Casino Connection Nevada

Live it, love it

The journey is the reward for Oregon executive

by Dave Bontempo

Larry Close launched his gaming career the day man landed on the moon. Nearly 40 years later, he still thinks the business is out of this world.

“It’s a terrific industry if you like people,” says the former Las Vegas veteran, now the general manager at the Mill Casino Hotel and RV Park in North Bend, Oregon. “I’ve met so many interesting people from the famous to the infamous. They all become your customers. It’s fantastic. It’s almost like a family operation.

“That’s why when people talk about choosing a career that’s fun—because you’re going to have it for the rest of your life—it’s the truth. You work many long hours, but it’s fun. The journey I’ve enjoyed gives a feeling you can never replace with a paycheck.”

Close, who worked at the Sahara and the Mint in Las Vegas, took the circuitous route of success. He became general manager at five properties, hit the Nevada circuit from Reno to Carson City and experienced the grand gamut of gaming—classic Vegas, Indian, riverboat and commercial properties, via Del Webb.

Ten years ago, the Coquille Tribe lured him to Oregon. It represents his longest stint.

“The other day my wife asked me if we could finally unpack,” he laughs.

Close has thrived by never feeling too secure and by being willing to move if necessary. He knows that even the most branded names like Coca-Cola must constantly advertise. He sees casinos being affected by a slumping economy for perhaps the first time ever and grasps the necessity for a lean, mean, gaming machine.

But he also understands the P.T. Barnum element of business—sell the fantasy, make the product bigger than life. Close bridges the eras of typewriters and hand-written invitations with that of high-tech innovation. He remembers when effective marketing meant placing expensive slot machines in the path of someone walking to a $2 steak breakfast. The cheap meal often became a $300 win for the casino.

It was informal, but calculated and effective.

“One of the best things you learn is what works in various markets,” Close says. “What you can do in Vegas, you may not be able to do in Tahoe. You look at your operations. You find out what attracts customers to you, what makes your product special, and then you get the people in.”

So, Close threw lavish parties for airline employees at the Sahara. The affairs boosted the dry season and created a string of ambassadors, because flight attendants told their customers. Close recalls when it was common for Las Vegas roulette dealers to jump in next to a customer, play during his break and then return to dealing.

Along the way, Las Vegas provided him a wealth of stories. One involved a tale later portrayed in movies about Bugsy Siegel, the “father of Las Vegas.” It came to Close from Del Webb, who built the Flamingo hotel for Siegel and owned two casinos Close worked in.

“Del Webb was an imposing man, over 6 feet tall,” Close says of the man for whom he worked about 20 years in the Southwest. “He pitched baseball until he hurt his arm, so he went into construction business. His crew built the Flamingo. When we’d have lunch, he would tell the story about building it. Bugsy Siegel was the one having it done and it was almost finished, but a substantial amount of payroll had not been paid out. Del Webb had to get that money from Bugsy.

“Now, Del, this imposing man, was nervous. He knew Bugsy was connected to the mob and he did not want to get him upset. But there was no choice, his men had to be paid. He nervously goes up to Bugsy and says, ‘Look, Mr. Siegel, I don’t have any money and I have to pay my men. I need the money.’ Bugsy looks him over for a second and he can see how nervous Del Webb is. He waits a second. Then he leans forward, looks him right in the eye and says, ‘Don’t worry. We only kill each other.’”

Sigel, of course, was later gunned down by his associates for financial mismanagement of the casino. Webb would later take over Club Bingo and re-name it the Sahara. It was there that Close began his Las Vegas indoctrination.

Close drove to Las Vegas with his worldly possessions as Neil Armstrong was setting foot on the moon. Then the former sportswriter, hired in part to write press releases in newspaper form that ensured their publication, made his own giant leap, into marketing.

Las Vegas, when it monopolized gaming, was more special event and stunt driven. The city had less than 50,000 residents and Close remembers McCarran airport being small enough to let someone walk in the front door, obtain a ticket and walk out the back onto a plane.

That became a relief when a publicity stunt went awry.

“It was 1970, during the Vietnam War and we wanted to bring in a show called So Proudly We Hailed,” Close remembers. “We had been doing the single-act superstar show with people like Buddy Hackett, but this was a cheaper show and it could be long running. We decide to promote it with a big patriotic celebration and release 10,000 red, white and blue balloons from the front of the property.

“We get everybody involved. We ask the maintenance guy to build a huge cage to hold all the balloons. He guesses at it and comes through with the right size. Then we get hundreds of canisters of helium. Then we get them all inflated. The day comes up and it’s beautiful, a clear blue sky, and it’s just great.

“The big moment arrives and all these balloons get released into this beautiful blue sky. That’s when we realize there is no wind! The balloons did not disperse all over the sky like we figured. They were one big pack. Suddenly we had to call air traffic control and tell them their radar was about to pick up this big blog. Thank goodness an airline wasn’t coming in then, or the helium might have gotten sucked into the engine.”

It wasn’t the first or last “Close” shave for this gaming expert. But, like many tales, it had a happy ending.

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