When Rich Men Look for Public Handouts

Eighteen months ago, Alex Meruelo took the stage at his Grand Sierra Resort, flanked by cheerleaders, mascots, and a mayor ready to bask in the glow of grand promises. He spoke of a billion-dollar expansion, a $400 million arena, and the University of Nevada, Reno’s men’s basketball team, a new home—free of charge, no burden to the good taxpayers of Reno.

“Not one dollar!” he declared, presumably with his hand over his heart and his other in someone else’s pocket.

A year later, Meruelo’s got that pocket turned inside out, knocking on the city’s door, hat in hand, asking for $97 million in public money. The financing sleight-of-hand is called tax increment financing (TIF), a fancy way of saying, “We freeze the taxes, and any new revenue that would’ve gone to schools, roads, and public services now goes to me instead.”

It’s a classic case of corporate welfare dressed up in economic development’s Sunday best.

Naturally, Reno’s other casino operators—who have been fattening their pockets just fine without a government teat to suckle—are less than pleased. The owners of the Eldorado, Silver Legacy, Sparks Nugget, and Peppermill have banded together, claiming that TIF should go for reviving blighted areas, not cushioning the operational expenses of a man who already owns a fleet of casinos.

One lawyer for the coalition, Joshua Hicks, spelled it out in a letter to the city council: “[Grand Sierra Resort] is clearly willing and able to pay the up-front construction costs… This appears to be about covering operating costs, not redevelopment.”

Meruelo, feigning shock at the pushback, rattled off the usual playbook lines about how Reno has been doing this sort of thing for 30 years—pointing to the baseball stadium, bowling complex, and other taxpayer-funded boondoggles that have left the city with debt, but little else. Mayor Hillary Schieve, caught somewhere between political pragmatism and a genuine desire to see development, now wants an April 9 presentation before blessing the handout.

Meanwhile, Meruelo’s men are scratching their heads, wondering why anyone’s upset. Perhaps they should’ve led with that rather than the “not one dollar” routine from a year ago.

To sweeten the deal, state lawmakers are even considering extending the timeline for TIF funding, arguing that the pandemic slowed development and, well, why should a billionaire shoulder the burden alone when there are good tax dollars for redirection his way? Senator Edgar Flores is pushing a bill to extend TIF eligibility from 30 to 50 years, which, in a feat of irony, he says isn’t about state money helping Meruelo.

“We just want to give developers time to use the full breadth of the timeline,” he says–as if this were some cosmic justice for the trials and tribulations of resort owners.

Of course, this isn’t Meruelo’s first time at the public trough. Back in Arizona, his dream of a new hockey arena for the Arizona Coyotes ended in flames, with voters in Tempe rejecting his $2.1 billion entertainment district. The NHL finally gave up on him in 2024, forcing a sale and moving the team to Salt Lake City, leaving Meruelo to squabble over his $3.5 million security deposit like a gambler arguing over a bad beat.

With Reno staring down a $3.7 million shortfall in its annual budget, Meruelo’s request for $97 million in public financing is the kind of proposal that ought to come with a laugh track. Other casino operators aren’t buying it, as the state faces financial uncertainty. If taxpayers in Reno are paying attention, they might start questioning why their funds should support a billionaire’s dream project.

And so, as the city council weighs the request–when a rich man says he doesn’t need your money, check his other hand—it’s probably in your pocket already.