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Week of October 15, 2002 |
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HARRAH'S TUNICA
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Only American entrepreneurs would be able to take something as darkly
subversive as a casino and turn it into the equivalent of a
franchise restaurant chain, like T.G.I. Friday's.
That's what you feel when you walk into a Harrah's--and I've
been in more than half of the company's 25 casinos. You can dress
it up like a southern mansion, with Ionic columns and French
Quarter grillwork inside, but ultimately a Harrah's is a Harrah's
is a Harrah's. They tell me there are people who travel from city
to city, using their "Total Rewards" frequent-gambler card,
trying to hit all the Harrah's in the country, and I believe it.
It's the Starbucks Syndrome. It may not be the absolute best
coffee around, but you know what you're getting.
The Harrah's in Tunica is about the remotest gambling joint
in the ten-casino market. It's at the end of a gleaming four-lane
country highway called Casino Strip Boulevard that cuts through
the flat all-but-treeless Mississippi River delta, and before you
get there you have to pass the entrances to every other hotel,
including the ones that sit on either side of it--Sam's Town and
Hollywood.
"This has been our most successful year to date," says
Sheryl Sebastian, Internal Communications Manager, proving that
predictability has its charms.
In the year 2000, Harrah's had $78.9 million in revenues,
good enough for seventh place out of the ten casinos, and typical
for a Harrah's. The way they get people to drive all the way to
the end of the road is more or less constant promotion, such as
their most popular drawing, called "Win a House on the House."
Each year they give away a $100,000 home--which, in Mississippi,
is a pretty decent-sized house. You can enter once a day over a
two-month period, then earn more chances to enter by gambling a
lot. They'll either build you the house for up to $100,000, or
just hand over $75,000 in cash.
It's actually one of the few big-money promotions they do,
though. Three or four years ago there was a "coupon war" among
the smaller Tunica casinos--"but we don't really play that game
so much anymore," says Sebastian. Harrah's is able to use its
name identification to attract customers, whereas nearby
Fitzgerald's, to use an example, still advertises in the
newspapers with coupons offering free buffets, up to $10 in coin,
and other come-ons that can result in about a $30 average subsidy
of the gambler before he ever hits the door. It doesn't sound
like much, but in a market where people frequently max out at
$200, it can be the difference between profit and loss.
The reason this Harrah's looks like a southern mansion is
that it opened in 1994 as a place called the Southern Belle. The
Belle took exactly six months to go bankrupt, and while it was in
receivership, Harrah's started lusting after its large gaming
space from a smaller building a little ways up the highway.
Beginning in 1996, the Southern Belle became a Harrah's, and
Harrah's actually operated two separate casinos for three years
before selling out their original building (opened November 1993)
to Isle of Capri in 1999. Confused yet?
The southern theme wasn't much of a stretch, though, since
they already do Mardi Gras-themed stuff at their Las Vegas hotel,
and their original casino in Reno is all but themeless. (You have
to wonder, though, why people within easy driving distance of New
Orleans would be so crazy for these Faux New Orleans decors, which are common throughout the South.) If Harrah's Tunica is
known for anything, it would be as headquarters for Jerry
Lawler's live wrestling series, which is taped in the third-floor
Carnival Room.
Other than that, it's got all the usual amenities. A 200-room
hotel, with 20 high-roller suites. The requisite three
restaurants--a buffet, a steakhouse, and a 24-hour diner. (What?
No Italian restaurant?) And just enough table games to say they
have them--only 21 tables, in fact.
For a while they had VIP gaming in certain parts of the
casino for high-rollers--a Harrah's high-roller being a relative
species--but it was not well received by the customers. It was
considered anti-democratic to have rooms where only rich people
could go--once again, "rich" being relative in Tunica.
Today you can roam around anywhere you'd like on the
Harrah's gaming floor, but the most exotic thing you're likely to
find is a nickel-slots area. It's predictable. It's comforting.
It's exactly what you would expect.
It's a Harrah's.
* © Copyright 2002 United Press International and Joe Bob Briggs |
Once inside, you're immersed in Generic Casino Deja Vu. This
may be the most typical casino in America, the prototype for
Indian tribes everywhere. To show you what I'm talking about,
they recently eliminated all entertainment on their one lounge-
style stage--so they would have more room for slot machines. And
yet...