Something that I’m still getting used to: some people know me as “the casino history guy,” while those who I have met more recently, particularly through the International Ombuds Association, know me as an ombuds. The focus of my writing here has been conflict resolution, communication, and other concepts I encounter in my day job (ombudsing). But today I’m going to dive back into casino history, mostly because I have been asked many questions about it over the past week—probably about a dozen interviews with various media folks.
And maybe because I have a book on the way. Not for a few months, but trust me, when it comes out, you will know.
Also, I will do my best to tie this back to conflict, communication, and people in some way.
So this week’s big topic in casino history is the closing of The Mirage on the Las Vegas Strip. For those who don’t know, The Mirage, planned by Steve Wynn and a design team that would do much to change the architecture of Las Vegas casinos over the next three decades, kickstarted the 1990s boom that redefined Las Vegas. The Strip was in a curious place: existing casinos were making money like never before, and few saw the need for any major changes. Most of the growth of the previous decade had been additive: more hotel rooms, more slot machines, mostly. The Mirage would add something different.
Some more context: Las Vegas had found its way back to prosperity after weathering a sharp recession from 1978 to 1982 by shifting to the middle market, courting large numbers of those who played less than high rollers—and brought their families with them. The Mirage was aimed at an upscale traveler—maybe with their family, maybe not—at a time when conventional wisdom said that people came to Las Vegas for abundant value, not high-end accommodations.
To deliver that high-end gloss, The Mirage would cost about $630 million, more than any resort yet built. Circus Circus Enterprises, which would open seven months after The Mirage with 4,000 rooms to The Mirage’s 3,000, cost less than $300 million to build. That necessitated tapping sources of capital, including high-yield bonds, that hadn’t been used previously for casino construction.
There were enormous doubts about the project. Some thought that Wynn would never raise the money to build it. Others speculated that if it did manage to open, the resort would never pull in the $1.2 million in daily income it would need to stay solvent.
That 35 years later most observers (including me) proclaim The Mirage one of, if not the, most influential casinos built in the United States shows that the doubters were wrong. A lot of folks have talked about everything that The Mirage did right, and I think that we can boil them down to three things.
- A Novel Idea: Las Vegas had big casinos, like Bally’s and the Hilton. Las Vegas had casinos geared towards affluent gamblers, like Caesars Palace. It didn’t have anything that did both. Las Vegas resorts had places to eat, drink, gamble, and be entertained. They didn’t have interior rainforests, volcanos, or dolphin habitats. Putting all of this under one roof hadn’t been tried before, because no one saw the need.
- Paying for It: You’ve probably got a great idea for a casino resort. So do dozens of other people. The problem is finding people who like your idea enough to put their money behind it. Jay Sarno dreamed of a 6,000-room resort called Grandissimo. It would have been everything The Mirage was, twice the size, a decade and a half earlier. And he couldn’t get the money, so it stayed on the drawing board. Wynn and his team were able to communicate their vision in a way that opened checkbooks. The rest is history.
- Operations That Matched the Vision: Do you have cats? Do they beg to be let on the other side of a locked door? Then, once they’re out, do they come right back in after not doing much of anything? That’s the best example that I can imagine right now of what happens when your persuasiveness exceeds your planning. That’s what happens when you aren’t able to execute an operational plan. The Mirage ran efficiently and well, which kept its margins high and encouraged repeat business from happy customers.
It seems that doing these three things well can lead to good outcomes in more than the casino business. Most obviously, nailing down concept, communication, and consummation can make any group project infinitely more enjoyable for everyone involved. And it can also extend to solo endeavors, from artistic projects to business ones.
The Mirage’s biggest legacy might not be the resort itself, but the impact it had on the rest of the Strip. By upending expectations about what a casino resort could be, The Mirage forced a rethink that ended with most of the old Strip replaced by Mirage-style megaresorts. Those new giants needed plenty of employees, which sparked the influx of new residents that made Las Vegas a true neon metropolis. Billions of dollars in capital investment might not have happened, had The Mirage failed—or not been imagined. The Strip still would have been successful, but we probably would have seen a few new casinos along the lines of the Excalibur and expansions of existing ones rather than the massive rebuilding of the 1990s.
We’re all saying a great deal about how innovative and influential The Mirage is (or was), but there’s a bigger, scarier truth that’s left unsaid. And that is the notorious unsentimentality of Las Vegas in general and the casino business in particular. Yes, The Mirage was a pathbreaker, yes, it changed a whole industry. But the numbers say that the building would produce more revenue as a Hard Rock casino with a giant guitar-shaped hotel, so the doors close and the iconic volcano goes quiet.
There are tensions in studying the history of a business that doesn’t always seem to value that history. But, as a forthcoming book might point out, the history isn’t in the buildings or even the visions that produced them. Rather, In think, the history is in the relationships people made, the lives they lived.
Someday, there will be people nostalgic for the “good old days” of the Hard Rock that will replace The Mirage. Don’t believe me? The Mirage replaced an older, smaller casino called the Castaways. It wasn’t as iconic as The Mirage, sure, but it meant enough to the people who worked and played there. Now, The Mirage is history, just like the Castaways.
I think I’ve been giving the wrong answer when I’ve been asked what The Mirage’s legacy is. I’ve been so focused on the generation of construction it inspired, I haven’t considered the connections, the relationships. That’s what is really left, after the marquee comes down.
Maybe remembering that will help us consider the choices we make, how we impact those around us.
So until next time, expect the unexpected, stay informed, and I’ll stay informal.
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