In general, Megabucks rumors fall into one of three categories:

• The unhappy fate of previous winners.
• Startling tales of flawed wins.
• Where the next one is going to hit.

On 21 March 2003, the largest-ever slots prize was awarded in Las Vegas when a 25-year-old man who prefers to remain anonymous hit a $39,710,826.36 Megabucks jackpot at the Excalibur casino. Scant days later, rumors were already afoot that tragedy had overtaken this lucky gentleman. According to the whispers, he had:

• Fatally overdosed at The Palms (a trendy Las Vegas casino resort greatly favored by the 20- and 30-somethings).
• Died in a plane crash.
• Been killed in a gang fight in Los Angeles.

Although the mode of the unnamed winner’s demise changed from telling to telling, the basic rumor remained intact — this man so favored by Fate one day became its victim on another. His luck ran out soon after the win, said the rumor, felling him before he’d had any chance to enjoy his millions.

The “overdosed at the Palms” version carried the further implication of the man’s good fortune having been his undoing. In the unspoken subtext

of that telling, the lucky winner had used his new wealth to hole up in a swank hotel and dabble in drugs. In attempting to live like a rock star, he instead died like one.

The rumor (all versions of it) was false. According to Connie Fox of International Game Technology (IGT), the maker of Megabucks machines and the distributor of its prizes, the young man has not been harvested by the Grim Reaper. He lives on, wealthy and anonymous.

It is possible memories of a tragedy that befell a previous Megabucks winner have fueled this tale of good luck turned chillingly bad. On 11 March 2000, 37-year-old Cynthia Jay-Brennan, a cocktail waitress who had hit a $34.9 million jackpot at the Desert Inn just six weeks earlier, was left a quadriplegic by an auto accident that claimed her sister’s life. The pair had been sitting in their car at a red light when their vehicle was rear-ended by one being operated by a drunk driver. Five others were injured in the resulting chain reaction accident.

A year later, 58-year-old Clark Morse, the driver who caused this carnage, was sentenced to 28 years in prison. Morse was a habitual drunk who had been previously arrested at least 16 times on driving under the influence charges and had at least five DUI convictions, yet he had not prior to this incident been jailed for his inebriated forays behind the wheel.

On the one hand, it would be easy to see the ‘dead Megabucks winner’ rumor as a misremembering of the circumstances that have placed Cynthia Jay-Brennan in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Yet on the other, whispers about Megabucks winners having been struck down by

misfortune have been part of gaming culture long before the March 2000 tragedy. In one well-traveled Megabucks rumor, an elderly gambler who lined up the three winning symbols on his machine suffered a heart attack and died on the spot. (Shades of Vegas Vacation and Sid Caesar kicking the bucket after hitting a $30,000 keno jackpot, that.) That particular tale had for so long been part of the Megabucks canon that it came in for mention in a 1998 newspaper story, described even then as one of the many rumors IGT had been called upon over the years to debunk. Another whisper (also around since at least 1998) claimed that every Megabucks winner under the age of 50 was now pushing up daisies. (Not true, says Connie Fox of IGT. While she doesn’t know the fate of everyone who has won Megabucks, all those she has become acquainted with or has heard of through her work are still alive.)

I would hazard the opinion that such tales say a great deal more about our sense of envy than anything else. Every time a large jackpot is hit (Megabucks or otherwise), for every gobsmacked winner there are countless thousands — maybe even millions — of gamblers who were not awarded the prize. For at least some of them, a measure of solace is drawn from
‘misfortune followed soon afterwards’ tales, both for their sour grapes (“That lucky schmuck might have won a great deal of money, but it didn’t bring him happiness, did it?”) and ‘disaster narrowly avoided’ (“Just think, if I’d won the money I’d be the one left lying dead in a pool of blood”) values. The legends we tell are our way of mentally chewing over concepts that disquiet us, and very few feel at all comfortable with the realization of their feeling envious.

Other rumors about the mystery man who won the $40 million Megabucks jackpot in March 2004 are undiluted expressions of envy — they assert he had no right to the prize and thus ‘cheated’ to get it, which in itself is another way of saying “I feel cheated because I didn’t win.” One version claimed the unnamed man was an illegal alien. (Which, by the way, would not have barred him from winning, but that is not generally understood by most of those who frequent casinos.) Another proclaimed him to have been under 21 at the time of the win and thus ineligible. (That couldn’t happen: Under the laws governing gaming in Nevada, persons under the age of 21 are prohibited from gambling. Casinos therefore must remove underage patrons or face heavy fines, and companies like IGT that pay out slot machine wins have to very carefully vet the ages of those laying claim to any win.)

This last whisper brings us to the most common wild tales associated with the big jackpot: the flawed win. Over the years, I have heard the Megabucks ‘one that got away’ story told three ways:

• The underage winner who could not be awarded the riches he’d won.
• The casino worker who was ineligible for the prize because he had, against the rules, played the machine at the property where he was employed.
• The player who lined up the three winning symbols on the pay line but who hadn’t wagered the full $3 necessary to qualify for the top prize.

Connie Fox of IGT denies there ever having been an underage Megabucks winner. However, such rumors did attach to the anonymous UNLV student who hit the $10.9 million jackpot on 18 October 1995 at the Gold Coast — it was said he’d had to return the money. Because the winner did not want his identity made known to the public, the members of the press who had heard the tale had no way of themselves determining the actual age of the young man. IGT held an online chat session with reporters to reassure them that the prize had been fairly awarded to a legal winner.

Although Megabucks has yet to have an underage claimant, other large slots jackpots have. A young man who hit a big one at Caesars Palace in 1987 was denied his prize because he was underage. Kirk Erickson, a 19-year-old from Royal, Arkansas, lined up the winning combination on

a dollar slot machine called “The Million Dollar Baby,” but he was not paid the $1,061,812 jackpot for it. Erickson took the matter to court, and in 1989 a District Court judge ruled against him.

As for casino workers being barred from playing the Megabucks slots at their place of employ, although individual properties might have such a policy, it is to be doubted that were such a person to play anyway and win that a prohibition against his gaming on the in-house machines would interfere with the jackpot being duly awarded. Granted, the worker would in all likelihood lose his job for having broken a casino rule, and he might have to wait until the Nevada Gaming Commission made its determination on the case before receiving his money, but there is little reason to suppose the Commission would deem the jackpot improperly gained.

The one class of folks who could not possibly collect on such a win are IGT employees and all members of their households — even if one of them were to line up the three winning symbols, they could not be awarded the cash.

At least once, Megabucks has been hit by someone playing less than full coin. On 14 March 2001, Kirk Tolman, a 22-year-old Utah man, mistakenly played two dollars instead of the Megabucks-requisite three on a machine at the State Line Hotel and Casino in Wendover, a gambling establishment in Nevada just across the Utah state line. The Megabucks symbols lined up on the payline, and for want of a buck, $7.96 million was lost. The $10,000 consolation prize probably wasn’t all that consoling to the man whose distracting chat with a friend had led to his not dropping the third coin into play.

An additional bit of Megabucks lore confidently states the jackpot will be hit at the newest resort casino in operation. Savvy frequent visitors to Las Vegas will sagely nod as they inform you the next Megabucks is “set to go” at whichever glitz palace just opened. That too is hogwash. Where the jackpot is hit is determined by pure chance, not by anyone high in the casino industry paying off IGT for the prestige of having one of its machines register the win. (And prestige is all that would accrue to the casino, because unlike some lotteries which distribute cash premiums to the venues that sold winning tickets, Megabucks does not award a small piece of the prize to the casino for having been the building that housed the winning machine. Although most of the money being dropped into play by jackpot seekers goes to fund the game’s prizes, some goes to IGT, and some goes to the gaming establishment that hosts the machines, so casinos already receive compensation whether their Megabucks units are winners or not. Also, casinos that have been the sites of multi-million dollar strikes do very well just on the prestige alone because gamblers are attracted to luck, figuring if one guy hit the big one there, there’s a fair chance they might be just as lucky if they went to the same spot.)

If the Megabucks jackpot appears to be awarded more often at the newer casinos, it’s due to their being better attended — more people through these gambling halls means more people playing the machines. The more people who play the machines at any one location, the greater the chances the jackpot will be hit there. And that’s all there is to it.

Many of the instant millionaires Megabucks and its ilk create are reluctant to sign the releases that allow their names and some information about them to be made public, worrying that strangers will appear on their doorsteps to pressure them for money. But from what Connie Fox of IGT has seen, the ones these people have the most to fear from are their nearest and dearest, the very kith and kin they were moved to telephone in the first blush of excitement over their astonishing good fortune. Connie has gotten to know a number of Megabucks winners over the years, and she has seen through the lens of their experiences with their loved ones how a large prize can shake up relationships and redefine the pecking order. A large win can and has in some cases changed the family dynamic, overnight making the fortunate slot player the de facto head of the family — that person suddenly finds everyone looking to him for everything. It has also changed the power balance between couples, making the partner who had previously been the follower into the decision-maker for that pair. Some couples and families weather these shifts without too much trouble, and some do not.

Barbara “so there you have it — oranges, lemons, cherries, and a few sour grapes” Mikkelson

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Last updated: 1 June 2014

In lakes country, tourists still love to see where infamous crooks relaxed.

© Beth Gauper

FBI agents prepared for their raid on Little Bohemia at Voss' Birchwood Lodge.

In 1920, northern Wisconsin already was a playground for people from Chicago.

And when Prohibition flung open the door to organized crime, its remote lakes and forests became even more attractive to a certain kind of Chicagoan.

Al Capone had a fortified summer home on a lake near Hayward, to which hydroplanes flew whiskey from Canada.

His lieutenants frequented the saloons and brothels in Hurley. Rival Roger Touhy vacationed in Minocqua, fishing with a machine gun.

By 1934, Prohibition was over but the Depression was in full swing, and many people blamed the banks.

John Dillinger was the most-wanted bank robber, and he made a resort in Manitowish Waters famous when the FBI interrupted his stay there, killing a local but allowing Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson and the other men to escape.

The spectacularly botched raid of Little Bohemia Lodge is at the center of the 2009 film 'Public Enemies,' starring Johnny Depp as Dillinger and Christian Bale as FBI agent Melvin Purvis. It was filmed at Little Bohemia and around Wisconsin.

Now it's tourists who are hot on the gangsters' trail, not FBI agents.

Slot Machine Car Accident Yesterday

Over the years, Little Bohemia has hosted throngs of what it calls 'bullet-hole customers,' named for the holes that still can be seen. In April 1934, Dillinger had just been wounded in a shootout with the FBI in St. Paul.

His girlfriend, Billie Frechette, raised on northeast Wisconsin's Menominee Indian Reservation, was in custody.

He and his gang decided to get away and regroup. The owner of their favorite tavern in Chicago recommended a lodge in Wisconsin's north woods, run by a friend.

Manitowish was the kind of place where 'every little lake had at least one illegal still working overtime,' writes Bryan Burrough, author of the 2004 book on which the film is based, 'Public Enemies, America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34.'

Nan LaPorte used to run her brother's moonshine downstate, and that's where she met Emil Wanatka.

Slot Machine Car Accident Fatality

© Beth Gauper

Parts of 'Public Enemies' were shot at Little Bohemia Lodge.

They married and ran the Little Bohemia bar in Chicago, 'a favorite of underworld figures,' Burrough writes, before returning to her home in Manitowish. In 1931, they built a roadhouse on Star Lake.

When the party of 10 from Chicago showed up on a cold day in April, the Wanatkas were happy for the business.

But Emil recognized Dillinger, and Nan eventually grew worried and told her sister, who ran a resort down the road with her husband, Henry Voss.

Voss called the FBI and drew a map of Little Bohemia for agents. Its failure to mention Nan Wanatka's two watchdogs was only one of many miscalculations.

The gang had decided to leave early and was packing when the dogs started barking. Nervous FBI agents opened fire on three customers who were leaving after dinner, killing one and wounding the others.

Dillinger jumped out a window and ran away unnoticed. Baby Face Nelson ran another way, killed an FBI agent and wounded another agent and a constable. Then he stole their car.

Slot Machine Car Accident Reports

Meanwhile, FBI agent Melvin Purvis sat in the driveway until dawn, thinking he had Dillinger trapped.

(In the film, however, Dillinger trades machine-gun fire with agents from inside the lodge and then is pursued through the woods; it's one of many discrepancies.)

The escape was a national scandal, embarrassing FBI director J. Edgar Hoover. The ensuing manhunt ended that summer when agents gunned down Dillinger outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago.

The gang had left many belongings at Little Bohemia, and after Dillinger's death, the lodge installed a museum. For a while, John Dillinger's father and sister ran it.

The lodge no longer rents rooms, but it operates a gift shop and restaurant, and its slogan is 'Dillinger only left because he had to.'

After the escape, gang member John Hamilton was shot by police from Hastings, Minn., as he, Homer Van Meter and Dillinger headed for St. Paul. Tommy Carroll, who already had reached St. Paul, was killed in June by police in Waterloo, Iowa.

Wisconsin's northwoods remained popular with gangsters. Ralph Capone, a mob cashier who served more than two years for income-tax evasion, bought a bar in Mercer, ran slot machines and was a popular resident until his death in 1974.

Sam Giancana brought his family to vacation in Rhinelander. Joe Saltis bought a lodge near Winter. Jimmy Hoffa was a patron of Jack O'Lantern Lodge in Eagle River, and the woods surrounding it were searched when he disappeared.

© Beth Gauper

The shack where Baby Face Nelson spent three nights now is Cabin 5 at Dillman's Bay Resort.

Here are some of the places to visit on Wisconsin's gangster trail. For a map and details, see Travel Wisconsin's Gangster Tour, which includes video tours.

For more about historic resorts, see Classic Wisconsin lodges.

The resorts

Manitowish Waters: Little Bohemia Lodge, 26 miles north of Minocqua, serves a traditional northwoods menu of steak and seafood and is open daily for dinner. In summer, it also serves lunch and breakfast every day except Tuesday. There's a gift shop. 715-543-8800.

A mile south, Voss' Birchwood Lodge was the staging area for the FBI's assault on Little Bohemia. It has a main lodge and cottages on Spider Lake. 715-543-8441.

Lac du Flambeau: After he killed FBI agent Carter Baum and stole his car at Little Bohemia, Baby Face Nelson headed west. When the car threw a rod, he walked 20 miles through forest and ended up at Dillman's Bay Resort.

He spent three nights in a maple-sugar shack, now Cabin 5, with an elderly Ojibwe couple before stealing a car and heading for Chicago.

Today, the fourth generation is running the resort, on a peninsula on White Sand Lake, 20 miles northwest of Minocqua. It's known for its creative art workshops, held from mid-May to mid-October.

Minocqua: The busy Island City was as popular with Chicagoans then as it is now.

Two miles west of town, at the end of a long driveway, Norwood Pines Supper Club was a popular gangster hangout, with gambling and a brothel upstairs, according to the late Tom Hollatz in his book 'Gangster Holidays, the Lore and Legends of the Bad Guys.' It's off Wisconsin 70 on Patricia Lake.

BJ’s Sportshop on U.S. 51 was the home of Trixie's, 'the most famous whorehouse in the northwoods,' Hollatz writes. The Belle Isle Sports Bar & Grille, at 301 E. Front St., had a direct phone line to Arlington Park racetrack in Chicago.

Hayward area: South of Hayward, near Couderay, a 1925 stone-and-log house was Al Capone's summer home on Cranberry Lake, to which hydroplanes flew whiskey from Canada. It has a machine-gun turret and and eight-car garage, and it was built for a wary comfort.

© Beth Gauper

Norwood Pines Supper Club was a popular gangster hangout in Minocqua.

Two mahogany spiral staircases lead to corner bedrooms along walkways that have a full view of the living room; in Capone's bedroom, a switch worked all the yard lights.

It was privately operated as Al Capone's Hideout, with tours and a restaurant in the garage, but it closed without notice in spring 2009 and sold at auction.

East of Couderay, near Winter, Chicago gang leader and speakeasy operator “Polack Joe” Saltis built a cedar log lodge on Barker Lake in the 1920s, with cabins 'where visiting 'firemen,' or 'blazers' (gunmen) could relax away from the heat,' Hollatz wrote.

It's now the Historic Barker Lake Lodge, with accommodations in the lodge and six 1920s log cabins. It also has a nine-hole golf course built by Saltis, who retired there in 1930.

Cable: Just east of town, a 1927 resort on Lake Namekagon is rooted in Prohibition-era notoriety, though not gangsters.

It was built by wealthy Chicago businessman Jacob Loeb as a retreat after the sensational 1924 trial of his teen-aged nephew, Richard Loeb, who was convicted with friend Nathan Leopold of murdering a young boy for the thrill of it.

It was Jacob Loeb who paid celebrated lawyer Clarence Darrow to save his nephew from the electric chair, which he did.

© Beth Gauper

Hurley's main street still is lined with saloons and strip clubs.

Today, it's called Garmisch USA, for the famous Bavarian ski resort, and its lodge and cabins have a medieval hunting-lodge motif. Lodge rooms and the restaurant have great views of Lake Namekagon.

For more about Garmisch and similar lodges, see Classic Wisconsin lodges.

Hurley: This town, adjoining Ironwood, Mich., is in a mining district and was known as the roughest town in the Upper Midwest.

Mr magic slot machine manual. Silver Street was packed with saloons and brothels, and according to Hollatz, the Capone mob brought teen girls there with the promise of dancing jobs, then trained them as pickpockets or forced them into prostitution.

Even today, Silver Street has a faintly menacing air, especially where it dips past a small gantlet of “gentlemen’s clubs’’ before transforming into the cheerily bourgeois main street of Ironwood.

Filming sites

Oshkosh: Crews filmed two famous Dillinger robberies here, with a downtown bank/office building standing in for the Security National Bank and Trust in Sioux Falls, S.D., and Oshkosh's Masonic Temple standing in for the American Bank and Trust Co. in Racine, Wis.

Columbus: This entire downtown of Columbus, 25 miles northeast of Madison, is on the National Register of Historic Places, and it stood in for Greencastle, Ind., where Dillinger and his gang robbed a bank in October 1933, netting $75,000.

Slot Machine Car Accidents

© Rod Melotte

'Public Enemies' filming in downtown Columbus, Wis., northeast of Madison.

Exterior bank scenes were shot at the West James Gallery, which once was the First National Bank and now includes the visitors center.

Madison: The interior and exterior of the state Capitol stood in for FBI headquarters, with Billy Crudup playing J. Edgar Hoover. Free tours are given daily.

Beaver Dam: The historic Hotel Rogers in Beaver Dam, now an apartment building called The Rogers, stood in for Tucson's Hotel Congress, the site of the Dillinger gang's capture after a fire broke out and authorities recognized them.

Darlington: In this town south of Mineral Point, the Lafayette County Courthouse stood in for the Lake County Courthouse in Crown Point, Ind., where Dillinger was arraigned.

Milwaukee: The Milwaukee County Historical Society building on Old World Third Street in Milwaukee, a former bank, was converted back into a bank by film crews; the interior scenes of the Greencastle robbery were shot there.

Lake Delton: The grounds of Ishnala restaurant, a 1953 restaurant on Mirror Lake that includes parts of a 1909 log home, were used by film crews.

For more on the movie, see the Public Enemies Wiki site. Many YouTube videos feature filming at sites in Wisconsin and especially Johnny Depp, who was gracious to his many fans.