenant Governor, then the mother of a little girl christened with the Miss America prep name of Harper Renee. Meanwhile, the Argosy marketing department has splashed her photo all over billboards, print ads, newsletters and websites. So a few months back the Argosy got a concerned letter from Heather's new husband, Kentucky Lieutenant Governor Steve Henry, telling them that she didn't want to be associated with organized gambling anymore and to please stop using her picture.

Well, excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse us . . . was the general reaction of Argosy management, especially since they had never even told anyone that their model had become Miss America, much less that she had married the man expected to make a run for the Kentucky governorship in 2004. They grumbled about it a little bit and then decided to give in, taking her out of all future ad campaigns. (If you stop by the casino, grab one of the brochures before they run out. Collector's item!) And now they're turning the whole thing to their advantage by sponsoring a "Replace Miss America" Talent Search, asking girls who want to be their next spokesmodel to send a photo, resume and 100-word essay about why they want to replace Heather Renee French.

The truth is, the Argosy doesn't really need Heather Renee French. Despite being the only casino in Indiana that has no real showroom entertainment, it's the most profitable riverboat in America and on weekends can actually "max out" at 3,600 gamblers, forcing latecomers to wait on shore or drive 13 miles down the Ohio to the Grand Victoria, which is a sleepy Hyatt resort in the little town of Rising Sun, Indiana. The Argosy is the only Indiana casino that charges admission--anywhere from $5 to $9 just to get on the boat--and they still max out.

Twenty minutes from downtown Cincinnati, but also the closest casino to Indianapolis and Lexington, the Argosy is all about location. On weekdays you've got buses rolling in from all points of the compass, and on weekends you've got Cincinnati corporate types jostling up against the Kentucky horse set, frat boys tossing dice with corn farmers, suburban moms sitting next to pro athletes, and almost all of them jockeying for slot- machine space. In June, the casino doled out an average of 2,469 "hand-pay" jackpots per day. (A "hand-pay" jackpot is a slot- machine win so large it has to be paid by an attendant.) And the hand-pays alone were averaging $1.4 million every 24 hours.

Argosy General Manager Arnold Block does have 108 table games on the huge three-decker ship, but he's clearly set out to be the Slot King of the Midwest. The return on Argosy slots is 94.27 per cent--meaning the computers are set to hold back less than six cents of every dollar gambled--and although that number is low compared to Vegas or even Atlantic City, it's about as high as you're going to get in an overtaxed, over-regulated state like Indiana, where virtually every government agency is milking the casino cow in one form or another. Casinos pay three bucks to the state every time somebody walks through the turnstile, and that three bucks is repeated every two hours if the customer remains on board. Then they pay 20 per cent of the gross, and--in the case of the Argosy--they contribute millions more to a "development fund" for the city of Lawrenceburg that's based on the casino's performance. It all adds up to an effective tax of a whopping 35 per cent! (To put this in perspective, that's twice the government take on thoroughbred horse racing, which is historically the most heavily taxed of all forms of gambling. There are even a few state lotteries that are a better deal for the gambler.)

At any rate, Argosy Gaming--the publicly-traded corporation that owns this boat and five others in the "riverboat states"--is not complaining. They clearly know how to play the riverboat game, and their stock is beloved by Wall Street. The Argosy's monthly "hold" of $27.8 million represents 44 per cent of the ten-casino Indiana market, and those numbers are the envy of every operator on the Ohio River, where there are six casinos stretching from Cincinnati past Louisville all the way to the isolated burg of Metropolis, Ill. Argosy has been in business almost five years now--first at a temporary dock, with a smaller boat, then, beginning in December 1997, at the present location where a marsh and a 150-year-old sawmill once stood.

When you drive up to the place, it's a little disconcerting. The surrounding area, known for years as the home of big liquor distillers like Seagram's and Schenley, is full of narrow two- lane roads, faded storefronts, jack-rigged wooden houses, and the sleepy aura of a place that hasn't really bustled since the railroad arrived in the 1800's and took away the river's commerce. But the Argosy itself--or at least the land-based buildings that hide the boat--looks like an extravagant Tudor amusement palace decked out with flags, faux half-timbers, peaked mansard roofs, arches, flags, curlicues, and grand windows, all jumbled together in an architectural style I would call King Edward Asylum Moderne.

Inside it gets even stranger. The main atrium is a combination of gilded landings, French arches, faux-marble staircases, a stained-glass dome that looks like a tie-dyed National Geographic map, Pompidou-style escalators, vines, awnings, embalmed palm trees (living trees encased in a glaze), chartreuse-trimmed balconies, Louis XIV trellises and balustrades, and a terrazzo floor composed of marble chips, colored cement, and sparkly flakes of mother-of-pearl.

"It's Moroccan," says Fred McCarter, the casino's personable Community Affairs Coordinator. He says it deadpan, so I'm not sure. I look closely for the essence of Rabat, but it's not computing. Elsewhere in the complex I find a buffet based on the ruins at Karnak, columns and chandeliers copied from the Beylerbey Palace in Istanbul, Florentine iron gates, a bronze sculpture that turns out to be a reproduction of something from 19th-century France, a slate floor imported from Africa, and sculptures and other objects gathered from Kenya and Tanzania for the Outpost bar.

Once you enter the boat itself--it sails every two hours from 9 a.m. to 3 a.m.--you can feel the action. The slot rows are roomy, all three decks are longer than a football field, and the tables are humming even on weekday mornings. The only thing you might miss are easy access to food and drink. (The only onboard food is served from a small deli. Since gaming space is so limited, the casino's four restaurants are located in the land- based complex. Also, Indiana law prohibits the serving of complimentary alcohol.)

Up until two years ago, the Argosy VI was the biggest riverboat in the world, but that distinction now belongs to Caesars Indiana, downriver in the town of Elizabeth, near Louisville. And like all modern gaming boats, it's designed to disguise the fact that you're on the water. There are very few windows, and if you manage to find a door leading to a deck, you're likely to be the only person hugging the railing.

It's just as well, though, because this stretch of the Ohio River, flanked by power plants and electrical stations, is not the most bucolic vista in the first place. The Argosy is not about cruising. The Argosy is about escapism. People don't come to watch a show (there are none), to eat (the restaurants are small, although the buffet seats 400), or to drink (the two bars are charming but mostly places to linger until the boarding time). The Argosy is a place to put your money down. And--oh, all right--with 2,400 jackpots a day, it's a place where you might even see the occasional grin.

© Copyright 2001 United Press International and Joe Bob Briggs