April 7, 1961

Down in the valley beneath the shadow of Sugarloaf Mountain, where the hot vapors rise from the healing waters of the springs, L.V. Rowe was on one hell of a roll at the dice table. He was crowded in between the stickman and the other dice players, who were lined up two and three deep at all five tables, making the wide marble-and-crystal-appointed room feel small.

“Five! A no-field five!” yelled the boxman.

The gamblers whooped. The dealers placed the checks down on the felt in front of the winning players. Rowe picked his up and placed them in his stack along the rail of the table. The stickman shoved the two dice along the felt and left them right in front of him, and he picked them up and shook them in his fist. He was on some run indeed.

“We’re coming out!” the boxman yelled as Rowe prepared to shoot. He flung the dice across the table, and the crowd roared.

This was the Vapors, the grandest casino in what was once the premier gambling destination in America. Hot Springs, Arkansas, is a very different place today—an anonymous Southern city 25 miles from the nearest interstate, the gamblers long since run out of town—but late on a Saturday night in April 1961, at the height of the horse racing season at Oaklawn Park, there was no more exhilarating place to be in the entire country. The gaming floor was filled to capacity with revelers after a long day of hollering at the track. Hot Springs was in the middle of a banner season, welcoming 5 million visitors that year alone—a high-water mark in the city’s history.

[Read an exclusive excerpt from David Hill's forthcoming book, The Vapors.]