By Steve Gibbs

SUSAN AND I TOOK A MELANCHOLY STROLL through the Stateline area of South Lake Tahoe over the Thanksgiving holiday. Currently, there is a large, ugly, man-made hole on the California side where a convention center was to be built many years ago. The expansive, ulcerous construction site has sat idle behind a long and unglamorous plywood wall for far too long, its partial pillars exposed, the rebar rusted beyond repair.

However, we see auspicious activity over the fence. A structure is rising at one end. Hard hats are bobbing by. We can see workmen through the cracks.

Susan’s technique for learning the scoop is to ask locals. So we made a chatty loop through all the clubs, in and out of the shops and restaurants. We talked to a bartender in the Horizon, a waitress at the Red Hut, and finally the information clerk at the Tahoe Information Center.

We asked everyone the same question, “What’s with the hole? Is something happening?” We learned one solid fact. The people we interviewed don’t have a clue what’s going on.

They’ve grown numb to the hole. Something happening there is like tectonic plate movement to locals. It’s a big whatever until something materializes.

The most knowledgeable person worked at the Information Center. Susan asked, “What are they doing with that hole in the ground across the street where they tore out all those shops and restaurants?”

The girl said, “They’re building shops and restaurants. The convention center? Who knows.”

Walking through the Horizon is a shocker if you’re someone who remembers the bustling heydays of Tahoe, before California casinos sucked away their lifeblood. It’s like an empty cavern. There are not even endless rows of unused slot machines to fill the void. Carpet and open space dominate. It’s sad.

Here is my summation. These casinos were built to a grand scale designed to accommodate thousands without any sense of crowding. Now attendance is a fraction of what it was, making the large casinos seem empty and uninviting to crowd seekers.

If only the owners could rebuild all the Line’s casinos to a new, smaller scale, then the same crowd size that today looks tiny would look busy and crowded. But, alas.

Another long-term problem is that the casinos have traditionally ignored the lake. The lake didn’t make money. It made people lounge, swim, boat and enjoy the out-of-doors instead of gamble, so casino geniuses built their empires facing away from the lake with no windows facing it and no easy conduit to it.

Now, with the diminished gambling draw, the lake is a more inviting feature, but they have no hold on it. The shore line is already packed with restaurants, cabins and condos. Imagine if Harvey’s had built his casino clear to the lake, with a Pier 39 sort of shoreline look. Today he’d be sitting pretty, or at least prettier.

Our home is down at the other end of town, at the Y as they call it, near Raley’s and the big intersection. After coming down the mountain one turns right to go to the casinos. One drives straight to reach Camp Richardson, the Beacon, the shoreline, and Emerald Bay. We are on the drive-straight section of town, down past The Brothers Bar, Grill, and Horseshoe Pits, near Evans, the only 5-star restaurant in town.

Our side of town has not seen any infusion of remodeling money. The Line gets all the attention and big bucks. Our street, Highway 89, is lined with hit-and-miss, open-and-closed restaurants, bars and motels. Some have survived forever. Others are brand new. The rest are For Sale or For Lease. The usual.

Our street has seen a boost in the last few years. Empty lots are now massive two-story cedar homes. Property values are up. Older homes are being bought and torn down to one wall for remodeling. The Fireside Lodge at the corner has No Vacancy.

Susan bought herself a bicycle, a beach cruiser, old-fashioned with big white-wall tires and fenders, a basket and a bell. Chad bought a 1950s-style tandem two-seater, purple and silver with tassels and drink holders. Our family of six went out most days and pedaled through The Keys, or down the bike trail next to our house. It leads to Camp Richardson and the lake.

It sure makes me feel good to see my Suzy peddling a bike, getting exercise, enjoying the fresh air. We now have big plans about pedaling in the mornings to the original Red Hut. I’m sure we will. It’s flat everywhere.

Here is a homemade microcosm of the Tahoe casino’s dilemma of being overbuilt for the size of the current crowds:

We planned on 12 people for Thanksgiving dinner and cooked accordingly. We had a 25-pound bird in the brine. At the last minute, six folks cancelled. We had more food than we could fit on our table. The side dishes alone would have fed us all several times over. Instead of placing the turkey in the center of the table, we placed a turkey breast and two legs. That filled us up. Leftovers have been a daily treat. Casinos, unfortunately, must be taken in one bite.

It’s difficult to determine the future of South Lake Tahoe. It’s still one of the nearest economical vacation destinations for northern Californians who want more than gambling. It just has to find new main attractions.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a weekly column for The Herald since 1985.