Ashforth In The US: Upturn on the Downs with `racino' set to save struggling Delta.

Byline: David Ashforth

In the neighbouring southern states of Louisiana and Texas, there is a tradition of horseracing. In Louisiana, there is also a tradition of political corruption. In January 2001, Edwin Edwards, four times governor of Louisiana, was sentenced to ten years in prison. Edwards had overseen a massive expansion of legalised gambling, and its impact has been felt by every racetrack in Louisiana and Texas. David Ashforth went to investigate, and in this first of a six-part series, he traces the fluctuating fortunes of the small track at Delta Downs 

HIGH up above Interstate 10, Texas side of the Louisiana border, stands a big billboard. `Delta Downs. Hoof-pounding casino action. 24 hours'.

The highway rumbles on, over the Sabine river, into Louisiana, and Vinton. Nothing much at Vinton. At Comeaux's restaurant, Charlie sits on a plain seat at a plain table and serves the best catfish platter in Calcasieu parish. More than a fat man can eat.

"Gumbo's my mother's recipe," says Charlie, a real Cajun. "So's the jumbalaya. Don't serve alligator. They all serve it around here. I won't. Ain't nothin' you can do that can make 'gator good."

Down by the bayou, round-backed turtles sit on the bank, soaking up the sun. An alligator snout rests lazily on the water, sinks down, rises up elsewhere.

"You mind those Coral snakes, now," says Wanda, who lives in a trailer by Turtle bayou. "What would happen if one bit you?" "Oh, yes, sir, you'd die."

Charlie's a religious man, in a place full of churches, and small-time gambling. Along from the Jackpot Gas station is Texas Pelican Bingo, and along from that, the Lucky Peacock, lined with video poker machines. A board nearby declares: `Lucky Horseshoe coming soon'.

There's nowhere in Vinton you can't do a little gambling. Even the breakfast room in the local hotel has a few slot machines in it, and a helpline number for compulsive gamblers on the door.

Small places, stop-offs for truckers, quickly left behind. North on 109, farmland lined by poor, low, wooden-slatted shacks and trailers. Bonnie and Clyde country.

And then a single, small sign-`Racetrack'-turns you right and suddenly, incongruously, way back, a big, striking, bright white facade with a horse's head and `Delta Downs Racetrack and Casino'.

"In its heyday, they'd have buses from Houston. I was amazed how they'd make that trip," says Steve Nicks, a slightly built man, his weary, sad face lined with defeat and acceptance. Nicks has worked as race announcer at Delta Downs since 1983. He cares about it.

"In the 1980s, they'd flock here. Crowds of 5,000. It was a rocking place; the runningmost track in the whole country. We ran the whole year; Louisiana- breds mainly."

Delta Downs mixes quarter-horse and thoroughbred racing on a six-furlong round sand track. On the backside there are 20 barns, room for 60 in each barn. It's country, but it's not small.

Houston is 120 miles west, but that's where the racefans come from. "Louisiana people have never supported the track as much as they should," says Nicks. "Sixty per cent or more come from Texas."

When Sam Houston Racepark and Gulf Greyhound Park opened, the coaches from Houston stopped. They soon started again, but drove straight past Vinton and on to Lake Charles and Kinder, to Louisiana's riverboat and Indian casinos.

"Before that," says Nicks, "everything was done for the live audience. We'd run on Sunday afternoons, and we made on parking and admission and programmes.

"When the casinos came, we couldn't do that. They were packing them in, and the people didn't have to spend $10 before they started gambling. We had to offer free parking, admission and programmes. By 1995, I didn't think we'd survive." Simulcasting kept them going, with meetings timed for simulcast convenience.

IN 1998, Lee Berwick, who had opened Delta Downs in 1973, sold it to Shawn Scott, a 33-year-old entrepreneur. Scott believed that the road to salvation lay in `slots', but local preachers believed that was the road to hell.

In 1997, Calcasieu parish held a referendum. The vote was 2 to 1 against allowing slot machines at racetracks. Two years later, there was another referendum.

"I didn't think we could win it," says Nicks. "The preachers came out against us, and the casinos, but Scott was real dynamic on television, and in person, and he convinced the voters that it would be a good thing."

Scott began a three-phase plan; casino, golf course, shopping mall. Before the first phase was finished, the money ran out. Eleven-race programmes were cut to eight races and, on June 1 this year, Scott sold Delta Downs for $115 million to the Boyd Gaming Corporation.

Jack Bernsmeier, bullet grey hair, strong face, looks like a casino man, even without the Treasure Chest emblem on his short-sleeved shirt. That's the casino he runs in New Orleans. Now he's in charge at Delta Downs.

Boyd Gaming are big. Eleven casinos, 15,000 employees, and a partnership with MGM Mirage to build a $1 billion, 2,000-room resort in Atlantic City.

"Delta Downs is our first racetrack," says Bernsmeier. "A `racino'. I think it's a great marriage." Part racetrack, part casino.

"The industry was starting to soften," he explains. "We're going to put in 1,700 slots and invest $35 million. It's the closest racino to Houston, and we hope the racing will be a draw, and that customers will enjoy the slots. Maybe they'll be two different markets, I don't know. We aim to be operational October 1, and we hope to get 200,000 people a month."

By law, 18 per cent of the revenue from slot machines must be used for purse money for racing. "Purses will go up times ten," says Bernsmeier. "Horsemen are excited by the prize-money, and we're going to upgrade the backside.

"We'll employ about 1,000 people. That's a huge number for around here."

Across from the grandstand, three alligators lounge in the centrefield lake. Beyond, Nicks sets up his new office in the middle of the barns. They stand empty, the horses and trainers, riders and hot-walkers moved on to Sam Houston and Evangeline Downs.

"Whether you like casinos or not," says Nicks, "it will bring the best class of horse we have ever had. The combination of racing and slots has worked wherever it's been tried."

But you wonder, when Nicks talks of Delta Downs' heyday, whether he feels that the money may come in to Louisiana horseracing, but the heart go out.

Tomorrow: Down at the Grand Palais riverboat casino

CAPTION(S):

Delta Downs is set to become part racetrack, part casino, under its new management