Cripple Creek, Colorado is not what you think it is
I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I reached Cripple Creek, Colorado. Despite the usual piercing blue sky, the terracotta-coloured low rises and the hundreds of pick-ups angle-parked next to boxy businesses, the town had an uneasy feeling to it. All I really knew about it was that it had an active open-pit gold mine, the richest in Colorado’s history and still producing a remarkable amount of gold. But as I wandered around, I didn't feel any closer to that richness. Instead, there was an eerie sensation that something was out of place, and I felt sure that I wouldn’t find any gold in the town’s grid streets.
The gold we’re talking about today isn’t the precious metal kind, but money. No, you can’t mine money out of the earth just yet -- I wish we could, but then again, that just shows how little I understand about inflation. But you can try to win it. Back in 1990, Cripple Creek was teetering on the brink of becoming another ghost town in Colorado. That’s when the state’s citizens came together and voted for an amendment that radically changed the old laws banning alcohol and gambling. As a way to revitalise the declining town, casinos were allowed to operate, but they had to keep the look of the old buildings they moved into. For such a small place, gambling was seen as a way to regain that long-lost wealth and attract tourists and locals alike.
Too bad I didn’t know any of this before I parked near the Outlaws & Law Men Jail Museum at the beginning of E Bennett Avenue. I started walking east, trying to figure out why this quintessential American town was giving me the creeps. As usual, there was nobody around -- a typical sign of a small American downtown. Not even a soul in the small shops lining the Avenue, at least as far as I could tell from peeking through the windows. It was only October, but the chilly winds were making me shiver, adding to the uneasy feeling inside me. Almost midday and not a person in sight – did these people not eat? Between the newly built hotels and the ones still under construction, I was baffled: where were the people, and why were there so many hotels?
Thankfully, the answer came to me quite quickly. In a small American town, secrets don’t stay hidden for long. Just a few metres on, at the intersection of E Bennett Avenue and S Second Street, I realised that the shops weren’t normal shops. All the blinds were down, and they looked boarded up, though they weren’t. Then, a woman stepped into the street, the door closing behind her and giving me a brief glimpse inside. In that split second, I caught a flash of neon lights. Bright, colourful lights.
I was more confused than ever. I looked at the woman, who was just lighting up a cigarette, and asked her, “Is everyone allowed in?” She puffed smoke out of the side of her mouth and replied sarcastically, “Yeah, only if you like losing”.
So, I entered. Once again, I had no idea what to expect. But then it hit me: casinos. I was confused at first, thinking gambling wasn’t legal in some states, but I wasn’t sure about Colorado. The scenes I saw broke my heart. All the shivers of uneasiness melted away in seconds. Men and women, who could have been my parents’ age, sat there with beers in hand, clicking away their life savings, social security checks, or pension funds in front of flashing slot machines. No gold coins were needed here. All you had to do was go to the cashier, hand over your credit card, and they’d give you a white card loaded with credit. Then you’d slide it into the slot machine and enjoy the thrill of losing a lot or, if you were among the lucky ones, winning big.
I looked up at the sign: I was in the Brass Ass Casino - what a name. But as I kept walking, I found myself in yet another one, and then another one. Were all these casinos connected internally? No wonder I hadn’t seen anyone in the streets for over two hours -- they were all gambling! When I set out to explore a bit of mountain-town Colorado, I didn’t expect to come across a mini Vegas, with snow instead of desert sand. The uneasy feeling I had only intensified since stepping foot into Cripple Creek. The darkened windows reflected the Colorado sun in an eerie way, and inside, people were getting hooked on gambling. The once-legendary gold rush had been sadly reduced to virtual money and slot machines. The spirit of adventure was long gone, all that remained was a place where dreams seemed to go to die, one spin at a time.
I walked out of the last casino I reached, and it took my eyes well over two minutes to adjust to the sunlight. That piercing, blue Colorado sunlight stuns you but also fuels you. Not all trips end up being enjoyable, but I believe every trip should leave you with a nugget of knowledge that changes how you see the world. No golden nuggets here, but I came away with a renewed understanding: we need to safeguard our community, especially the older members. We can't afford to let older people go bankrupt from slot machines and neon lights. What are we doing to ourselves? I got back into the car, thinking that sometimes, beneath the bright, warm sun, there is a darkness that can't be shaken off. So, I left the parking lot and started driving away from the poorest richness I had ever known.
