Wilbo Explores Detroit's 800 Million Dollar MGM Casino
Wilbo wasn't planning on visiting the new MGM casino near the corner of Third and Bagley in Detroit, Michigan. But as he drove north out of the Cobo Hall area, he picked up the vertical MGM Grand sign, and was drawn toward it. The complex gives a General Thaddeus Kosciuszko statue near that corner some company after the city of Krakow donated in to Detroit around 1978. Surely, there are plans to move the good General from this isolated angle of land now that he is flanked by a great gaming complex.
The casino tower points southerly, and the landscapers have presented a display of large, big lobed pumpkins amidst a stand of dead birch trees. That will keep the casino seasonally correct until after Thanksgiving. A satellite view from Google shows how the MGM complex dominates the southeastern lobe below the juncture of the Lodge Expressway and I-75. It's comical how the Hybrid map still shows all the neighborhood streets obliterated by the Casino's construction: 4th Street, 5th Street and Plum, Elizabeth, Beech and Plaza. In 1966, the enclave around 5th and Plum Street was designated an arts district, and Detroit Mayor Jerome Cavanagh and Governor George Romney showed up to speak at a dedication ceremony. Most of that scene now lies under the nine story parking garage. There's plenty of work for artists at 5th and Plum these days, especially if the artist works in new media or entertainment. 40 years can show a deep change in the way a city approaches economic development and cultural affairs.
The garage floors are illuminated as bright as day all hours of the night, and the nine floors offer enough spaces to park around ten thousand cars. Driving up the ramp, LED counters tell drivers how many spaces are left on a level. The ninth floor is open to the evening air, and it offers an incredible views of Detroit's previous options for entertainment and cultural engagement. One could spend a long time counting church steeples of houses of worship built in the 19th century. I noted the illuminated pinnacle of the Fisher building, home of the Fisher Theatre. It was easy to see The Fox Theatre's illuminated sign, over on Woodward Avenue. The front facade of the Masonic Theatre, with two separate chambers for secret Masonic ceremonies, faced south towards its new, upstart kin. Almost next door rose the DTE Energy tower, happy to keep its neighbor and top customer supplied with electricity for slot machines, nightclubs and round-the-clock dining. Not lit up yet, to the north loomed Motor City Casino's modern glasshouse hotel, awaiting opening ceremonies later in November. It was possible to see the GM Logo on top of the Renaissance Center. One could follow the lines of suspended Catina lights marking the bridge route to Canada, the art deco marvel called the Ambassador Bridge. Most of all, one could read all the I-75 billboards offering alternatives to the newest gambling house in town. Of course, MGM "...Innovates, Not Renovates".
Detroit is cold for a good portion of the year, but a short trip from a parked car to one of a pair of elevator lobbies on each floor gives access to an indoor city with a stunning number of restaurants and night clubs. High rollers can plunk down their winnings on a Rolex watch or a diamond necklace at a jewelry store. Happily for Wilbo's bad knees, walking on the plush carpet was as comfortable as padding about in Crocs. One can choose from a range of meal possibilities, from a 3.50 sausage sizzled on a spinning grill to a steakhouse dinner at high-roller prices. One can chose from a spectrum of watering holes, ordering a beverage from a floor-walking waitress dressed in outfits a bit drafty at the bodice or from one of the lounges promising a spirit altering experience with ones mind-altering cocktail.
Wilbo dove, so to speak, into Aqua, an imaginary world built underwater by the MGM designers. He was greeted by waitresses dressed in sheer liquefaction; the slinky, iridescent thigh-length dresses had a paisley pattern reminiscent of ocean waves. With all those glass shelves of top shelf liquors, Wilbo ordered a Coca-Cola, and and the bartender in black served it up in a blue-tinted glass, refreshing it every few minutes by serving Wilbo another glass, and whisking the half-drunken Coke away. The waitresses were not busy, and the two peacocked in place to the driving latin rhythms of the club's permanent sound track. Each plush stool at Aqua's bar came equipped with an underwater video poker terminal. It reminded Wilbo of a laptop computer, and he wanted to log onto his email account and check his email and bank-balance. The woman to his left fought to save the last twenty-five dollar portion of a one hundred dollar starting balance, gambling 1.25 on each underwater, video poker hand. When her last 1.25 went down the drain, she and her friend toasted the ups and downs of fate with icy shots, drew on their leather jackets and departed.
The experienced bartender with the long dark hair opened up a discussion with Wilbo, giving him a map of the domain, and she enticed him to ascend the elevators to Ignite and ask for Erika, a young thing serving cocktails in the lounge between a bar of ice and a bar of fire, a bar of white liquors and a bar of brown liquors.
When Wilbo had arrived on the third floor, having ascended to the third floor in an elevator with a flaming four panel television screen, he was disappointed to see a poker room, for all its decor, that reminded him of a VFW hall basement in size and feel. He was happy to see a disk jockey at a turntable, but he didn't seem focused on any vinyl and his turntables weren't turning. He saw a spinning hibachi grill, but he was disappointed to not see any fresh fish in the vitrine, even though the seating around the hibachi matched that of a sushi bar.
He was disappointed to learn that the tall, strong looking blonde sashaying by with a tray of small champagne bottles wasn't Erika, but he was happy to learn her name, Michelle, and he sat at the fire bar with all the dark liquors, with six brands of cognac on display. All six were displayed above his head in a museum case, for a total of 18 bottles, as if this was a temple of cognac. He was happy to notice all the low slung plush, red coaches, but the tall windows only peered over a dark, unremarkable Third Street. He was delighted to see a list of good cigars at not outrageous prices, but he was surprised to learn most were out of stock. He ordered up a serving of grilled chicken with a gourmet sauce, but he was depressed when his serving didn't match the Chicken Satay at an inexpensive Thai restaurant. The Hibachi-Tapas bar sold Wilbo on sizzle, but it didn't deliver on satiation.
Wilbo felt sorry for the staff. One female bartender wished outloud to at least make 60 dollars in tips that evening, a underachieving goal for a night so close to MGM's opening night near a downtown still alive with sports fans from a Lions game. More than 60 thousand people had poured out of the stadium after the Lion's victory over Denver. He overheard the six or seven male and female employees bargaining over the right to go home early, and Wilbo wished they weren't holding the conversation right in front of him, inside the bar enclosure, where he couldn't help but listen. He felt sorry for the strong blond Michelle, with the sexy, germanic hair style, who wasn't busy enough and who couldn't help but hawk Wilbo as he studied the limited Tapas menu, noticing spelling and grammar errors on the stark page. Wilbo noticed a few errors on the cigar menu, too.
Wilbo reflected: two long banks of pure flame, each bank visible from two sides, and so little warmth at Ignite. He descended in an elevator with a flaming floor, marched across the gaming floor,and ascended to the eighth floor of the parking garage to retrieve his car. He rejoined Interstate 75 in no time flat.
Oh Fortuna! Make Wilbo a Big Kahuna ...
WanderingWilbo is written by Wilbo in response to his travels for business and pleasure.