It seems it did.
In Las Vegas, which lives perpetually in the now, the implosion of a half-century-old casino would raise much dust, but few eyebrows, although that’s beginning to change. It was quite a different story up in Reno 10 years ago, when the city fathers decided to dynamite the Mapes Hotel, known as just "the Mapes." It was a move that prompted local activists to threaten linking arms around the site to keep demolition crews at bay.
The towering art-deco building was the brainchild of Gladys Mapes, a second-generation Nevadan of pioneer stock. Gladys, whose philanthropic efforts earned her the nickname "Mrs. Reno," already owned the nearby Money Tree Casino when she had a vision: From the banks of the Truckee River, which bisects downtown Reno, would arise the city’s first true hotel-casino.
Although it took two decades for this concept to reach fruition, Mrs. Mapes was still able to capitalize on a market niche that she'd spotted when Reno legalized gambling in 1931. None of Reno’s casinos then offered rooms and, as they scrambled to catch up, they retrofitted themselves with hotel wings willy-nilly.
Gladys Mapes had something considerably more unified in mind: She wanted to build Nevada’s first example of what came to be known as the "three-part vertical-composition high rise." By the time she had a concept (inspired by New York’s art deco wonders) and a design by F.H. Slocombe in hand, World War II pushed her scheme onto the back burner.
When the Mapes finally opened on Dec. 17, 1947, it set a precedent that Las Vegas casinos eventually emulated. While Strip establishments like the original Frontier, El Rancho Vegas, Flamingo, and Desert Inn were expansive low-slung oases, the space-efficient Mapes pioneered the concept of the fully integrated "casino-based destination resort" (to use a bit of Steve Wynn terminology). As archeologist Alice Baldrica told the Associated Press in 1998, "The Mapes set the stage for what we see in gaming today."
The first two floors of the Mapes were given over to the hotel lobby, casino (where Johnny Weismuller was spotted shooting craps on opening day), and restaurants like the popular Coach Room. Atop the 12-story tower was the Sky Room, famous for its panoramic floor-to-ceiling views of downtown Reno and the Sierra Nevada. Originally intended as a penthouse casino, the Sky Room became one of Nevada’s premier nightspots. Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra, Milton Berle, Ray Bolger, Liberace, Nelson Eddy, the Marx Brothers, Danny Thomas, Rowan & Marin, Sammy Davis Jr. all played the Sky Room.
Gypsy Rose Lee shed a veil or two there and Rudy Vallee gave the venue its local nickname. During Sky Room performances, he took note of the cutout "clouds" dangling from the ceiling. Noting their resemblance to a certain entrée, he dubbed the Sky Room "the Veal Cutlet Room" and the name stuck.
All this glamour and star power conferred respectability on Reno. "The history of the Mapes is the history of Reno," recalled the hotel’s former PR director, Harry Spencer, in a January 2000 Reno Gazette-Journal reminiscence: "Prior to the Mapes, you would take your life in your hands if you walked down Virginia Street. The Mapes changed that."
In 1959, the Mapes lured director John Huston and the cast of the aptly named movie The Misfits away from the rival Holiday Hotel across the river. Marilyn Monroe and costars Clark Gable, Montgomery Clift, and Eli Walach became regular sights at the Mapes … especially when Ms. Monroe’s habitual tardiness stretched a 90-day shoot into six months. Not only was Marilyn in no hurry back then, her ghost was later believed to haunt the Mapes’ seventh floor.
As the stars of Monroe and Gable were waning (The Misfits was the last film for both), so too were the fortunes of the Mapes. In 1950, scarcely two years after it had opened, Las Vegas surpassed Reno as America’s most lucrative gambling spot. Both the Holiday and the Mapes were able to hold their own for a while, thanks to a city restriction that confined gambling to within downtown Reno.
But that protectionist measure was repealed in the late '70s and outlying casinos sprang up. Incursions into downtown by Hilton Hotels and others found the likes of the Mapes unable or unwilling to compete. On Dec. 17, 1982, the Mapes shut its doors for good, 35 years to the day after it had opened.
The Mapes became a hulking –- but historic –- husk, an icon to some and and eyesore to others. It passed through various hands and ultimately became a ward of the city. In September 1998, Reno Mayor Jeff Griffin predicted a "98 percent likelihood" that the Mapes would be rescued as part of a master-plan redevelopment of downtown by San Diego-based Oliver-McMillan. The deal ultimately foundered when the company said it would need as much as $10 million from the city for seismic reinforcement of the Mapes. Preservationists countercharged that what became known as "the gap" was solely due to mathematical errors by the developer.
After that, the Reno City Council seemed to lose interest in rescuing the Mapes, actively rebuffing one last-minute multimillion-dollar bid for edifice. In a series of closed-door meetings, Griffin talked council members into imploding the Mapes on Super Bowl Sunday, a decision ratified on Sept. 14, 1999 -- scarcely one year after Griffn’s proclamation of the 98% certainly of preservation.
Various citizens groups tried to stay one court order ahead of the demolition teams prepping the Mapes for its demise. A splinter faction of preservationists pumped $400 into Megabucks machines, in hope of purchasing the old hotel if they hit the jackpot. (They didn’t.)
They needn’t have bothered ... and the Reno government might have avoided much of this drama if it disclosed what the demolition teams were discovering. According to the Las Vegas Review-Journal, "Crews found floors as thin as three inches, a lack of reinforcement and disconnected walls that made the hotel structurally unsound." Instead of the planned 250 pounds of TNT, implosion of the decaying Mapes required only 75 pounds.
On Jan. 30, 2000, protestors hung Griffin in effigy as a volley of detonations rippled through the early-morning air. In 14 seconds, while many cheered and others quietly wept, the Mapes was reduced to landfill. The $3.2 million windfall Griffin expected from reselling the site was considerably reduced when it was learned that Reno still owed $1.7 million to a previous owner.
As many predicted, the Mapes became a parking lot, and is now home to a sprawling skate park and, in the winter, the city ice rink, although the ghost of Marilyn Monroe has never been seen doing figure eights there.
