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You’re driving south down Virginia Street through Midtown, and you see a bright flash slightly to the left out of the corner of your eye—but you don’t think twice about it. You’ve seen this flash many times before.
As you continue driving, you see more and more of the 200-plus-foot-tall oil derrick, the star feature of Jethro’s Beverly Hillbillies Mansion and Casino, which has been at the southeast corner of Plumb Lane and South Virginia for a quarter-century.
In the mind of Lake Tahoe resident Max Baer Jr. circa 1998, this is what you’d be seeing today—at the site of what was then a dying Park Lane Mall—instead of the Reno Experience District. Twenty-eight years ago, the proposal for a massive Beverly Hillbillies-themed hotel/casino by the actor-turned-businessman was one of the biggest news stories in Reno, drawing reactions ranging from “That would be cool!” to “OMG that would be beyond tacky” to, simply, “WTF?”
It was such big news that it was the subject of two consecutive “Notes From the Neon Babylon” columns by the late, great Bruce Van Dyke. Here was his missive from from the RN&R‘s June 3, 1998, edition, headlined “Redneck Reno”:
So there’s this old television star who had his prime-time run about 36 years ago on a hugely popular sitcom. He played a big, lovable, stump of a rube, the dimmest bulb in a family of country folk who collectively weren’t throwing off a lot of wattage. This particular gentleman, whose character achieved some degree of fashion fame for using a length of rope as his belt, now has a plan to save the shopping mall that used to rule Reno. He says we should hear him out, take a good look at his drawings and projections.
Well, yes, we should. This is no time for us to stop being polite. We should hear how Jethro Bodine, a.k.a. Max Baer, wants to transform Park Lane Mall into a gigantic celebration of the Beverly Hillbillies. Then we should very politely tell him no. Ixnay on your eem-dray, hombre. We already got a cee-ment pond, right next to the Reno Hilton.
There are many excellent reasons to tell Jethro to hit the highway with his cockamamie scheme. The instant, blanching reaction you had in your gut when you first read of Mr. Baer’s plan is one good one. Another would be best put in the form of a question. Who gives a flaming frog’s ass about the Beverly Hillbillies? As a country, didn’t we get this bunch behind us about 25 or 30 years ago?
Bloody hell, it’s not like we’re talking about a true television phenomenon like Star Trek. Do you recall ever seeing anything about a Beverly Hillbillies convention, where thousands of lunatics show up dressed like Jed, Elly May or Granny, tweaked and geeked for lectures, gossip and memorabilia? No way. I think there may have been a Beverly Hillbillies movie, but I can’t be sure. The dim picture of that film is in a hazy realm of memory where it could have happened, but then again I could be making it up. The flick wasn’t popular enough to spawn a sequel, I’m fairly sure. The point being that the ’Billies were done. They didn’t leave in a blaze of highly rated, blue chip glory. The country got tired of ’em.
Jethro is thinking big here, a little too big. The Hillbilly Hyatt would have a much better chance of making it if it were more the size of the Comstock. Who knows? A more modest project, featuring establishments like Jed’s Rumpled Threads, The Bubblin’ Crude Saloon, Miss Hathaway’s Espresso Shop and Radical Bookstore and Elly May’s Denim Hot Pants Love Dungeon Disco might survive, even thrive. H.L. Mencken’s famous quote comes to mind.
In the final analysis, The Redneck Ritz, in its currently planned hugeness, could be the national image death blow that forever slings us into the Branson Zone. You might want to think about that as you tuck the kids in tonight.
A week later, BVD discussed reader reactions to the June 3 column—and proposed a casino idea of his own, under the headline “The Rat Pack Returns”:
Last week this space told good ole boy No. 1, Jethro, to hit the road with that big-ass casino of his. Or at least tone it down a tad.
I took a little heat from some of the locals about that one. Heat in the form of, “Hey, Van Dyke, what’s with the waxing highbrow on Jethro? In case you hadn’t noticed, a town with a huge bowling stadium, monster rodeo, and the world’s most famous whorehouse isn’t often mistaken for Boston or Vancouver.”
Well, sure, OK, fine. But it’s like my daddy always told me: “Son, just because somebody brings a road apple to the table don’t mean you got to use the good plates.” Important words for troubled times.
Now, it’s time to offer a functional alternative to the Jethro plan for Park Lane Mall, and I think it’s just as good, if not better, than The Hillbilly Hilton. Now that Frank’s dead, the time could not be better for the Rat Pack Hotel Casino.
Make that The Rat Pack Palace. What could be more essentially Nevada? Actually, what could be more essentially Vegas, and wouldn’t that be a hoot to build a big Vegas in Reno? It would serve ’em right.
Dig the possibilities of such a place. Coolness, and even a sort of schlock, camp hipness, would positively ooze from The Rat Pack Palace. It would finally give aging hipsters and Hefnerian, martini types in Sacto and The City a reason to come back to town. Various themes involving Rat Packers abound. How about Lawford’s Lounge, featuring nightly performances from a quintet of impersonators doing their best Frank, Sammy, Dino, Peter and Joey shtick. (If you have to ask the last names of the big five, you’ve got some bonin’ up to do when it comes to Nevada history, my friend.) How about Sammy’s Steak House—maybe call it The Glassy Eye—a thoroughly swank spot that features a lot of dangerous meat and potato products, served by waitresses who are glammed up a la Ava Gardner and Jane Russell Va va va voom, baby
You want cocktails? Of course you do. This could be the centerpiece of the entire project, the world’s largest cocktail lounge, Dino’s Gold Digger Club. The theme? “Everybody Loves Somebody … when they’re smashed.” Here again, the operative word is swank. A place filled with highballs, swizzle sticks and cuff links, a joint that takes advantage of all the retro fads like cigars, big bands and martinis.
The music is a no-brainer. How about a jukebox filled with vintage Sinatra, Sammy, Bobby Darin, Julie London and bongo laced swinger music? No Metallica, no Wynonna, no Grand Funk, no Matchbox 20.
Neither the Rat Pack Palace nor Jethro’s Beverly Hillbillies Mansion and Casino would come to be. After the owners of Park Lane Mall told Baer “no thank you,” Baer looked at other locations to build his project, including a 2003 attempt in Carson City, before deciding in 2007 on a 23-acre space in Douglas County. When those plans stalled, he discussed buying the shuttered Silver Club in downtown Sparks in 2009.
But all of these efforts by Baer, now 88, fell short. The flame-spewing oil derrick was not meant to be.
—Jimmy Boegle
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