Binion’s Gambling Hall has been a mainstay of Fremont Street since 1951. Founded by bootlegger, murderer, crime boss, convict and all-around good guy Benny Binion, the casino has a storied history that’s as rich as the city of Las Vegas itself. After decades of strife and conflict, both internal and external, Binion’s somehow still stands on the corner of 2nd and Fremont.
Binion’s was the birthplace of the World Series of Poker in 1970, and is today regarded as one of the last old-school gambling joints. In its early days there was no limit to the amount you could wager there, provided that your first bet was your max. The stories are legendary, like the “Phantom Gambler” who arrived unannounced in 1980 with two suitcases. One held $777,000 in cash to wager on a single bet, and the other was empty just in case he won, which he did. The famed degenerate Archie Karas almost bankrupted Binion’s over the course of two years in the 90’s with his sky-high winnings at the craps table, but he eventually gave it all back to them in the span of just three weeks, all $30 million of it.
These days, Binion’s is a shadow of its former self. The WSOP tournaments have moved to The Strip, the high-limit action is gone, and like a lot of places in Vegas - its identity and branding is rooted in a gauzy memory of the past. But what’s less known about Binion’s is that there’s something hiding beneath its veneer of neon and flashing lights. You can’t see it from the street, but trust me, it’s still there.
Binion’s facade is hiding a beautiful brick building that once made history as the first high-rise in Las Vegas; the Hotel Apache.
The Apache opened in 1932 after many years of fits and starts. Development began in 1918 on the long-vacant parcel at 2nd and Fremont with plans for a grand hotel, and soon a basement was excavated and framework laid. But for mysterious reasons, all work stopped shortly after that and the site was abandoned for ten years, long enough for willow trees to take root in the basement. The photo below looks west at the stalled worksite, with the train station and public park (now The Plaza) visible at the top of Fremont Street. To the left of the site is where the Golden Nugget is today, with the Four Queens below that, and the Fremont casino to the right where the empty lot is shown.
In 1928, Pietro Silvagni bought the blighted property and finished the building. With a small but growing population of 8,000, all eyes in Las Vegas were on the project.
The Apache opened to great fanfare in 1932 and boasted the city’s first elevator and use of air-conditioning. Most of the ground floor was taken up by a cafe, with a tiny casino establishment on the west side.
In 1942, the cafe was squeezed into the corner and the prime storefront space was leased out to a business that could pay more in rent: The New Western Casino.
By 1945 the casino lease had changed hands again. The cafe was booted, and the new tenant was now granted a corner entrance. The SS Rex was operated by Tony Cornero, a LA-based felon who had run a fleet of illegal gambling ships off the coast of Santa Monica until the law came calling. Cornero then moved to Vegas and greased enough palms to squeak by the city council in obtaining his gaming license, but by 1947 those hands were dry and they yanked it back from him.
Tony retreated to LA, but like a bad penny, he returned here in 1954 to start building The Stardust, on The Strip. By 1955 he was running low on construction funds and hit up the owner of the Desert Inn for a loan, then another, and then one more. The money had come from Meyer Lanksy on the east coast, and you can bet that it came with strings attached. Finding himself insolvent once again, Cornero desperately tried to raise some funds by betting large wagers at the Desert Inn craps table. Not long after a cocktail waitress brought him a drink, Tony dropped dead at the table. No autopsy was performed. Another story, that one is.
In 1947 the Eldorado Club had replaced the SS Rex, bringing with them an even flashier sign and more local bonafides. The money behind it came from Moe Sedway; a long-time local booster, race wire owner and most importantly, a business associate of Bugsy Siegel.
The Eldorado thrived, and Silvagni went and bought himself some new hotel signs from their rent payments. In my historical fiction novel Four Acres, the protagonist Calvin rents out the corner room on the top floor, and works at the Shell station across the street, now the site of the Fremont casino.
By 1951 everything had changed in a big way - Benny Binion had come to town. Actually, he had been kicking around Las Vegas for a few years by then, flush with illicit cash from Texas where he still had a federal warrant out for his arrest. But his friends in the State of Nevada refused to extradite him because he was too busy minting money on Fremont Street. After leapfrogging in and out of casino ownership positions, Binion had enough cash on hand to not only buy the Eldorado Club, but the whole damn building, hotel and all. The thorny issue of obtaining a gaming license to run the place was low on his list of concerns, as he had other priorities. Starting off, he carpeted the joint - a first in Las Vegas. Then, he let the free drinks start flowing to both the high rollers and low rollers alike, another first. In his words:
“Make little people feel like big people... good food cheap, good whiskey cheap, and a good gamble. That's all there is to it, son.”
The Horseshoe was an instant success.
The Feds finally caught up to Binion in 1953, and like Capone, they nailed him for tax evasion. Now taking up residence in Leavenworth, even Benny knew that owning a casino while incarcerated was a bridge too far. But never one to worry, Binion simply sold partial ownership to his good buddy Joe Brown, and even got some new signage installed to show the city council that everything was on the up and up.
By 1957 Binion had flown the coop and landed back in Vegas, but a gaming license in his name was still out of the question. So he put his sons Jack and Ted in charge, and by the early 60’s the place was rolling. A bold new exterior design was planned, and at the end of 1961 the transformation was complete. The old Hotel Apache building had now been totally hidden from view, coffin shrouded under seven miles of neon and 28,000 blinking lights.
For three prosperous decades, Binion’s Horseshoe lived its halcyon days. Due to its outsized influence, the casino was run with hard-fisted autonomy. Cheaters and grifters were quickly shown the door, and some of them didn’t even make it that far.
When Benny Binion died on Christmas day in 1989, poker great Amarillo Slim put it this way:
"He was either the gentlest bad guy or the baddest good guy you'd ever seen."
After the passing of their patriarch, things took a turn at Binion’s. A prolonged period of family squabbles left Benny’s daughter Becky with ownership control in 1998, and by 2004 the operation had found itself deep in debt. A sale to Harrah’s (now Caesars) was completed soon after, and the rights to the Horseshoe name were shrewdly bought as part of the deal. The World Series of Poker is now played on The Strip at the former Bally’s casino, now controlled by Caesars, which has renamed it The Horseshoe. Another story.
Across numerous Vegas-centric forums, Reddit subgroups and Twitter pages, everyone seems to pine for the days of “old” Vegas that they so fondly remember. And they’re not wrong. Binion’s will never be the same, but let’s face it - that’s just like everything else in Vegas. This city has always been in flux because change is built into its DNA.
But okay, say that you could go back. Where exactly would you go? To the (partly-true) “good old days” of the 1940’s-70’s when the Mob ran things? Or maybe you’d choose to go back to the 80’s and 90’s when themed resorts were all the rage; The Excalibur, Luxor, Treasure Island, or Mirage.
For me, I’d be happy being transported to the corner of 2nd and Fremont in the late 1930’s. Before the Mob. Before Benny Binion. Before the corporations. Back when a brightly-lit section of Fremont Street distilled the essence of Las Vegas into just a few quiet city blocks.
You're telling great stories.