Las Vegas is ready for action again

LAS VEGAS — Carlo Gaabucayan strolled up to the counter of the Green Valley Ranch sportsbook 20 minutes into Thursday with purpose, risking $50 on a four-way parlay on the UFC 250 card Saturday.

All were favorites, especially Amanda Nunes (at minus-650, or wager $650 to win $100) and Sean O’Malley (minus-500). If all four win, he will net $164.45.

Nothing atypical about any of that, save for the long hibernation of the gambling capital of the world.

‘‘Seventy-seven days!’’ said Gaabucayan, a 39-year-old resident of the San Francisco Bay Area. ‘‘For sure, it’s been too long!’’

The lifeblood industry of Nevada fizzled to a drizzle in mid-March, when Democratic Gov. Steve Sisolak ordered the historic closing of the state’s hotels and casinos in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic.

Monday, Nov. 25, 1963, had been the only time the Strip was closed intentionally — and that was for less than 24 hours to mourn assassinated President John F. Kennedy’s funeral. Gambling became legal in Nevada in 1931.

During the 11-week hiatus that ended at 12:01 a.m. Thursday, anywhere from $10 billion to $40 billion in tourism revenue, according to various sources, evaporated. Sisolak himself said Nevada lost $2 million a day in gaming-related taxes.

Like many properties, Green Valley Ranch, in the Henderson foothills southeast of the valley, opened its doors the moment it was allowed. Seven suited and masked hotel employees directed patrons to a thermal scanner. Two seconds later, they were ushered inside.

Gaabucayan, pal Dino Droneas, 33, and their better halves seemed as eager to escape the locked-down Golden State as they were to help jump-start Las Vegas. They left in a blue Durango at 9 a.m., breezing the 569 miles — partly through 113-degree Death Valley — to enter southern Nevada at 5 p.m.

The two Green Valley Ranch sportsbook employees were happy to be working again, exchanging money from the men for tickets as a Korean baseball game played above them on a giant screen.

Downtown, at that very moment, hotel-casino mogul Derek Stevens was relishing his many friends and guests at one end of The Long Bar inside The D, his property whose tag is a tribute to the first letter of his first name and his hometown, Detroit.

The 51-year-old Michigan graduate also owns the Golden Gate, a few blocks away on Fremont, where, across the street, his mammoth 777-room Circa project is on schedule for completion in December.

His giveaway of 1,000 one-way airline tickets to visit Las Vegas this weekend was so popular that he dispersed another 1,000 tickets. His Circa sportsbook, coordinated by operations manager Jeffrey Benson, serves both of his properties.

‘‘He was sitting there doing fist bumps and elbow bumps, buying people beers and thanking them for coming to the property,’’ Benson said. ‘‘He wanted to kick-start the Vegas economy — and not just our hotels and casinos — and resuscitate the airlines. . . . He really loves this city and the people.’’

The Venetian, on the Strip, opened its doors at 9 a.m., welcoming only scant visitors for the first few hours. It and next-door sister property Palazzo have been hailed for continuing to pay every employee, including health benefits and tips, during the dark period.

Bereft of a single tourist, Roman gondolier Rocco Beamo — no doubt exuberant to start his first shift in 2½ months — still belted out a rollicking Italian walking tune, flanked by six peers, on a pedestrian bridge that spanned the second-floor canal.

Barry and Larry White, twins celebrating their 62nd birthdays, and Larry’s wife, Carolyn, were the first visitors to register at the hotel, a couple of minutes past 9 a.m. The Canadian transplants, who now live in the high desert of Southern California, first were cleared by a thermal scanner in an almost unnoticeable procedure. On a screen, their noggins appeared green.

Said the female security official: ‘‘As long as you’re green, you’re good.’’

Every hotel employee wore a mask. Many wore gloves. Hand-sanitizing posts stood at regular intervals. Custodians busily swiped every chair, countertop, slot machine and video-poker screen — every oft-touched surface — with a disinfectant solution.

Social-distancing protocol meant chairs only at end machines where three and four slots were together. Only three chairs were allowed at blackjack and other table games. It was a bit looser at the larger craps and roulette games, where patrons stand. Those were the new customs all over town.

Once players entered the large, circular-table pit area at Caesars, a pit boss supplied masks. That property only scanned the temperature of its hotel check-ins. The Flamingo didn’t test at all, and the Golden Gate downtown required a wrist flash at a scanner.

Outside the Bellagio, the famed fountains were unleashed at 9:30 a.m. By 3:30 p.m., a maintenance man in a rubber dinghy cruised around to toy with spouts and make other adjustments after a rousing water-dancing session to Sinatra’s ‘‘Luck Be a Lady.’’

There were only about 40 witnesses, however, as people appear to be trickling into town. Also, it was 108 degrees. Furthermore, on the curb of that 200-yard stretch were no fewer than 15 vehicles — silent, blue and red lights flashing — from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

Cops with German shepherds were very interested in trash receptacles about 60 feet from each other. The racial-justice protest march that evening would originate at the Bellagio, someone said, which was true, but it would be peaceful.

The heartbeat of the Strip was faint on a historic opening day, but it finally had a pulse. The rejuvenation and revival of Las Vegas will be steered by bold mavericks such as Stevens, who held court in his bar at The D into the wee hours Thursday.

‘‘Totally packed, hopping,’’ Benson said. ‘‘All the table [games] were full, and most of the slot machines were in play. For us, it was one of the better nights in the history of the company.

‘‘Which, to me, shows there is a lot of pent-up demand and that Vegas really does have a strong chance of recovery.’’